Today's Reading
MEMOIR
CHAPTER ONE
So I'm writing again. Which is good news, I suppose, for those wanting a second book, but more unfortunate for the people who had to die so I could write it.
I'm starting this from my cabin on the train, as I want to get a few things down before I forget or exaggerate them. We're parked, not at a station but just sitting on the tracks about an hour from Adelaide. The long red desert of the last four days has been replaced first by the golden wheat belt and then by the lush green paddocks of dairy farms, the previously flat horizon now a rolling grass ocean peppered with the slow, steady turn of dozens of wind turbines. We should have been in Adelaide by now, but we've had to stop so the authorities can clean up the bodies. I say clean up, but I think the delay is mainly that they're having trouble finding them. Or at least all the pieces.
So here I am with a head start on my writing.
My publisher tells me sequels are tricky. There are certain rules to follow, like doling out backstory for both those who've read me before and those who've never heard of me. I'm told you don't want to bore the returnees, but you don't want to confuse the newbies by leaving too much out. I'm not sure which one you are, so let's start with this:
My name's Ernest Cunningham, and I've done this before. Written a book, that is. But, also, solved a series of murders.
At the time, it came quite naturally. The writing, not the deaths, of which the causes were the opposite of natural, of course. Of the survivors, I thought myself the most qualified to tell the story, as I had something that could generously be called a "career" in writing already. I used to write books about how to write books: the rules for writing mystery books, to be precise. And they were more pamphlets than books, if you insist on honesty. Self- published, a buck apiece online. It's not every writer's dream, but it was a living. Then when everything happened last year up in the snow and the media came knocking, I thought I might as well apply some of what I knew and have a crack at writing it all down. I had help, of course, in the guiding principles of Golden Age murder mysteries set out by writers like Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle and, in particular, a bloke named Ronald Knox, who wrote out the "Ten Commandments of Detective Fiction." Knox isn't the only one with a set of rules: various writers over the years have had a crack at breaking down a murder mystery into a schematic. Even Henry McTavish had a set.
If you think you don't already know the rules to writing a murder mystery, trust me, you do. It's all intuitive. Let me give you an example. I'm writing this in first person. That means, in order to have sat down and physically written about it, I survive the events of the book. First person equals survival. Apologies in advance for the lack of suspense when I almost bite the dust in chapter 28.
The rules are simple: nothing supernatural; no surprise identical twins; the killer must be introduced early on (in fact, I've already done that and we're not even through the first chapter yet, though I expect you may have skipped the prelims) and be a major enough character to impact the plot. That last one's important. Gone are the days when the butler dunnit: in order to play fair, the killer must have a name, often used. To prove the point, I'll tell you that I use the killer's name, in all its forms, exactly 106 times from here. And, most important, the essence of every rule boils down to this: absolutely no concealing obvious truths from the reader.
That's why I'm talking to you like this. I am, you may have realized, a bit chattier than your usual detective in these books. That's because I'm not going to hide anything from you. This is a fair-play mystery, after all.
And so I promise to be that rarity in modern crime novels: a reliable narrator. You can count on me for the truth at every turn. No hoodwinking. I also promise to say the dreaded sentence "It was all a dream" only once, and even then I believe it's permissible in context.
Alas, no writers cared to jot down any rules specifically for sequels (Conan Doyle famously delighted in killing off Sherlock Holmes, begrudgingly bringing him back just for the money), so I'm going it alone here. The only help I have is my publisher, whose advice seems to come via the marketing department.
Her first piece of advice was to avoid repetition. That makes good sense—nobody wants to read the same old plots rehashed again and again. But her second piece of advice was to not deliver a book completely unlike the first, as readers will expect more of the same. Just to reiterate: I don't have any control over the events of the book. I'm just writing down what happened, so those are two difficult rules to follow. I will point out that one inadvertent mimicry is the curious coincidence that both cases are solved by a piece of punctuation. Last year it was a full stop. This time, a comma saves the day.
And what sort of mystery book would this be if we didn't have at least one anagram, code or puzzle? So that's in here as well.
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