Because I’m immersed in my third murder mystery set in Santa Monica, I read other murder mystery authors almost exclusively. Why? I’m interested inthe dark trappings of murder and death.
It’s the puzzle. It’s keeping violence and mayhem at a distance maybe. It’s hoping to learn some new wrinkle on human behavior.
I’m curious to watch how other murder mystery writers perceive the world, to find out if I’m weird or not. Am I weird?
I’m not one of those who flips back to look for half-remembered clues to figure whodunnit before the story ends. I’m content to look for the scaffolding to see how the author unravels the plot. I can wait, if I like the book and the characters, content that I’m in good hands.
But once in awhile a book comes my way where nobody dies violently, and I enjoy it hugely. I wonder what happened to my resolution to read the Russian classics, all of De Maupassant’s stories, Hemingway from beginning to end. I still intend to, really I do.
But writing takes so much time. And as I get older, my energy wanes. Am I the only one in my sixties who can’t imagine pulling an all-nighter, even for a real page-turner?