I’d browsed through one of later books in Ms. Andrews’ Meg Langslow series, on display in the library, and the prose looked so snappy that I decided to start with the first of the series. I had such high hopes that I got the first three all at once.
I’ll give Donna Andrews her due: she comes up with brilliant turns of phrase on every page. It’s these fresh & juicy turns of phrase that raise unbridled admiration within me.
Notwithstanding the turns of phrase that made me ooh and aah repeatedly with her mastery, from the very first page of “Murder with peacocks,” it was rough going and it got rougher and rougher every page. By the 20s it was an ordeal to read any further; by 40 I was forcing myself to plod on paragraph by paragraph as if I were an Antarctic explorer. At 44 there was nothing in me left wanting to go on.
There’s a very sound reason why most tales are written in the third person. A narrator can assume a stance of neutrality, and the reader isn’t forced to like any of the characters or wish them well. It can be interesting to meet the characters and see how events arise from their interactions. You don’t have to like the characters for the story to be interesting. As long as the narrator is neutral, the reader isn’t forced to agree or empathize with anything the protagonist says or does.
Stories written in the first person usually demand a degree of empathy with the protagonist, if not outright rooting interest in their welfare and success. This is invariably true in detective stories. And the blurb to “Murder with peacocks” stresses that the detective has to not only prevent others from being murdered, but herself from being murdered too. This makes it clear that we’re supposed to be rooting for her to outwit the murderer in order to survive.
The problem in “Murder with peacocks” is that Meg is less a fictional character than a symbol of an American subculture: specifically, she’s a liberal from a D.C. suburb. There’s nothing interesting or distinctive or special about her, to the point where she’s simply a walking cliché. That’s all there is to her. The reader’s ability to empathize with her and root for her is completely bound up with the reader’s sharing of her political and social attitudes. Indeed, the whole tone of the writing in “Murder with peacocks” assumes that the audience consists of white liberals. This is made explicit in three ways: the protagonist’s references to PC, her opinions about men, and her overt view that everyone else is less evolved.
First, from page one forward the protagonist assumes an air of superiority to her less-evolved friends and relatives that is intensely dislikeable. She loves her friends and family, but loves them in a condescending way, implying repeatedly that she feels sorry for their sub-standard intellects, their attraction to men who are gorilla-like, and most of all their failure to appreciate that whatever they think and do must fall within the limits of almighty PC. The idea that an intelligent, well-educated person might not buy into PC would never occur to the protagonist. She sees everyone else as shallow, but in fact she is shallow being nothing more than the very embodiment of PC. And this turns the book itself into a referendum on PC. If the reader agrees with PC, agrees that most men are gorillas, and agrees that liberals are intellectually superior to everyone else, the reader will empathize with and root for Meg; if they don’t, they won’t.
A second prime theme from page one forward is what Meg thinks of men. She’s pretty overt in portraying the men in her friends’ lives as gorillas, and it’s strongly implied this is what most men are like and that it’s sad that there are un-evolved women who are attracted to men like that. But, unlike her friends, Meg is evolved. She meets a handsome guy whom everyone else thinks is gay and she promptly falls head over heels. So basically, since Meg is treated throughout as a heroine, it’s strongly implied that evolved men ought to act in such a way that they are perceived as gay. So the viable readership is limited to those who agree that men should behave in that way.
Third, the other characters are scarcely characters at all, but a cliched bunch of idiots. They’re merely straw men to be set up and knocked down. The author affirms that all the people in Meg’s small town think Michael must be gay just because he teaches drama in college -- essentially characterizing them as a bunch of ignorant yahoos. But in real life nobody thinks that way. Even a hundred years ago nobody would have assumed a single man must be gay because he’s a Shakespeare-loving college professor. It takes incredible hubris to treat people in such a manner, much less an entire 21st century town.
If “Murder with peacocks” had been narrated in a neutral third person, at least the readers would not have been forced to agree with Meg’s political and social attitudes. But that still leaves the problem that there’s nothing whatsoever interesting or unique about the protagonist, and nothing to make one want to empathize with her and fear for her safety. She’s not a fleshed out literary character, but merely a compendium of socio-political attitudes. Sherlock Holmes is a true literary character, with so much depth people are still analyzing him a century later. Meg is not a human being at all, but merely a socio-political ideal.
Let me conclude by making it clear that the objection which I raise here to “Murder with peacocks” doesn’t stem from disagreement with what Meg stands for. If instead the detective had been a stereotypical big dumb jock, or a stereotypical tea-partier, or a stereotypical evangelical Christian, the objection would have been exactly the same. Literature is not created by designing a character who exists solely as the embodiment of the ethos of a subculture, whose likeability to the reader depends 100% upon whether the reader is part of that same ethos. That is polemics, not literature.
And this the reason I threw in the towel at page 44 of “Murder with peacocks.” It’s not literature at all but polemics disguised as literature. And it’s a damned shame, because it’s apparent upon every page that Donna Andrews has a fantastic way with words. Unfortunately, she has made poor use of that gift by harnessing it to the service of polemics.
P.S. Two observations concerning technique specific to mysteries
First, a well-written mystery uses the exposition to plant the seeds of tragedy and foreshadow that the conflicts are going to lead to something horrible. It isn’t merely to introduce the characters, but to introduce the conflict and hint that it will lead to murder somehow. P.D. James was great with that, her atmosphere is so gloomy a murder HAS to take place. Miss Marple was the best of all – Her Snoopiness is taking note of dirty little secrets nobody else picked up on, and she becomes concerned that they will lead to something bad. Brilliant! “Murder with peacocks” doesn’t do any of that. As a mystery, the first 44 pages give the reader no reason to want to read on: the only conflicts that have arisen are the protagonist’s exasperation that her friends and family are so much less evolved than she. Nothing whatever sucks the reader into the story itself as a mystery. It’s just assumed that the readers are all liberals and are reading on because they have fallen in love with the protagonist because they are looking in a mirror. That’s a poor substitute for sound principles of writing a mystery.
Second, in a good mystery there is something specific in the detective’s personality, interests or background which makes it possible to solve a riddle that the police couldn’t. It’s not simply that the detective is more intelligent. Marple, Poirot, Morse, Cadfael, Jim Qwilleran and so many others. Something distinctive to themselves enables them to pick up on clues or on the significance of clues that everyone else had missed. But we are not offered anything distinctive about Meg; she’s simply a walking cliché. Nor can one imagine how being a flaming liberal would enable her to solve a mystery. By page 44 one is already assuming that she has no special characteristics other than being far more intelligent and evolved than everyone else around her – at least in her own opinion. Again, this is not a valid way to write a murder mystery.