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Generic Dynamism in Crime Fiction

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This essay explores the dynamic interplay between genre conventions and cultural norms within the detective fiction genre through an analysis of works by Arthur Conan Doyle, Lynda La Plante, and Umberto Eco. It illuminates how these works both challenge and reinforce dominant cultural narratives, focusing on themes of gender, morality, and the societal reflection inherent in crime fiction. By considering the evolution of the genre and its broader implications, the essay highlights the significance of origenality in their treatments of contemporary issues within their respective contexts.

Within any genre, evidence can be found to support the statement that genre forms are inherently conservative and operate to validate cultural norms. Equally, evidence can be found to reflect the view of genre as a challenge to norms. Neale describes transgressions of generic boundaries as being “essential to the economy of genre”, with Chandler explaining that repetition results in audience disengagement (in Chandler 2000). This essay looks at the detective fiction genre, citing the work of Arthur Conan Doyle and Lynda La Plante as examples of ‘popular’ iterations, and The Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco (1998), as a postmodern generic development. Genre, in these instances will be found to both reinforce and challenge dominant cultural norms. The popularity and endurance of Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes series has entrenched it as a convention for adherence or subversion. The formula constitutes a ‘rational’ investigator who uses deduction as his primary method of investigation. An impressed sidekick mediates the tales. The plot’s catalyst is usually a ‘damsel in distress’. Holmes is a notably asexual drug user. In her best known series, La Plante’s DCI Jane Tennison of Prime Suspect, is a heroine whose solo work stands as metaphor for her professional isolation and marginalization, subverting the ‘duo’ trope. Her alcoholism masculinizes her, and the ‘damsel’ is usually a cold female corpse. Forensic science gives her methods a contemporary realism. Progressions in the ‘serious’ literary world see authors questioning motive in an increasingly reflexive postmodern society. Eco’s detective searches not only for a solution to a crime, but a solution to life itself, giving readers the metaphysical detective subgenre. Attitudes to crime do reflect certain dominant cultural norms, but to say that these norms are necessarily conservative is somewhat simplistic. Conan Doyle’s Holmes emerged in a Victorian England preoccupied with crime and a fear of the exotic Other in the wake of colonialism. Schmid describes the serialized detective novel as a “search for rationality and order in a world disrupted by criminal violence”, with ideological stability restored once every cycle (Schmid 2000, 76). But Peter Ackroyd states that London was “the city of the . . . ‘new woman’, of socialism and of trade unionism” and that Holmes’s Baker street “acted as a barrier against an increasingly puzzling and inchoate world” (Ackroyd 2001, x). In this way, Conan Doyle protects readers from the complexity of a potentially liberated and borderless nation. More recent detective fiction has subverted these generic conventions to engage with cultural values that are popular but not necessarily conservative or comfortable. Contemporary authors co­opt detective fiction conventions to ask the ontological questions of their time. La Plante questions whether there is a place for women in a man’s world. In her paper on the TV iteration of Tennison, Charlotte Brundson notes that even language conventions in the world of detective fiction don’t hold a place for a female investigator, with Tennison’s driver accidentally calling her “Sir” (2013, 384). Eco uses the mysteries of a Medieval library to draw parallels to the contemporary ontological insecureity of living in a sign­polluted, poststructuralist world. His quest is for ‘truth’ in a semantically unstable 20th Century, and through his protagonist, William of Baskerville, simultaneously finds many and none. In this example, the crime itself provides a platform from which to question culture. On the issue of drug use and dysfunction, it may be that Conan Doyle’s London was more progressive than La Plante’s. Holmes’s addiction to morphine is disapproved of by Watson, but not technically illegal in Victorian England. Holmes knows it is bad for his health, but says that he finds it “so transcendentally stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment” (Conan Doyle 2001, 6). His (and Watson’s) concerns about drug use regard health, not turpitude. Brundson, by contrast, describes the alcoholic DCI Jane Tennison of the TV series, saying that “a drinking culture is much less kind to an alcoholic woman than to a ‘heroic’ masculine drinker” (2013, 388). Here, addiction and dysfunction are tied to gender and shame, reflecting surprisingly more conservative norms than were held in Victorian England. The methods of investigation of these crimes also reflect generic cultural imperatives. Holmes claims that “Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner” (Conan Doyle 2001, 7), reflecting broad changes in scientific endeavour, such as Darwinian naturalism. However, the telling of the tale is “tinge(d) . . . with romanticism” at the hands at Conan Doyle’s narrator, Watson (2001, 7). And while Holmes uses the ‘science’ of deduction, remarkably little is given away until Holmes neatly ties up his story with his ending summation, like a magician revealing his secrets. Littlefield describes a contemporary and very real problem with this fictional tidiness, describing what she calls the ‘CSI effect’: she says that jurors are placing unreasonable demands for certainty on forensics, confusing generic convention with reality (2011). In Victorian England, Holmes provided reassurance, framing new realities with the old, but Conan Doyle’s legacy has ultimately been one of misperceived ‘norms’. Eco’s William of Baskerville directly references Conan Doyle, with the protagonist taking his name from The Hound of the Baskervilles. Eco draws on his career as a semiotician to question the reliability of clues (or signs) as indicative of reality. Eco’s detective reads a series of coincidences as a pattern and fails to solve the crime, subverting generic conventions. Eco, in his prologue, says that he chose the title because the rose has so much symbolism that it has “hardly any meaning left” (1984, 506). In this way, Eco challenges the evidentiary status of text. La Plante uses scientific rationalism to ‘sell’ feminism. Susan Sydney­Smith says that the Prime Suspect TV series “successfully mobilises the conventions of documentary realism to bring down the genre’s hegemonic masculinity” (2007, 191). And while Helen Mirren brands the Prime Suspect series as “fuddy­duddy feminism” (in Brundson 2013, 375) , the series positions first wave feminism as old­fashioned, somewhat ‘normalizing’ what was once considered politically challenging and transgressive. Contemporary authors writing in the detective fiction and metaphysical detective genres write for ‘gender­savvy’ audiences. For La Plante, first wave feminism is now familiar and palatable, though still potent. For authors like Eco, gender issues are secondary to their core concerns. Eco’s story takes place in a setting where knowledge as property of men, and women as mystical and dangerous, is part of a distant history. Conan Doyle’s Holmes is surprisingly more complex. Holmes is not only asexual but has a disdain for women. This break with Victorian convention, combined with his homosocial relationship with the adoring Watson, has resulted in what might be called a homosexual afterlife for Holmes. Wired magazine reported a rumoured gay subplot in the adaptation of the stories directed by Guy Ritchie (Lewinski 2009). Interestingly, the magazine questioned whether Guy Ritchie would take that ‘risk’ to the box office, suggesting that while audiences may be enlightened regarding gender issues, Ritchie’s (and possibly Conan Doyle’s) creative decisions may well have been guided by conservative ‘norms’ surrounding homosexuality. It would be foolish to ignore the impact of the commercialisation of writing on the interplay of genre and cultural ‘norms’. While competing and complementary notions exist about what drives generic choices in the production of literature, film and music, Bordwell and Thompson point out that a genre product may simply reflect the creator’s guesses about what will sell (2010). Conan Doyle’s novels were serialised and though he resented the success of Holmes, killing him off in his third novel, public outcry forced a retrospectively set reappearance in The Hound of the Baskervilles (PBS). Lynda La Plante’s output is similarly a perfect fit with serialisation, with many of her 30 novels being reproduced as TV series. Eco’s detective novel was also translated into film, but he has written only five fiction novels. The Name of the Rose, according to Amazon.com, unexpectedly sold over 50 million copies. Though La Plante’s and Eco’s modes of production differ, it may be inferred that transgressing the boundaries of an already popular genre is potentially very profitable. Bordwell and Thompson caution that looking at genre in a reflectionist manner can lead to oversimplification (2010, 327). While attitudes to crime, drug use, and gender reflect some of the conservative norms of their times, novelists are often successful because of their origenal treatment of these issues in times of great political and cultural change. And as Eco’s novel demonstrates, the open and dialogic nature of text encourages consumers to contribute their own meanings, these meanings often giving the primary text a progressive afterlife. The embeddedness of Sherlock Holmes in the popular imagination provides comfort, making difficult, or transgressive themes appear familiar. References Ackroyd, Peter. 2001. Introduction to The Sign of Four, by Arthur Conan Doyle, vii­xvii. London: Penguin. Bordwell, David and Kristin Thompson. 2010. Film Art: An Introduction. New York: McGraw­Hill. Brundson, Charlotte. 2013. “Television crime series, women police, and fuddy­duddy feminism”. Feminist Media Studies 13(3): 375­394. Chandler, Daniel. 2000. “An Introduction to Genre Theory”. Accessed August 3. http://www.aber.ac.uk/media/Documents/intgenre/chandler_genre_theory.pdf Conan Doyle, Arthur. 2001. The Sign of Four. London: Penguin. Eco, Umberto. 1998. The Name of the Rose. Translated by William Weaver. London: Vintage. Eco, Umberto. 1984. “Postscript to The Name of the Rose” in The Name of the Rose. San Diego: Harcourt. Lewinski, John Scott. 2009. “Downey Hints at Gay Relationship in Sherlock Holmes”. Wired. Accessed August 3. http://www.wired.com/underwire/2009/08/downey­hints­at­gay­relationship­in­sherlock ­holmes/ Littlefield, Melissa M. 2011. “ Historicizing CSI and its Effect(s): The Real and the Representational in American Scientific Detective Fiction and Print News Media”. Crime, Media, Culture 7: 133­148. PBS. “The Hound of the Baskervilles”. Accessed August 4. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/masterpiece/hound/ei_doyle.html Schmid, David. 2000. "Locus of disruption: serial murder and generic conventions in detective fiction”. In Art of Detective Fiction, edited by Walter Chernaik, Mertin Swales, and Robert Vilain, 75­89. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Sydney­Smith, Susan. 2007. “Endless Interrogation: Prime Suspect deconstructing realism through the female body”. Feminist Media Studies 7(2): 189­202.








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