Back in March I started a review of a short story at Little Big Crimes as follows:What should the opening sentence of a short story do? The only thing it must do is make you want to read the second sentence. But it can do so much more. For instance:
* It can set the mood.
* It can tell you something about the plot.
* It can introduce one or more characters.
I then provided the first sentence of the story I was examining, "Come Forth and Be Glad in the Sun," by Mat Coward.
"Of all the people we have ever kidnapped, you are by far the rudest."
Lovely. But thinking about what I wrote I remembered that way back in 2009 I and some of the other bloggers at Criminal Brief created lists of our favorite opening lines from our own short stories. I decided to update it. So here are some of my best opening gambits from 2010 on.
Stephen Shane's gun went off twice while he was cleaning it, accidentally killing his wife and her lover.
The best day of my life started when I got arrested.
What am I?
Dr. Rayford Mason Pantell, B.S., M.S., Ph.D., current holder
of the Lorenzen Endowed Chair for Biology, stared down at the naked corpse of
his graduate student, Natalie Corsuch.
I am often asked who is responsible for what the Fourth
Estate refers to as my “career in crime.”
When Domici walked into the office , Coyle stepped out from behind the door and hit him with a sap.
The Encyclopedia of American Race Riots.
Sean was running late even before he ran into the corpse.
"What is it," Leopold Longshanks asked, "about women and bad boys?"
The drunk made a speech as he climbed on board the All Nighter bus,
explaining at the top of his lungs that he was Patrick X. Sorley,
multimillionaire hedge fund manager, and the first thing he was going to
do bright and early the next day when he returned to his corner office
high above Montgomery Street would be arrange for the firing of the
bartender who had taken his car keys and then kicked him out after
pouring only one more measly bourbon.
When Randolph was six years
old he discovered he could control gravity.
Tourists wandered down the Ramblas like sheep waiting to be fleeced.
Lorrimer didn't realize he was in a fight until the little man kicked him.
Leopold
Longshanks blamed it on a terrorist plot.
"Here's the story," said the man who's name was probably not Richard.
Michael, standing at the ShortCon 2025 registration table moments before attendees arrived.
“Banzai Pipeline,” published May 23 by Kelp Journal, is one of the stories I used during my presentation at ShortCon 2025 as an example of writing a story for an anthology submission call, but finishing well past the deadline.
At the conference, I presented “Writing for Anthologies: How to Slip Between the Covers,” which was an overview of the various types of anthologies, how they are conceived and assembled, things writers can do to improve the odds of acceptance, and what to do with stories that didn’t make the cut.
And I veered a bit off-track when I briefly discussed “Banzai Pipeline,” a story that exists because of an anthology’s open call for submissions but was never submitted to that anthology.
A while back there was a call for crime fiction short stories inspired by musical one-hit wonders, and I wondered what song with the fewest number of words in its lyrics could inspire a story. The answer was:
Two. Two words.
I chose The Safari’s “Wipe Out.”
(The Champs’s “Tequila,” with a single word repeated three times, might be an even greater challenge.)
The sound of a breaking surfboard, followed by a maniacal laugh and someone shouting, “Wipe Out,” provided both the setting and the inciting incident for my story.
Writing the opening proved easy enough. The surfer who wiped out dies, his girlfriend thinks he was murdered, and the private eye she hires to investigate knows nothing about surfing.
Then I wiped out. The wave of inspiration collapsed beneath me, I found myself floundering, and the file remained unfinished on my computer as I moved on to other projects.
One day, while falling into a research rabbit hole for another project, I discovered “Hawaii: Black Royalty in the Pacific,” and what I read upended everything I thought I knew about the ethnicity of our 50th state.
And I knew what my story was about, and knew it wasn’t just about investigating a possible murder.
I finished the story, changed the title from “Wipe Out” to “Banzai Pipeline” and submitted it to various publications until it found a home with Kelp Journal.
Michael, pontificating about anthologies at ShortCon 2025.
NOT THE FIRST TIME
Something similar happened with “Denim Mining” (AHMM, May/June 2023).
I had already begun writing “Denim Mining” when the 2019 Bouchercon in Dallas announced that the theme of their anthology was denim and diamonds. Incorporating diamonds into the story I had already begun was no problem. Unfortunately, as with “Banzai Pipeline,” the wave of inspiration collapsed when I ran into a problem.
The solution, in this case, wasn’t diving down a research rabbit hole, but help from fellow SleuthSayer Leigh Lundin. He provided a few suggestions as well as information about gunpowder that gave me what I needed to finish the story.
LESSONS LEARNED
The lesson I intended to impart at ShortCon when I shared the story of “Banzai Pipeline” is to never give up on a good story even if the inspiring project’s submission window ends before you finish writing.
And if you do finish your story in time, and it gets rejected, keep it circulating. That’s what fellow SleuthSayer Joseph Walker did with “Give or Take a Quarter of an Inch,” rejected from the same Boucheron anthology to which I had intended to submit “Demin Mining.” He placed it with Tough, it was selected for inclusion in The Best Mystery Stories of the Year, and then it was reprinted in The Saturday Evening Post.
So, how about you? Have you missed a submission deadline and still sold the resulting story? Or has a story rejected by the editor of a themed anthology later appeared in a better market or received recognition?
I
like mysteries and thrillers where the good guys win and the bad guys
lose.I think this is true for most readers.I know there’s a
market for noir stories that end up ambiguously, or with evil overcoming earnest
virtue, but I’m not interested in that stuff.I find it depressing, or vaguely sociopathic.And no fun whatsoever.
That happy endings are far more
common than stories with decent people being ground into dust suggests that most people are
inherently good, because they want stories that reinforce their beliefs and
hopes for humankind.
This is my happy thought and I’m
sticking with it.
I know that evil exists in the world
and that bad things happen to good people all the time.I don’t need books I read as escapism to
remind me of that.I really don’t know
the ultimate score card of good vs. evil – who’s had the upper hand,
historically.But since, despite our
travails, the world has evolved mostly to the betterment of the human population,
a reasonable guess is that the good guys have the edge.
Movie
critics seem to think there’s something intellectually deficient in a person
who prefers happy endings.This explains
why so many Scandinavian movies are critically acclaimed.As if dreary settings, low light, crystalline
ice hanging off scruffy beards and babies frozen in the snow delivers some
deeper understanding of the human condition.If that’s so, they can have it.
I
can imagine some thinking, “Life isn’t just a Disney movie.”Have you seen Dumbo or Bambi
lately?Old Yeller? You want to
talk about grim and depressing.And Walt
wasn’t even Scandinavian, as far as I know.
Moral ambiguity is another thing,
though how it resolves decides the question for me.In The Maltese Falcon, the most
important modern detective novel, spawning the subsequent Bogart movie, we
really don’t know where Sam Spade comes down on the probity scale until the
end.I and others have maintained forever
that Hammet was richly influenced by Hemingway’s anti-heroes – cynical lads
with robust vices who only reveal their essential morality when the drama
starts to wrap up.(The best movie
version of this ethic is Casablanca, another film with Humphrey Bogart.)
It’s sort of a triangulation.Good and evil can only be explicated in
opposition to each other.The third
point in the diagram is how one feels about what’s being contested.The pessimists who want to be affirmed by
evil’s triumph, and their cousins who delight in destruction and despair, have
plenty of stuff out there to enjoy.Have
at it.It’s just not for me.I reject the notion that this work represents
the full extent of our experience on earth, that it reveals some regrettable,
but inevitable reality.Or that this
sensibility conveys upon the believer some greater intellectual facility,
suggesting people like me are too dim witted to appreciate the underlying
certainty of a dark existence.
Just for the record, I’m also not a
fan of pure Pollyanna.I find it treacly
and nauseating.Everyone but me and a
small, surly coterie of old curmudgeons loved the Barbie movie.Ick.While I cleave to the belief that humanity tilts toward the positive, at
least in our hopes and desires, unfettered optimism is delusional.The facts on the ground say there are
nuances, and lots more grey than black and white, and that every day is a
contest that requires clear thinking and resolve.
As a musician for most of my life, I’ve
had the privilege of playing a lot of the blues.I think underlying these compositions is a way
to navigate the teetering balance of suffering and joy.Bad things happen, which you have to face up
to, but then again, there are other things along the way that can lift your spirits,
even in the midst of pain.The texture
of the music itself reflects the mood of this conflicted sentiment.It’s soulful, but fun, inspiring sorrow and contentment
in equal measure.
“If it wasn’t for bad luck, I
wouldn’t have no luck at all”, according to Albert King, who still managed to
wink at us through the lament.
Ever since the first cavemen locked up one of their fellows pending trial, aggrieved prisoners have plotted how to get rid of witnesses. By now, an intelligent person might expect authorities will listening to jailhouse conversations. Unfortunately, some inmates haven’t gotten the memo. Picture a plexiglass panel and a pair of phones at visiting hour.
Jailhouse Chump
“You’re lookin’ good, boss.”
“Shut up, Bernie. Don’t give nobody in here any ideas. Listen, I need a favor, call it a clean-up on Aisle 7.”
“Uh, waddaya mean, boss?”
“A clean-up crew. Number 7 Isle Court, see?”
“Ain’t dat where Morris the Mouth lives?”
“Jeez, Bernie, why not take out an ad.”
“What you want it to say?”
“Bernie, watch my lips. I need ya to clean out Number 7, get it?”
“That’s real nice of you, boss, especially since the Mouth ratted on you.”
“Bernie, Bernie, I want you to remove him from these Earthly confines, demise him, shuffle him off this mortal coil, kick his galvanized bucket, punt his pail, polish him off, cut him down in his youthful prime…”
“How big you want this ad? Boss, you’re turning awfully red.”
“You fool. What do you not understand? Eliminate, eradicate, extirpate, terminate, you dolt, assassinate, annihilate, exterminate, decimate, punctuate, exsanguinate, ventilate, cremate, liquidate…”
“Nice rhyming them big words, boss, but here comes the warden. Oh look, he brought me a jump suit just like yours.”
Jailhouse Genius
Meet today’s crook, Demetric Deshawn Scott. He violently robbed Ramón Morales Reyes. Compounding the situation, Demetric Deshawn Scott is a US citizen. Ramón Morales Reyes is not. In fact, his U visa has been pending for ages and he’s at risk of deportation. Scott’s expectation that Latinos wouldn’t report the crime didn’t pan out.
So there’s Scott, sitting in jail, so unfair. If a good ol’ American citizen can’t assault and rob a Mex, where have our freedoms gone? What to do? What to do?
And then Demetric has a stroke of genius. Sometimes you can almost admire imaginative criminal cunning, flawed through it may be.
“Bernie, I had a stroke of genius. The White House ordered Immigration and Customs Enforcement to ship out 3000 immigrants per day, every day.”
“So what’s the geniousity?”
“We’re gonna report Reyes to ICE, see? We’ll get the FBI and US Marshals working for us, maybe the Secret Service.”
“That’s brilliant, boss. Er, how does that work exactly?”
“We report Reyes, the Feds pick him up and ship him out. He can’t testify if he ain’t here.”
“Yeah, but the arrests started with professors and students and small businessmen, and now they’re going for those high-paying minimum wage jobs, janitors and that ilk. They ain’t after the likes of you and me.”
“Here’s the ultra-smart part. We forge threatening letters to officials in Reyes’ name. I’ll get Mom to mail them for me. It’s the perfect plan.”
Days later, Bernie visits again.
“You was right, boss. The Feds arrested Reyes and are putting him through the grill.”
“Ha. My evil genius knew it. Our government at work. Snatched him right off the street, did they?”
“There’s one little problem. The letters to the President got too much attention. ICE ain’t shipped him out yet. They’re now investigating who really sent the notes.”
“Why? What’s the hangup?”
“Reyes don’t know English. And the handwriting don’t match. And he’s a nice family man. No one believes it. I’m telling you, they’re gonna let him go.”
Demetric Deshawn Scott and his very big brain were led away frothing at the mouth and screaming like Wile E Coyote, “Blasphemy! Impiety! Profanity! Imbecility. Foiled again!”
In life, some doors open and some doors close. Some doors are forced open, and some are walked past with scarcely a nod. And some people expected someone else to walk through those doors. What follows is a look back at hugely popular crime series with hugely popular leads--who weren't Plan A for the part.
Perry Mason (1957-1966)
Who they wanted: Ephrem Zimbalist, Jr.
Who got the part:Raymond Burr. Burr read for the D.A. but angled for Mason. He had to lose weight in a hurry, but he wrangled the part.
Interesting Fact: William Hopper also read for Mason but didn't nail it (his mom had prior run-ins with some of the crew). They loved him as Paul Drake.
Columbo (1968, 1971-1977, 1989-2003)
Who they wanted: Bing Crosby. TV work didn't fit with his golf schedule.
Who got the part:Peter Falk. His enthusiasm for the part won over the producers, who then got everyone onboard despite his being young for the role.
Interesting fact: Burt Freed (1960) and Thomas Mitchell (1962) played early versions of Columbo before Falk took over for the TV movies.
Miami Vice (1984-1990)
Who the network wanted for Crockett: Nick Nolte and Jeff Bridges were the pipe dreams. Larry Wilcox (CHiPS) was a serious option, but it didn't click.
Who got the part: Don Johnson. He would later get into a serious contract dispute and was nearly replaced by Mark Harmon.
Interesting fact: The lead casting issue lingered on for so long that it delayed production twice.
Murder, She Wrote (1984-1996)
Who the network wanted: Jean Stapleton, a few years clear of All in the Family.
Who got the part: Angela Lansbury. She read the script and saw a character she could bring to life.
Interesting fact: Lansbury proved her sleuth appeal in the Agatha Christie adaption The Mirror Crack'd (1980). The film wasn't a hit. Otherwise, Lansbury might've instead been forever known as Ms. Marple.
The X-Files (1993-2002, 2016-2017)
Who the network wanted for Scully: Pamela Anderson. Not a typo. Fox considered Anderson an affordable nod to Sharon Stone.
Who got the part: Gillian Anderson. Her cerebral and refined take wowed at auditions, and the showrunners sold her to Fox as the perfect Scully.
Interesting fact: David Duchovny also impressed in his audition. The showrunners thought he was too laconic and asked him act more like an FBI agent.
NCIS (2003-present)
Who the network wanted for Gibbs: Nobody and everybody. Scott Glenn and Andrew McCarthy both passed. Rumor has it that Don Johnson also turned down the role.
Who got the part: Mark Harmon.
Interesting fact: Some would call Harmon's 19 seasons a good run.
Breaking Bad (2008-2013)
Who the network wanted for Walter: John Cusack or Matthew Broderick. Both declined.
Who got the part: Bryan Cranston. He'd been the writer's choice from working with him on The X-Files. AMC kept seeing him on Malcolm in the Middle.
Interesting fact: Aaron Paul (Jesse) and Dean Norris (Hank) also won their roles in part thanks to The X-Files guest spots.
Sherlock (2010-2017)
Who they wanted for Watson: They had no idea, but it had to click with Benedict Cumberbatch's Holmes. Matt Smith auditioned but was too comic. He took the producer's offer to play Dr. Who instead.
Who got the part: Martin Freeman. He proved the perfect grounding persona for the high-functioning sociopath Holmes.
Some time back, I posited The Merchant of Venice was noir. Additionally, I said it could be a comedy as well, though just reading it, a lot of the nuance doesn't come through. Someone in the comments noted Shakespeare is meant to seen, not read. It just so happens I'm watching a Shakespeare play a week, including the questionably canonical Edward III. (I still posit Will was a script doctor on that one, and boy did it need doctoring.) My viewing has including live plays, Zoom readings by various local Shakespeare groups, and of course, movies either by the RSC or Hollywood and the UK cinema. And I've seen The Merchant of Venice now, this time the Al Pacino version.
Henry Winkler once said he noticed when English actors do Shakespeare, they sound like they're ordering a pastrami sandwich, but American Shakespearean actors sound like their doing classical oration. It's not necessarily a bad thing (and the exceptions to either are legion), but the assertion holds as a generalization. And here it works.
Antonio, Bassano, and Portia are ordinary characters, their actors giving understated performances in this film. And then we have Shylock, who is not in very many scenes, but he has to cast a huge shadow over the proceedings. The bulk of the cast is English or English-trained. But Shylock is played by Al Pacino. And if Pacino does anything well, it's stealing every scene he's in.
But all the other things people say about this play? Antisemitic? It's actually a play about antisemitism, and once these characters step off the page, you realize the Bard took a very dim view about how the English treated the Jews under Queen Elizabeth and King James. But he's not talking about England. He's talking about Genoa and Venice. Right?
Is there a romance between Antonio and Bassano? Well, you can't read this play without at least picking up on an intense bromance. I love my male best friends, but I'm not risking bankruptcy or having Michael Corleone carve a pound of meat out of me to pay for their weddings. I might put a night at BW3 on my credit card, which my stepson and I did for our youngest. (The groom's alcohol-fueled transformation into Jack Sparrow was hilarious!) In the movie? It's not stated, but it's there. These men are more than just buddies, and fair Portia is a prize.
But it's Shylock, the loan shark, who owns this play. And Pacino puts his lines in context. Most people are used to hearing Christopher Plummer's scenery-chewing Klingon reciting some of Shylock's lines in Star Trek VI. But as Chang gleefully tries to straight-up murder the crews of two starships, he rattles off out-of-context lines spinning in his chair and delivering the lines wrong. (It works in the context of this movie as it prompts McCoy to growl, "I'd give real money if he'd shut up!") Pacino is not going "Look at me! I know Shakespeare!" as he introduces his leetle friends to his enemies. No, the "Prick us, do we not bleed" speech isn't showing off. It's a man victimized by the world around pleading for his listeners to understand. He's a classic noir villain, wanting violence as revenge wrapped in legalism (with Cain, Richard Wright, and Jim Thompson taking copious notes), but he has a painful motivation. He's tired of being treated like garbage. He's good enough to take his money but spat upon otherwise? Shakespeare excels at this kind of character, one who will play the monster if he can't be the hero. Or even just a man. In this, he has much in common with Shakespeare's Richard III, but Dick is straight up a very bad man. Shylock just wants his due.
Oh. And it's still a comedy. I mean, Murphy's law, bromance, and everyone tripping all over themselves? It's like Succession on acid.
Imagine a young girl, tween, early teen, sitting by herself in front of the TV on an early or late afternoon, watching the station that showed a lot of old (and once in a while reasonably new) movies. Tarzan movies (Johnny Weissmuller, of course), sci-fi, horror, dramas, comedies, and weird movies that no one else, apparently, had ever seen.
It was quite an education. Here are some of the highlights:
Sci-fi Movies:
Forbidden Planet - One of the best of the lot (the other will be found further down). My first meeting with Robbie the Robot. While it took me years to figure out it was a take-off of Shakespeare's The Tempest, I loved the whole "monsters from the id" line, and the invisibility of it. Very exciting.
Unfortunately, most of the sci-fi movies were schlock, and the worst was probably The Queen of Outer Space - Zsa Zsa Gabor and a lot of starlets in cone bras...
NOTE: Cone bras apparently were everywhere in the 1950s. Why they were so popular for so long, I have no idea... See https://www.wmagazine.com/fashion/cone-bra-corset-trend-history.
Probably second worst: The Attack of the Giant Leeches - B&W 1959. Has to be seen to be believed, and even then... Trivia note: one of the stars of the Giant Leeches was actress Yvette Vickers who was the Playmate centerfold in the July 1959 issue of Playboy, just a few months before the movie's release, which I'm sure increased attendance.
Lesson to be learned from old American B&W sci-fi movies is that every man, monster, robot and alien wants pulchritudinous white women.
Japanese movies, however, were different:
Matango, a/k/a The Attack of the Mushroom People - 1963 Japanese horror movie directed by Ishiro Honda (who directed and co-wrote the original Godzilla and many more). A group of castaways on an island are unwittingly altered into monsters after they eat certain mutagenic mushrooms... Although I didn't know it at the time, it was almost banned in Japan because they felt that the monsters resembled facial disfigurements caused by Hiroshima and Nagasaki; although of course, that might have been the whole idea. Spooky, yet strangely moving, hard to forget.
Movies that scared me silly:
1984 - Made in 1956, starring Edmond O'Brien, Michael Redgrave, Jan Sterling, and Donald Pleasance. The scene with the rats was perhaps the scariest thing I'd ever seen, and it gave me nightmares. Interestingly, I've never met anyone who actually saw this movie in a theater - I guess it bombed at the box office.
The Invasion of the Body Snatchers - 1954, and set in a fictional California small town. You know the plot. You know the term "pod people". But it still packs a punch as person after person is duplicated and replaced... And they find the pods... And Becky falls asleep... Well...
Trivia NOTE: Future director Sam Peckinpah played the bit part of Charlie, a meter reader.
The Haunting - 1963. Based on the Shirley Jackson novel, starring Julie Harris, and Claire Bloom. I think it's the most frightening movie* ever made, simply because you never see anything. You hear it. And by the time those two great actresses, Julie Harris and Claire Bloom, are done with you, you feel it. And it has the scariest line I've ever heard in a movie: "God! God! Whose hand was I holding?" (*Spielberg agrees with me.)
Not that scary, but one of my favorites:
Rear Window - I was a tween when I saw it, and I could hardly wait to be old enough to live by myself in Jeff Jeffries' (Jimmy Stewart) apartment, watching and listening and following all the crazies around me.
NOTE: Interestingly, I rewatched it a couple of weeks ago, and for the first time I noticed one fatal flaw in the movie: Jeff, who's a professional photographer, has his left leg in a cast, from hip to toes, and is in a wheelchair 90% of the time, so no wonder he spends all his time watching the neighbors. No problem there. And he figures out that one of them killed his wife, and he's trying to find evidence, long distance, using first binoculars, and then a massive telephoto lens on one of his cameras. He finally sees Thorvald, after his wife supposedly went on a trip, with his wife's purse, pulling out jewelry, including the wife's wedding ring. So what's the flaw? WHY DOESN'T JEFF TAKE A BUNCH OF PICTURES OF THORVALD AND HIS WIFE'S STUFF? He's a professional photographer. He's got a telephoto lens which could pick out the feathers on a flying swallow. Surely he's got film in the house. I don't know why I never noticed that before...
Still love the movie, though.
Movies that for years I couldn't persuade people actually existed:
We're No Angels - Still my favorite Christmas movie of all time, with Humphrey Bogart, Aldo Ray, Peter Ustinov, Leo G. Carroll, Basil Rathbone, Joan Bennett, and St. Adolph... Read my love-letter to the movie HERE.
The Producers - Yes, Mel Brooks' classic 1967 film. I was old enough by then to get most of the jokes, and I nearly died of laughter at the line "don't be a dummy, be a smarty, come and join the Nazi party!" My introduction to Gene Wilder, Zero Mostel, Dick Shawn (hilarious as L.S.D.), and Mel Brooks, as always, going over the top. Loved him ever since.
Harold and Maude - I saw Hal Ashby's 1971 classic in the theater, but most people didn't like it. I laughed so hard I was crying. After 10-11 years, it finally hit cult status, and I could finally share it with my friends. Huzzah!
Highly Educational:
Tarzan and His Mate - 1934, pre-Code B&W, the 2nd in the series with Johnny Weissmuller as Tarzan and Maureen O'Sullivan as Jane. This is the film with the nude Jane/Tarzan swimming scene. I remember it well... You can see it on YouTube HERE.
If I couldn't have Jeff Jeffries' apartment, I wanted Tarzan and Jane's treehouse. And lifestyle. And I wouldn't have minded having THAT Tarzan...
Sheer silly fun:
The Pickwick Papers - (1952) I started reading Dickens early in life, and this adaptation is, imho, the most Dickensian I've ever seen. B&W, with full throttle performances, perfect costumes, manners, mannerisms, everything. I bought a copy of it years ago on DVD. I love it.
Mrs. Leo Hunter, reading from her own composition,
This
may be a little circular, so bear with me.
I’ve been watching Van der Valk,
streaming on PBS Masterpiece, and after a somewhat shaky start, it’s grown on
me. Other viewers have had a similar
reaction, but in all honesty, it seems to be us, and not the show.
For
one, this is the second time around for a Van der Valk adaption.Nicolas Freeling wrote the books, originally,
killed the guy off after ten, and then brought him back for a swan song
seventeen years later.(Might remind you
of Doyle having to revive Holmes, after throwing him over the ReichenbachFalls.)In the event, after publishing the first ten novels,
Freeling put together a TV series, which ran intermittently for five seasons –
weirdly, 1972 and ‘73, ‘77, and then 1991 and ‘92.Why this odd stutter and stop is anybody’s
guess.It’s a Brit production, primarily
studio shot at Thames Television, but with some Amsterdam location shooting.Van der Valk is played by Barry Foster.
Barry
Foster.The first thing you’d probably
remember him from is Hitchcock’s Frenzy
(1972), the hero’s best mate, who turns out to be – well, no, I won’t give it
away.He’d been working steadily since
1954, mostly in television, so he wasn’t an ingenue, if he wasn’t yet established.He’d done a very solid Peter Yates heist
picture, and he was in Battle of Britain,
along with everybody else in the UK film industry, although he never
got legs.His own comment was that
people often mistook him for John Thaw, Inspector Morse, or Jon Pertwee,
famously the Third Doctor – “I attribute a great deal of my success to being
confused with them” – but in ‘82, he got a part that he absolutely crushed, Sir Saul Enderby, head of
Circus, in Smiley’s People, opposite Alec
Guinness.Somehow steely and smarmy at
the same time, a resolute bootlicker and a condescending snake, a chilly
survivor of Whitehall political battles, the kind of guy who’d cut your nuts
off with a smile, and leave the mess for somebody else to clean up.No more than a cameo, but an aftertaste as
bitter as hemlock.
So,
we’ve got this loyal fan base, nostalgic for the Barry Foster version.That would appear to be one strike.The leads of the new Van der Valk are Marc Warren and Maimie McCoy.Maimie was the villainess, Milady, in The Musketeers, an admittedly juvenile
swashbuckler I have a soft spot for; Marc Warren was Albert Blithe, in three
episodes of Band of Brothers, a
character I found hugely off-putting.This is two strikes, because the negatives for the one actor outweigh
the positives for the other.I can’t
rationally explain this, either.I have
a friend who took a dislike to Forest Whitaker, not for any intrinsic reason,
but because he took issue with the characterization of Charlie Parker in Bird.It’s taken me six episodes, so far, to get over my antipathy to Marc
Warren, which seems ridiculous.Then
again, he plays the character in an unsympathetic way.This is yet another complaint, that you see
in the reviews, that the leads don’t have chemistry.This isn’t quite right.They have a very definite chemistry, but you
have to feel it out, because both their characters are closed off.Not just once burned, twice shy - a
miscommunication, something you could talk through - but a
chemical imbalance, on the spectrum.They seem wired at cross-purposes.
You’re
asking, What do I like about the
show?Curiously, all of the above.I went into it with a chip on my shoulder,
needing to be won over, and they convinced me to stick around.It’s supposedly about Dutch cops, whereas the
lead cast are Brits, some support from local actors and crew; shot entirely on
location, plenty of Amsterdam,
with canals, tulips, windmills, polders, and so on.Cars are left-hand drive, bars are open all
night, gender is fluid, people mind their own business, and not yours, so
much.It doesn’t have that UK vibe.
The
more important, or practical part, is the team,
and their approach to the canvas.Like
any show about a cop shop, from Barney
Miller on, your willingness to negotiate the
relationship depends on your feeling for the structural dynamic, how the cops
themselves manage their behaviors, the office politics, the risk
assessments.How far do they trust one
another?Is it convincing?One of the cooler things about Van der Valk is that the dynamic isn’t
static, there are no fixed orbits.
As for
the plots, you might find yourself thinking less could be more.The mysteries are sometimes over-busy and
contrived; then again, the characters
can surprise you.I find the show more
satisfying as it builds a wider interior
world, even as personal isolation becomes the sure result.These people are separate, and inarticulate,
an existential flaw.It makes them seem
all the more genuine.
I said
I meant to circle.It’s a metaphor for
how I got to like Van der Valk.I let it sneak up on me.
I am bogged down with work, so I offer you this repeat of a column from 2019, with some minor edits. The information should be just as helpful now as it was then.
As the old saying goes, it's never too late to teach an old dog new
tricks. (As a multiple-timedog owner, I can attest that this is true!) The saying
also applies to writers. No matter how much experience you have,
you still can learn more.
I was reminded of this point recently as I've been editing short stories for an anthology coming out next spring. Some of the stories have been
written by authors I consider to be short-story experts. Other stories
have been written by authors who have had several stories published but
who haven't broken out yet, and others still have been penned by authors
who are just starting out. And I have learned something from all of
them--sometimes simply from reading the stories (even the newest writer
can come up with a twist or a turn of phrase that turns my head) and
other times from editing them.
It's the editing finds that can lead to especially interesting conversations.
Did you know that SOB is in the dictionary? All caps. No periods. The
acronym for son of a bitch is a word all its own, at least according to
the online Merriam-Webster dictionary.
Even more surprising (to me at least), mansplain has made the dictionary
too. I won't bother to tell you what that words means. I'm sure you
know.
Turning to homophones, two-word terms often become single words when
slang enters the picture. For instance, a woman might go to the drug
store to buy a douche bag, but if her boyfriend is being a jerk, she'd
call him a douchebag (one word, no space).
Descriptions of animal
excrement are usually spelled as two words: horse shit, bull shit,
chicken shit. But when you mean "no way" or "a load of not-actual crap"
you spell it horseshit and bullshit (again, one word, no space). And
when you mean that someone is a coward, you call him a chickenshit--also
one word. (Thanks to Michael Bracken for helping me see the horse
shit/horseshit distinction.) It's interesting that horses,
bulls, and chickens have had their excrement turned into slang words,
yet dog shit is just that. Two words meaning excrement. As I told a
friend, I might start saying "dogshit," when I want to say "no way!"
just to see if it catches on. (Update: six years have passed since I originally wrote this column, and dogshit has yet to catch on. Sigh.) Keeping with the one-word or two-words questions, do you go into a room
or in to a room? This may be an obvious thing for you, but it's one of
those little things I find myself double-checking over and over. Same
for on to/onto, some time/sometime, and so many more. Each of these
words has their proper place, so I like to make sure I use them
properly.
Yep, that's a bear on a trampoline.
To answer these questions: you go into a room. Into is the correct word
if you are showing motion. The onto/on to question also turns on whether
you are showing movement. I jump onto the trampoline. I catch on to my
boyfriend's lies.
As to sometime or some time, this question turns on
whether you are talking about a period of time (writing this blog is
taking some time) or if you mean an indefinite date (I'll get back to
you sometime next month).
One more thing that I see messed up all the time, so it is worth noting the distinction: When writing about a person with golden hair, use blond as an adjective, no matter the gender of the person you are talking about. When writing about a man with golden hair, use blond a noun. The only time to spell it blonde--notice the e at the end--is when the word is used as a noun for a woman with golden hair. (Yes, this blond/blonde distinction has been noted before here on SleuthSayers, but it is worth repeating.)
Well, I hate to cut this column short, but again, I'm short on time. (Ha ha!)
(And that's two words for ha ha, per our friend Mr. Webster.)
Do you have any interesting word usage issues/spelling knowledge you'd
like to share? Please do. I'm always eager to learn something new.
Until I read A Wilder Shore, the Romantic Odyssey of Fanny & Robert Louis Stevenson, Camile Peri's excellent dual biography, I hadn't realized the number of Stevenson's literary collaborators or the mixed fortunes of their productions. The stories with Fanny were big sellers: A novel, The Wrong Box, with his stepson Lloyd Osborne, survived to be a 20th century movie; the plays with his needy friend, William Ernest Henley, were failures. None rivaled R. L.'s own best works.
Stevenson's ventures with collaborators got me thinking about successful mystery writing partnerships. Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo helped create enthusiasm for Scandinavian Noir back in the last century. Charles and Caroline Todd, a rare mother and son collaboration, have produced the successful Ian Rutledge series, while Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have kept Agent Pendergast (fortunately semi-immortal) going though numerous volumes.
To this company, we can now add spouses Collette Lyons and Paul Ulitos, who write as Ellery Lloyd. She is a journalist who studied art history; he has published novels to his credit. Their third venture, The Final Act of Juliette Willoughby, is a cleverly-plotted account of two young art history majors unearthing the life and work of Juliette Willoughby, a long dead surrealist painter who perished in a fire when she was 20.
Willoughby, and the great 30's surrealist art show that included her work, were suggested topics by their final year dissertation supervisor, Alice Long, an elderly eccentric. She points them toward the Willoughby Bequest, a vast trove of paintings, ephemera, and Egyptian artifacts, and also toward the Courtauld Institute's Witt Library and Longhurst, the ancestral home of the Willoughbys. Longhurst and its present inhabitants open up the world of privilege and obsession that spawned the surrealist artist and her one undeniable (but sadly lost) masterpiece.
I hope this little precis of the premise does not make the novel seem dry or academic, because Ellery Lloyd actually throws a lot of traditional favorites into the mix: Osiris, a secret Cambridge society (more Egyptian artifacts); a family scandal, not one, but two, unsolved disappearances; bohemian high jinks in Paris, blackmail threats, and, eventually, murders.
We also have a high society party, an over-the-top art opening, and interesting information about the surrealist artists. Except for Juliette and her notable lover, Oskar Erlich, the artists are all real art historical figures and one, Leonora Carrington, was clearly an inspiration for Juliette. The real and fictional women share similar backgrounds, mental health issues, a famous self portrait, and the possession of an older and more successful lover.
The structure of The Final Act of Juliette Willoughby is complex but so skillfully done that the story line remains admirably clear. The narrative is shared between Caroline and Patrick, the two students, and the time shifts back and forth between what they know and do in 1991 and in the present time. Their narratives are supplemented by the entries in Juliette's diary, a document which Caroline painstakingly transcribes.
The result is a an entertaining update of the British country house and high society mystery, with bad behavior among overprivileged aristocrats mingled with modern tech and ultra modern money.
Doctors and our medical associations are facing more and more challenges to our right to use evidence-based medical care in Canada. This presents an opportunity to strengthen medical care but, unfortunately, it also puts medical care at risk.
I recently wrote an article in The Medical Post about The Canadian Medical Association's lawsuit against Alberta's bill 26 that forces doctors to withhold necessary gender-affirming care for those with gender dysphoria. It illustrates the complexities of the problems in preserving medical care.
Dr. Amir Attaran, Professor in the Faculties of Law and School of Epidemiology and Public Health at the University of Ottawa with expertise in health and law, as well as being an active litigator, is uniquely positioned to understand the complexities and gave his opinions on the broader issues we're facing.
Dr. Attaran explained that every lawsuit won sets a precedent in Canada’s legal system and the CMA lawsuit, fought under section 2 (a) of Canada's Charter of Rights and Freedoms as a freedom of conscience issue, sets a precedent with unintended consequences.
Dr. Attaran said, "Gender dysphoria is a medical problem of the patient. It's not a problem, except peripherally, with the conscience of the doctor. By making this about the conscience of the physician, the CMA does two things. One, it's not practicing patient-centred medicine, this is a doctor-centred lawsuit. Second, it is giving credence to a legal theory that has pretty much been dominated by those on the outside that are trying to destroy the standard of care.
"So ironically the CMA reaches for the freedom of conscience in the way that others did when they were trying to destroy the standard of medical care."
Dr. Attaran gives a few examples to clarify this, one of which is antivax doctors claiming their conscience didn't allow them to vaccinate or refer patients for vaccines, "This is saying doctors are more important than the patients. It's a knife that undoes a considerable amount of medical ethics - instead of the idea of patient autonomy and care, its equipping the doctor with rights that can be used for opposite purposes." It should be noted that any doctor can refuse to give any treatment but they have a duty of care and must refer patients to a doctor who will provide this care if they will not.
Abortion in Canada is protected under section 7 of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. ln the 1988 Supreme Court case R. v Morgentaler, section 7 of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms was used and the court ruled that the law on abortion in the Criminal Code violated a woman’s right to “life, liberty and security of the person.” This made abortion legal in Canada as a medical procedure, protecting women's right to healthcare. Could the rights of patients with gender dysphoria be better protected that way?
Dr. Attaran said, "Exactly."
Our profession should give serious consideration to Dr. Attaran's concerns not just for this lawsuit but for anytime we reach for the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. And make no mistake, we'll be reaching for protections for patient care more and more.
We have very active groups, whether they be antivaxxers or antitrans groups, who are attempting to limit medical care, using medical access as the forefront of their fight. If medicine is to maintain it's evidence-based, patient-centred care, it must now recognize that it's at risk and learn how to protect it legally, without unintended consequences for patients.
Few doctors have legal training but in today's climate, we had better find a way to get the legal protections for patient care because the extremists are coming after our patients and the times, they are a'changing.
