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-from Susan

I couldn’t resist answering the same question as last week’s: Dinner party for eight, seven of them characters from crime fiction, me the eighth? 

I love planning dinner parties, hoping to spark good conversation among people who may not think alike, but who think, and can talk, and are fun. Usually, there’s some constraint on the ideal guest list: someone will be out of town; person A has a boring partner who can kill conversations with a single syllable; person C doesn’t drive at night any more. But for this – no bounds!

No killers at my party, sorry. They may be fascinating but my guests have enough of crime in their daily fictional lives, and this is a night off. Everyone speaks enough English to participate in the evening, but it’s quite an international crew. Oh, and one more thing: I’d be tongue-tied with awe and fangirl crushes, so I’m sending Dani O’Rourke, my smooth fundraiser and witty observer, in my place. She moves in these social circles better than I do.

Yes, yes, it’s one more than the suggested eight, but that’s how my dinner parties usually work – too many delightful people so I squeeze someone in, spoiling the symmetry but assuring a great evening. I’ll stay in the kitchen, cooking and eavesdropping.

Archie Goodwin, who can slide into any group and operate with charm while getting people to tell him just about anything. Women love him. Ask him anything about New York City.

Lady Victoria Georgiana Charlotte Eugenie, a.k.a. Georgie, a British royal with no money but lots of class, perfect for Archie to flirt with. Get her to talk about the Irish aristocracy if you want to see her blush.

Aimee Leduc, whose baby will probably be asleep in my guest room along with Aimee’s little dog, Miles Davis, and who gives off waves of Parisian glamor and can talk European politics with expertise and verve.

Elouise Norton, who will probably be wearing her gun even though she’s far away from her LA comfort zone and who can get the women laughing at some male foolishness (to which Archie will merely raise an eyebrow and smile).

Guido and Paola Brunetti, because you shouldn’t even think about one half of this happily married, multi-lingual, brainy couple without the other, even if it means you can’t serve Italian food because Paola is the best home cook in Venice, maybe anywhere.

Precious Ramotswe because she will add the sugar and sweetness, offered in a lilting Botswana accent, that makes her a great storyteller, and because she is always the guest people fall in love with when they get to know her.

Rumpole just so all that sweetness and charm is counter-balanced by a cynical, acid-laced view of the world from an old Brit with a rumbling voice (and freed for the night from She Who Must Be Obeyed).

Bon appetit!

Images courtesy of my friend Mark Jordan, 

whose table designs are famous among his many friends.

Guests courtesy of:

1.     Rex Stout

2.     Rhys Bowen

3.     Cara Black

4.     Rachel Howzell Hall

5.     Donna Leon

6.     Alexander McCall Smith

7.     John Mortimer

We Met at Nine. We Met at Eight.

You are having a dinner party for eight, including yourself, in a memorable setting. Where is this setting and which seven characters in crime fiction would you invite and why?

We Met at Nine. We Met at Eight.

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As one of my guests refuses to budge from his home (and no one else is able to move him either), we meet in an elegant West 35th Street brownstone in midtown Manhattan. And if we’re dining chez Nero Wolfe, we have to invite Archie Goodwin, too, even if he’ll probably ask for a corned-beef sandwich and have to eat it outside. And, of course, Fritz Brenner will prepare the meal. But he won’t be at the table, which means that, counting me, we’re three.

Since we’ve already decided who’ll be cooking the meal, let’s settle on the rest of the help as well. I asked Bertie Wooster to lend us his man, Jeeves, for the evening, but he had a previous commitment at the Junior Ganymede Club and couldn’t make it. Unfortunately, Bertie took my inquiry into Jeeves’s availability as an invitation and more or less invited himself. So that bounder Bertie Wooster is in. Four.

Instead of Jeeves, I thought Mr. Rogers from Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None might just do in a pinch. After all, Rogers was a manservant who carried on in his duties without missing a beat after his wife was knocked off with poisoned brandy. Who said good help was hard to find?

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To select the wine, I’m going with Katie Stillwell from Nadine Nettmann’s delightful sommelier mysteries. She’s smart, knows her wine, and can always defuse a crisis if someone bites a cork instead of sniffs it.



To clean up after dinner, I’ve engaged Juliet Townsend from Lori Rader-Day’s Little Pretty Things to do the needful. Of course the guests are advised to keep a close eye on their belongings.

It would have been fun to include some gourmands on the guest list, but perhaps the two most famous in all of literature, Gargantua and Pantagruel, never appeared in any crime fiction that I’m aware of. And how would they have arrived? I doubt they’d have fit into the New York City Subway or a taxi, let alone squeezed through Nero’s front door. And their vulgarity and scatological humor might well have put the other guests off their feed. Still, imagine Gargantua smacking his enormous lips as he enjoyed an amuse-gueule of crispy-fried pilgrims, lovingly prepared by Fritz…

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That reminds me. The menu. After the aforementioned fried pilgrims, Fritz will follow with shad roe, braised duck, then salad. We’ll finish off with Fritz’s homemade apple pie, coffee, and brandy in Nero’s office.

Okay, back to the guests. The giants are out, and I still need four more diners. Since one can be blackballed in society for throwing a dull dinner party, we’ll need wit and sophistication in surfeit. And, since I’m known to enjoy my drink, I’m killing two birds with one stone and inviting Nick and Nora Charles. Their banter is second to none, and Nick can do double duty at the bar.

Nora: “Why don't you stay sober today?”
Nick: “We didn't come to New York to stay sober.”

And then there were two. We have five men and only one woman. Let’s correct that immediately. Anna Blanc, the adorable disinherited socialite in Jennifer Kincheloe’s brilliant and madcap series set in 1907 Los Angeles, may not know how to boil water, but we’re not asking her to cook. She’s been trained in the best finishing schools and, if she can manage to keep her clothes on through dessert, she’ll be the life of the party.

Finally, rounding out the guest list, my eighth diner is my favorite gal in all of crime fiction. She’s witty, can hold her drink, and won’t eat too much. (If anything at all.) Ellie Stone will sit next to me, as we have her future to discuss.

After overindulging on food and drink, we’ll stumble down the stairs to the street and hail cabs to take us to a speakeasy, where the cops surely will barge in to break things up. Everyone will scramble through a back exit. Everyone except for Bertie Wooster, who’ll get pinched. Don’t worry, though. He’ll give a fake name, pay the fine, and limp home, where Jeeves will have his famous hangover remedy ready for the master.

A hell of a party

You are having a dinner party for eight, including yourself, in a memorable setting. Where is this setting and which seven characters in crime fiction would you invite and why?

by Dietrich Kalteis

This question makes me feel like I’m about to sit down at a dinner table of strangers in an Agatha Christie novel, just as the lights are about to go out. It also reminds me of the board game Clue. 

So, I’m thinking along the lines of an Agatha Christie mystery, but instead of setting the party in the dining salon of a Nile steamer, I’ll make it Vancouver and invite my character Rene Beckman from Triggerfish. He not only lives here, but he’s cool and he’s got a boat, and we could hold the party onboard. He could take us to some cove on the backside of Bowen Island where we could anchor and party on a remote beach.

And since it’s a make-believe dinner party, we’ll need a chef. Julia Child would be perfect, or if she’s unavailable, Meryl Streep could play Julia. Neither of them are from crime fiction, but somebody’s got to cook. And since the guests are from crime fiction and might be shady, we’ll need some security. Hercule Poirot would seem appropriate, but I’ll go with Inspector Clouseau to solve any potential crimes that might pop up. Hercule would get the job done, but Clouseau’s more likely to add some humor to the situation.

Now, the dinner guests. There are so many interesting characters in crime fiction, and as much as I’d love to invite Lew Archer, Mike Hammer, VI Warshawski, Phillip Marlowe, Amos Walker, Eddie Coyle, Easy Rawlins, Harry Hole, Jack Reacher, Lisbeth Salander, Travis McGee, Jackie Burke, Dave Robicheaux, Raylan Givens and Sam Spade, things would likely get too intense. And Spenser would be wise-cracking all night, Matt Scudder would drink all the booze, and Parker would likely make off with the silverware.

So, aside from Rene Beckman, I’d love to chat with Dara Addie, from my novel The Deadbeat Club, and Frankie del Rey from Zero Avenue, because they’re both cool and would likely get along, and Frankie could bring along her guitar and play some tunes. Besides, what writer wouldn’t want to meet some of his or her own characters — kind of like a dream come true, or finding yourself on a movie set. And along with Rene, Dara and Frankie, I’d invite Karen Sisco and Jack Foley from Elmore Leonard’s Out of Sight. If nothing else, there’s sure to be some interesting dinner conversation. We’ll just have to make sure Karen isn’t armed. Another couple that would be interesting, although scheming and possibly dangerous, would be Frank Chambers and Cora Papadakis from James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice. Although it would be safer to opt for Marge and Norm Gunderson from the movie Fargo. He’s not exactly a crime fiction character, but he is married to the chief of police of Brainerd, Miinesota, and they’re a cute couple. 

The guest card is full, but maybe we can sneak one more onboard as a bartender or something. And it would be a toss-up between Hoke Moseley from Charles Willeford’s Miami Blues fame, or CW Sughrue from James Crumley’s The Last Good Kiss. They’re both intriguing characters, and either would know their way around mixing the drinks. And also, they could lend Rene a hand with the boat and help Clouseau keep an eye on the rest of the guests. 

It would surely be a memorable evening, one guaranteed to have good food, good drink, good music and lots to talk about. One thing I would bring along is one of those long handled flashlights just in case all the lights suddenly went out.

Lively Dinner

Terry Shames here, with this week’s topic: the dinner party: who I would invite and where it would be held.

The last part is easy. It has to be at my house around my dinner table. I love to cook. I love to present people with good food and wine.

                                              

But who would be there? I’m looking for widely-read people with strong opinions and the thinking to back up their opinions.

My husband would have to be there, of course. He has a wide-ranging intellect and is not afraid to say he doesn’t know something. He is eager to learn. I’ve seen him equally interested in car mechanics, scientists, and students. When confronted with a differing opinion, his ego doesn’t get in the way of the conversation.

I want James Anderson. Not only did his 2015 book, The Never-Open Desert Diner fill me with awe, but conversations I had with him were deeply satisfying. I’ve read his opinions about authors’ work and he always has an interesting slant. He’s a gentleman and won’t allow the conversation to get out of hand. Besides, if I invite him, he might bring me a copy of his long-anticipated new book, Lullaby Road.

Camille Minichino has to be there. She’s one of those rare people who you sit down to converse with and before you know it hours have passed. She’s smart and has a deadly wit. And she doesn’t hesitate to say what’s on her mind.

If David Corbett isn’t there, it would be a shame. I love his writing. Each of his novels has depth and breadth. Did I say I want someone with strong opinions? Well, he provides that along with a great, shouting laugh. His wife Mette has to come, too. She of that warm smile, and the ability to hold conversation on her own as well.

Laurie King would be a great addition. Another author whose books I admire for their density. Because she seems quiet and self-contained, you may think she is a wallflower. But when she talks, she brings amazing energy to the conversation. I always come away from conversation with her thinking over something she said.

This gets harder as I come down to the wire. I think a dinner party cannot be more than eight people.

My last two: George Saunders and my friend Joan Waranoff.

I have always read Saunders’s brilliant short stories, and read Pastoralia with awe. I recently read Lincoln in the Bardo and was staggered. What an amazing imagination he has. The only thing I would worry about is whether he is so much in that dizzy head of his that he would not be much of a conversationalist. I once spent an evening in the company of Don DeLillo, and I’m not sure he said three words. I got the feeling if I could persuade him to talk, he’d be fascinating. To drag Saunders out, I’d have to seat him near my husband, the master of asking probing questions. Oh, and one little perk: Saunders is a fellow Texan.

As for my friend Joan, when I read a book that she has also read, I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say about it. We recently read a highly acclaimed novel, which disappointed both of us in different ways. Her comments made me laugh out loud. What she found irritating was something I never noticed, but once she mentioned it I couldn’t imagine how I missed it. As for opinions, she is content to hear what others say, and then she drops the bomb. She’ll keep it lively.

Wait! That’s nine. Oh, well. Who’s counting?

Oh, what to serve at this dinner party. It can’t be something fussy, because I want to be there for the whole thing. I don’t know who has dietary differences, so I have to have something substantial in every category. So the vegetable part it would be ratatouille—strong enough to stand on its own for a vegetarian; then chicken, because everyone likes chicken, and some people don’t eat red meat, and some people don’t like fish—I’d probably cook the Chicken Thigs with Lemon from Genius Recipes, by Kristen Miglore; and a lovely salad with goat cheese. Dessert? French cheese with honey and a dessert wine. Oh, about the wine. Something exquisite, both a red and white. And for those who don’t drink, I’d probably make a homemade ginger ale, which is better than most wines.

Maybe I’ll start doing this once a month. That way I can include all kinds of people that I long to include.

Why Crime Fiction?

Why did you decide to become a writer and in particular a writer of crime fiction?

by Paul D. Marks

To make lots and lots of money and be famous and see my name and picture plastered on billboards and the sides of busses and go visiting on Fallon and Kimmel. That’s why.

But, I’m not getting rich and the only place my picture is plastered is in the post office. So time to

delve into the whys and wherefores and open up that whole Pandora’s Box of psychopathology that makes me, uh, me. And that made me want to become a writer of crime fiction. But we won’t delve too deep. You never know what you might find down in the depths.

So, besides the riches and fame, what prompted me to write crime fiction: I write it so I can kill people...on the page that I can't kill in real life...........

Related to that is the desire to see justice served as it so often isn’t in real life. That said, in much of what I write there are no neat bow-tied endings. And even when parts of the stories are tied up other parts are left open-ended. Kind of like life. So, justice is often served on some level, but maybe not neatly and maybe not legal justice, but some kind of street justice. Unless it’s a totally noir tale where there truly might not be justice, at least not in terms of how we normally think of it.

Writing crime fiction also gives me a way to comment on things that I want to comment on. Also to explore different points of view about those things, via various characters, including those that might not necessarily jibe with my own thoughts. Kind of like when you did debates in school and you had to take the other side of the issue, whether you agreed with it or not.

And, as RM said in a post from a while back, “With crime fiction I get to write about people in trouble, not just criminals and victims, but the people who happen to be police officers as well.” It's so true, and crime fiction is about so much more than whodunit. It's about all the people affected by the crime. As such, it gives us a vehicle to explore the human condition (now that sounds pretty hifalutin) but in a structured story with a plot that keeps us interested (hopefully) and moving forward.

But ultimately I want to entertain. I’ve talked about this before, and I don’t want to beat on a dead Sturges, but the Preston Sturges movie Sullivan’s Travels makes the point very well about entertaining. It’s the story of a film director who makes movies like Ants in Your Plants of 1939. But he thinks it’s light and silly junk. He wants to make the ponderous message movie Oh Brother Where Art Thou. But through his adventures he learns that what people really want is to laugh – and to be entertained.

Now, there’s not generally a lot of yucks in crime fiction, though there are some exceptions. But the best crime fiction is entertaining first. Sam Goldwyn famously might have said, if I want to send a message I’ll call Western Union. Which is not to say that crime writing can’t have a message, just to say that it shouldn’t hit you over the head. The best writing makes you think, but it doesn’t tell you what to think. A crime writer can illuminate aspects of society, good and bad, without being preachy or moralistic. My novel White Heat deals with race and racism in the form of a fast-paced, intense mystery thriller. And while I hope I make some points about those subjects, my first goal is to entertain. The sequel to White Heat, which may actually see the light of day one of these days, does the same thing about another pressing issue of life today – immigration.

And, of course, I enjoy reading crime fiction and watching crime-related movies. As I’ve stated here before, I’m a “movie guy,” and I came to a lot of crime fiction via the movies. Anyone who knows me knows I love film noir and in that genre there are few heroes, at least of the conventional variety. I’ve done a lot of different types of writing, mainstream, humorous/satire, screenplays of various genres. But crime writing/fiction and noir allow me to explore what good and evil are and where the boundaries between them are sometimes blurred.

So there you have it, now I can stuff the bats back into the belfry and close the lid to Pandora’s Box.

Why do you write crime fiction?

***

And now for the usual BSP:

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"Why did you decide to become a writer and why a crime writer?" by Catriona

I wanted to be a writer my whole life, ever since my big sisters taught me to read and write, playing at schools when we were wee.

But it took me till I was thirty-five to take the plunge. Thing is I didn't know any writers, I'd never even met any writers and it was outside the scope of my dreams. (Does anyone else remember finding out that books didn't just exist, like rocks or rivers, but that someone had made them? I do.)

So I went to university to study English literature, and that might have been the springboard right there, right? Except the way English literature was studied sucked all the joy out of novels for me.  So I switched to linguistics, and fiction went back to being fun on the sidelines again.

After I graduated, I went to work in a library. Another near miss, because I was a long way from the fiction, working in the local history department. After two years of swithering between a postgraduate degree in library science and more linguistics, I plumped for linguistics and did a PhD.

There's a sort of a greased slope with steep sides, when you're doing a PhD. In your last year you apply for academic jobs along with everyone else. So I did. And I got one. It was in a school of English, forty literature scholars and four lonely linguists. Again, I was brushing up pretty close to a lo-ho-hot of fiction. And again I hated it more every day. That job, that place, sucked even more joy even more thoroughly out of even more kinds of literature. Novels, poetry and plays all started to feel grey and pointless.

One night, when I was moaning to my friend about how much I hated my job, she asked why I didn't do something else. I told her there was nothing else within reason I wanted to do. The only thing I really wanted to do was write fiction. There was a long silence as a big unspoken bubble of 'Duh' formed over us. The next day (in my memory, but then I make things up for a living) I resigned.

I sat down to write the first word of my first book on the first of January 2001 and have loved every day since, have never had a full day of undiluted regret.

Twenty-something books later, I don't regret the first thirty-five years. Not even the five years teaching at the University of Deathly Despond. The way I look at it now is the only way to get where I am is the way I came and there's nowhere I'd rather be.

And why crime fiction?  Come on!  It's all of the above plus a wit-pitting puzzle to boot. What's not to love?