FUNNY BUSINESS

by John M. Floyd

Pat Walsh, the founding editor of MacAdam/Cage, once said that the most difficult thing to write is a sex scene, and the third most difficult is dialogue. The writing task that comes in at second place is something that surprised me only because I figured it would have taken the Gold instead of the Silver. According to Walsh, the second most difficult thing to write is . . . humor.

It’s hard to make readers laugh. Or maybe I should rephrase that: It’s hard to make readers laugh when you want them to laugh. It’s scary how easily our writing can be hilarious when it shouldn’t be, and vice versa. Writer/comedian Steve Martin once said, “Comedy is the art of making people laugh without making them puke.” (Then again, he’s also the guy who said women should be put on a pedestal . . . high enough that you could see up their dresses.)

But wait a minute. What do we care about all this, anyway? Most of us are readers and writers of mystery fiction. What does humor have to do with that?

The answer is, quite a bit. Humor can often be helpful to almost any kind of story. And I don’t mean jokes or dark humor or slapstick, or even satire; I’m referring mostly to understated humor, the kind that just brings an unexpected smile to a reader’s face. It could take many forms: banter between partners, a misunderstanding, a wisecracking detective, an embarrassing situation, a bungling villain, a phobia or mannerism, a tough guy not taking himself too seriously. Even a witty observation or two by Hannibal Lecter, in a book that is otherwise one of the most un-funny of novels. And there’s another plus: Inserting a little humor can be a pacing mechanism, to slow down the tension of a plot and allow the reader to relax a bit. Every ballgame needs a time-out now and then.

Even a funny title can be an advantage: Here are a few I’ve noticed on bookstore shelves over the years (and some on the shelves of my home office): Wry Martinis, Fangs for the Memories, Florence of Arabia, Anonymous Rex, No Way to Treat a First Lady, The Scoreless Thai, The Sidelong Glances of a Pigeon Kicker, The Cancelled Czech, Apocalypse Pretty Soon. (Although I hesitate to admit it, I bought the Ed McBain novel Let’s Hear It for the Deaf Man because of its title alone.)

The trick to using humor, of course, is knowing when and how to use it. And don’t worry, I’m not going to launch into a list of things writers should do to make humor work. Instead I’ll take the safe way out, and point you to some of the many writers who do it well. We can all learn from them.

My favorites range from the laugh-out-loud hilarity of Janet Evanovich and Woody Allen to the dry wit of Martin Cruz Smith and Nelson DeMille. Somewhere in between are Robert B. Parker, Lawrence Block, Donald Westlake, Carl Hiaasen, Harley Jane Kozak, Jack Ritchie, Elmore Leonard, Bill Fitzhugh, Christopher Buckley, Laurence Shames, William Goldman, John Mortimer, Joe R. Lansdale, and many, many others. I actually find myself looking forward to the otherwise serious novels of someone like DeMille because of the humor he packs into his fiction. Giving heroes like John Corey and Arkady Renko and Chili Palmer a humorous side makes their courage and intelligence easier to accept and believe. At least for me.

Let me assure you, I realize that an injection of humor is not a cure for a badly written story, and I also realize that not all fiction can or should include laughs, or even smiles. The work of current and past bestsellers like Clancy, Ludlum, Michener, and Crichton rarely ventures into a humorous mood, and other fine stories and their subject matter (“Schindler’s List”, “Philadelphia”, “Leaving Las Vegas”, etc.) just don’t lend themselves to lighthearted treatment. But when the opportunity presents itself, we as writers should remember that a touch of humor can sometimes help — not only to further engage the reader or viewer but to show a different side of a character or regulate the flow of the narrative. At the very least we should consider it one of the items available in the writer’s toolbox.

The big question: When can you be sure that the humor you’ve written is really working? Well, if it makes you smile when you’re writing it, it’ll probably make the reader smile too.

But use caution. I was browsing a style manual awhile back, and saw the following note about the misuse of the word “nauseous.” It pointed out that the sentence “My husband is nauseated” means your husband is sick, but the sentence “My husband is nauseous” means your husband is making you sick.

Let’s be careful not to let our humor do the same to our readers.