The Diversity of Mystery

I’ve recently discovered that the Los Angeles Times does a very good job of covering crime fiction. In today’s paper, for example, there is an article of ambitious dimension by staff writer Anne-Marie O’Connor that explores the diversity of mystery writing. O’Connor covers quite a bit of ground in a short space, and while I urge you to read the source, I’ll give some gist of it below.

Opening with author Paula L. Woods, whose novels (including the latest in her series, 2006’s Strange Bedfellows) feature black L.A. police detective Charlotte Justice, O’Connor explores the notion of racial inequity as thematic material in the crime-fiction genre. Justice is “haunted by history,” because the character “sees the past in the present,” according to Woods. For this female detective, the racial disparity of earlier decades continues to rear its head in the present-day City of Angels. In one specific instance, Justice recalls an incident in which a burning cross was placed on the lawn of the late crooner Nat King Cole’s L.A. mansion. Fast forward now to Rodney King, or just the everyday indignities and frustrations (“the not-so-unsuble hostilities of her male collegues”) Justice encounters in California’s largest metropolis. Woods has interviewed “real-life” police women on the LAPD in order to give an authenticity to the struggles that Justice faces, both as an African American and as a woman. There’s a nicely executed extended passage in O’Connor’s article about how Woods’ own background and family history, as well as her literary influences, have shaped her writing.

Mention of racial tensions in sunny Southern Cal brings to mind author Walter Mosley, who has repeatedly dealt with those same themes in his work. Mosley’s main L.A. protagonist is sometime-private investigator Easy Rawlins (Little Scarlett), and later, L.A. bookstore owner Paris Minton (Fear Itself). Mosley points out that an exploration of diversity in current mystery fiction is not “a break from the past,” but rather a continuation of it. While O’Connor writes that “race has always figured in Los Angeles noir, even in the days” of Raymond Chandler, Mosley says that contemporary writers are “critiquing society itself,” and not just “bad people.” O’Connor correctly states that the modern point of view of a social exploration does not have to be made solely by a morally upright protagonist. She cites Gary Phillips’ “antihero” protagonist, Zelmont Raines (The Jook), who has a “taste for crack,” as an example. Phillips tells the Times that as a black writer, “you can’t help but have that outsider experience,” which corresponds nicely with the tenor of noir.

Race is not the only focus of diversity, however. O’Connor observes that crime and mystery writers have taken up the mantle of social realism, once the province of authors such as John Steinbeck and Upton Sinclair. (O’Connor might also have mentioned James M. Cain as a societal barometer.) She states that a “new cast of ethnic and female writers” has taken upon themselves this social responsibility, and Mosley notes that “the people who have had critical success have spoken more to the social implications.” Michael Connelly reflects in the article that “writers want to get involved in social investigations and social reflection, of where we’re going as a society.”

There’s so much more to chew on in this piece. O’Connor acknowledges the effort of “white authors” who are striving to “revive history and re-examine ethnicities” that were “lost in the shuffle of assimilation.” She particularly mentions Denise Hamilton and her Russian heritage, which Hamilton makes use of in her latest novel, Prisoner of Memory. So many other author references are made (Jerrilyn Farmer, Patricia Smiley, Chester Himes--and amen, to that), that the breadth of O’Connor’s grasp on the subject is impressive, and well-executed.

As I said before, find a moment to read O’Connor’s story.