I was recently gifted with a copy of J.B. Priestley’s Delight by my auntie Barbara – a lady who, if it’s possible, is even more bookish than I. The volume, as the title suggests, is a collection of micro-essays discussing the little things in life that Priestley finds ‘delight’ in.
Given that my first murder mystery novel, Murder by the Minster has just been released in ebook and hardback, you can probably imagine my own delight at discovering that third chapter is all about why Priestley relished reading detective fiction.
Priestley explains in some detail the things he enjoys most about the genre, but by far the most striking and poignant segment to this reader’s eyes was the following:
‘… how pleasant it is to take an hour or two off to consider only the problem of the body that locked itself in its study and then used the telephone… This is easy and sensible compared with the problem of remaining a sane citizen in the middle of the twentieth century. After the newspaper headlines, it is refreshing to enter this well-ordered microcosm, like finding one’s way into a garden after wandering for days in a jungle.’
On reading this, I was struck by how true these words still are in the early days of the 21st Century and how far they aligned with my own reasons for writing commercial fiction, specifically cosy crime novels.
With the twenty-four hour news cycle telling us very few of the things we’d like to hear – pretty much regardless of our political stance – it is understandable that escapism might become an increasingly desirable prospect. That climbing into someone else’s skin and going on an adventure might prove both relieving and refreshing. Especially in a genre where we know it is the detective’s job to unravel the tangled mess of the mystery and return everything to its rightful order by the closing lines.
Between the pages of my quirky little books, it is my ongoing hope that readers find some of the things that aren’t always readily available to them elsewhere: laughter, love, kindness, hope, heroism, intrigue and perhaps a bit of flirtation on the side. Can’t hurt, can it?
Though there is a whole section of the academic world that believes only literary fiction is worth our time, I think it’s important to remember that we are more than walking brains. We deserve books and films and plays that nurture us as well as educate us. That inspire us to smile as well as to think. Stories that give us a safe space to steal away to whenever the need arises.
Helen’s third novel Murder by the Minster is available now.