Greener grass on the other side

One of the more interesting anecdotal trends I’ve noticed in the few years I’ve been a serious crime fiction fan is the tendency for some people to prefer novels written in the other hemisphere. In other words, there are a number of North American fans who love British crime novels, as well as the reverse–Brits who much prefer American-based ones. This was especially apparent going through the London-based bookstores; Murder One does a very brisk business with US-based novelists, and when I’d hang out in the bookstore formerly known as Crime in Store, I’d see a number of customers gobbling up American cozies (yup, even the cat mysteries.)

Anyone who’s read this site for a while realizes I have a strong slant towards UK-based crime fiction, especially the darker sort. So initially, it came as a bit of surprise to see John Rickards post about why he doesn’t care for much of what passes for Brit crime. Most of his issues, he explains, are with the inherent limitations of setting such books in a small country, and with police procedure:

[Y]ou can’t have the cop getting into blazing gun battles with hordes of evildoers as he fights to get to the truth. Even if he was on an Armed Response Unit, as soon as he shot anyone he’d be instantly and automatically suspended from duty while an investigation was carried out. Standard procedure. Police shootings are staggeringly rare here (which I’m certainly not complaining about, but again it limits what you can reasonably do with your characters).

And then we have that police structural situation again. Stories are based primarily on conflict of some sort – obstacles to be overcome – both in the wider plot sense and in the individual’s personal sense. To get work-related conflict in the US, I can have a cop from, say, a state police department and he can be perfectly fine with his own department, an absolutely model officer, but suffer conflicts over jurisdiction and so on with individual city PDs, sheriffs departments and other states. In the UK, I can’t because we don’t have them and it doesn’t work that way. The only way conflict can come in at work is if he argues with either his superiors or his subordinates. BANG. Instant ‘maverick cop on the edge’. Welcome to Clichéville.

On another board, someone else responded to the general gist of Rickards’ argument that what this is really about is mediocre writing, not necessarily the inherent flaws of a country-based genre. I’d have to agree. There are plenty of cliches and standard features in US crime that are reused on a constant basis, but it isn’t just the opening up of setting and space that makes them work–it’s the alchemic melding of those elements, plus the requisite plot/character/story ones, that yields a successful book to some amorphous majority (because there’s always the Factor X taste element.) But having said that, John’s argument does point to the aftereffects of the Amerification of British crime fiction; some of it’s been for the better, and some of it really hasn’t been.

I, too, could live without another serial killer novel–whether written by an American or British hand. This newfound intolerance dampened my enjoyment for Val McDermid’s new book–a perfectly good book, looking at it fairly objectively–but containing yet another chunk devoted to the killer’s POV and a final twist that struck me as incredibly unbelievable. But did my mixed take result from the fact that it’s set in a fictional Manchester? Not really. But the realization that serial killings just aren’t so common in England did have something to do with it. And for whatever reason, the suspension of disbelief that naturally happens with a great (or at least, very good) crime novel didn’t happen here. Instead my brain kicked in, providing running commentary and a disturbing amount of over-analysis. If I’d been fully engaged and absorbed, this wouldn’t happen.

Same goes with the police procedural and PI fiction. If there’s any whiff of stock situations or overused devices, then I’m going to stay away, and if I sense it starting, the analytical brain kicks in again. I suppose this explains why another highly touted novel, John Connor’s PHOENIX, really didn’t do it for me. Sure, Karen Sharpe’s even more angst-ridden than her cop colleagues in crime, and the writing was reasonably competent, but I just didn’t buy that all these byzantine drug-related events were happening in Yorkshire. Add the fact that the big reveal wasn’t so big after all and I was left distinctly underwhelmed.

So OK, I’ve said at the top that I like Brit crime and here I am slagging it. So why do I still read it and what appeals to me? Essentially, the best writers over there don’t have the same slavish need to follow convention, don’t have the same history than do a lot of American mystery writers. So they meld influences from the UK, the US and elsewhere and create their own spin. In other words, they take chances, and even when they don’t always pay off, at least I appreciate the effort.

When I read any of the writers I included in the PWG special issue, there’s something that crackles, an almost electric feeling of recognition. I can feel that Ken Bruen’s been through the abyss and come back to write rage-fuelled crime novels. I feel the injustice Martyn Waites is exposed to, the emotions he taps into with each of his books. I respond to Stella Duffy’s acute examination of social complexities in a sort of Austen-on-acid approach (with Kevin Wignall providing a similar feel in a very, very different way with his hitman novels.) Yorkshire, after what David Peace has done with his Red Riding Quartet, should really be left alone now. And there’s something really special happening in Scotland: Louise Welsh’s wonderful prose and her skewed sense of Glasgow. Denise Mina and her emotionally open, raw-nerve-ending Garnethill novels. Allan Guthrie’s no-holds-barred approach, and Paul Johnston’s incredible scope and intellectual approach to the PI genre. And let’s not forget Carol Anne Davis, who writes some of the most uncomfortable noir novels I’ve ever read. Then there’s the humor, blacker than ever–Colin Bateman may misfire a bit too often but when he hits, it’s great. Zane Radcliffe is building himself up as the heir apparent, and Chris Haslam’s debut novel, starring a drug-loving nihilist, nearly made me want to start mainlining–and I’ve never done drugs in my life.

I’ve named enough names, and lord knows I’ve neglected a few. But ultimately, whether you cross the pond to get your crime novel fix or stay within your own borders, it really is about Factor X–what works for you and what doesn’t, and to some extent, why it does or does not. But I would like to know more about the “greener grass” effect–is it about wish fulfillment, feeling kinship with another country not your own, or something deeper, like my own response to my feeling that there are more chances taken in the best UK crime fiction?