An interesting comment exchange with Neeru at A Hot Cup of Pleasure has gotten me thinking about how we feel about fictional killers and victims. If asked, I’d guess most of us would say that killers should be caught and face justice. That’s the reader’s way, you might argue, of restoring balance to the world when it’s shaken up by something like murder. But if you think about it, there are times when we have sympathy for a fictional killer. We may even hope that that killer gets away with the crime. There are several crime stories like that; here are just a few.
The novel that Neeru and I were discussing is Agatha Christie’s Appointment With Death. It’s the story of the Boynton family, an American family taking a tour of the Middle East. The undisputed head of the family is matriarch Mrs. Boynton. She is malicious and tyrannical; Hercule Poirot calls her a mental sadist, and that’s accurate. One day, while the family is on a tour of Petra, Mrs. Boynton dies of what looks at first like heart failure. It soon comes out, though, that she was poisoned. There is no shortage of suspects, as she ruled her daughter, her three stepchildren, and her step-daughter-in-law with an iron fist. As the story goes on, and Poirot slowly uncovers the relationships among the visitors to Petra, we see just how awful Mrs. Boynton was, and it’s not hard to hope that the killer gets away with the crime.
You might also say that about Nicholas Blake’s The Beast Must Die. Frank Cairnes, a detective novelist who is mourning the death of his son, Martin ‘Martie.’ Six months earlier, Martie died at the hands of a hit-and-run driver, and now Cairnes wants that death avenged. He’s found out that that driver is most likely a man called George Rattery, and he makes his plans. On the day he’s chosen, Cairnes and Rattery go out in a boat, and Cairnes is hoping to drown the other man. However, it seems that Rattery has found the diary in which Cairnes has written his plans; if anything happens to him, Rattery’s made sure the diary will go to the police. Now stymied, Cairnes aborts his plan and the two men return to shore. Later that day, Rattery dies of poison. Cairnes is, of course, a main suspect. He asks Nigel Strangeways to help him, claiming that he is innocent. After all, if he’d planned to drown Rattery, why would he also plan to poison him? Strangeways agrees to investigate, and we follow along as he finds out the truth. As we learn more about Rattery, it’s understandable why we’d feel sympathy for the person who killed him and hope that person goes free.
Edmund Crispin’s The Gilded Fly is the first of his novels to feature academician and amateur sleuth Gervase Fen. Robert Warner’s new play Metromania, is scheduled to open at Oxford’s repertory theatre, and a group of people connected with the play gathers at Oxford to get ready for it. One of those people is Yseute Haskell, who has a role in the play. She is selfish, malicious, and egotistical, so she’s not at all popular with her castmates (or, for the matter of that, with those behind the scenes). One day, she is shot while she is alone in her room. At first, the police think it’s a suicide; the victim was alone, and nobody was seen going in or out of her room. Fen has taken an interest in the case, and he works out how this ‘impossible-but-not-really’ crime happened. As we get to know the characters better, it’s easy to have some sympathy for the murderer, and possibly even hope that person isn’t caught.
In L.R. Wright’s The Suspect, we know from the beginning of the novel who the killer is. As the story opens, eighty-year-old George Wilcox has just killed eighty-five-year-old Carlyle Burke. He leaves the scene of the crime, and a bit later, notifies the police of the body. RCMP Staff Sergeant Karl Alberg begins the investigation. At first, it’s believed that Burke was killed by an itinerant fish salesman. But soon enough, Alberg begins to suspect George Wilcox. He’s got some evidence that could point in that direction, but what he doesn’t have is a motive. George admits that he and the victim didn’t get along, but that’s no reason to kill someone. Besides, they’d known each other for years. Why wait that long to kill someone? Still, Karl persists, and so does George, and it’s interesting to see the dynamic between them. And as the story moves on and we learn about the killer and his victim, it’s not hard to hope that he escapes the ‘long arm of the law.’
There’s also Teresa Solana’s A Not So Perfect Crime. Lluís Font, Member of the Parliament of Catalonia, hires PI brothers Eduard and Josep ‘Pep’ (who goes by the name Borja) Martínez. Font thinks his wife Lídia is having an affair, and he wants the Martínez brothers to find out if she is. The brothers take the case and begin their investigation. They find that there is no affair, and it seems the matter is settled. Then, Lídia dies of what turns out to be poison. Now, the police have Font in their sights. He asks the Martínez brothers to stay on the case and clear his name, and they agree. It turns out that more than one person had a motive for murder. When we learn who the killer is it’s not hard to hope that person gets away with the crime.
Most of us would probably agree that people who murder should pay for their crimes. But there are times and cases, at least in fiction, when we might hope, even a little, that the criminal gets away with it. These are just a few examples. Your turn.
Thank you, Neeru, for the inspiration. Now, treat yourself to a visit to Neeru’s fine blog. Thoughtful reviews and some great reading challenges await you there.
*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.
The Suspect sounds an interesting read Margot 🙂
LikeLike
It really is, June. I recommend it. And it’s not a chunkster, either.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s a conundrum, Margot. Sometimes we feel sympathy for a murderer because they are essentially a good person who felt driven to kill by circumstances with which we can sympathize. I think that leads to a powerful emotional reaction from the reader – but would we have the same reaction if they did get away with it? In Murder on the Orient Express, Agatha Christie goes to so much trouble proving what a monster Mr. Ratchett (alias Casetti) was that we can’t help but applaud the ending. But as shocked as I was that a mystery could end this way, I can’t say I was as emotionally affected as I might have been had they not gone free. That’s why I actually prefer the ending to Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation over Sidney Lumet’s: rather than celebrate with champagne, Branagh’s killers look shellshocked by their actions. It’s highly questionable that they have actually found peace from their crime, and I find that “burden of killing” much more interesting.
LikeLike
You have a well-taken point, Brad. Even if we can understand why a murderer commits a crime, there’s a difference between acknowledging that and seeing the killer celebrate (or at least be happy about it). Taking a life is a very drastic step that I would imagine changes a person in fundamental ways. Even if the murder victim is as evil as Ratchett/Cassetti, you can imagine the murderer feeling some sort of deep emotion – the ‘burden of killing’ that you mention. Even in those situations (which I agree are really interesting), we can still feel sympathy for the murderer and can even imagine what we might do in the same situation.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And then there are the Ripleys of the world, who don’t really deserve to get away with it, but we still keep hoping they do. 😉
LikeLike
Ha! You have a well-taken point, Marina Sofia. There is definitely something about Ripley, isn’t there? You know he ought to be caught and face the consequences of what he’s done, but at the same time…
LikeLike
So interesting, Margot. Murder on the Orient Express immediately sprang to mind. And I think it is not the only Agatha Christie where we feel some sympathy with the killer.
>
LikeLike
Thanks, Christine. And thanks for mentioning Murder on the Orient Express. I’d planned to mention it in this post, but in the end I didn’t. And it really is a good example of a case where we do feel sympathy for the killer.
LikeLike
Those are some great examples, Margot, and it can be a bit of a knotty moral problem. Certainly in GA crime, often Christie, we really do understand why some of the victims have been killed so there’s always something of a wish that the murderer might escape. And the Crispin is a good example too – though he’s a lot harsher than that with some of his killers! That’s what I like about crime fiction – it makes you think about the issues!
LikeLike
Thanks, KBR. You’re right; the question of sympathy for the murderer is a thorny issue, isn’t it? As you say, some of the GA authors (Christie being an excellent example) really did give readers a reason to feel at least a bit for the killer. As you say, Crispin wasn’t always that kind, but a lot of them did try to show the reader why someone might kill – to the point that one could have sympathy. Yes, so much to think about with crime fiction!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I do like when the murder victim ‘deserves’ it, but it does often have the side-effect of creating sympathy for the murderer. I suspect that might be why there’s quite often a second murder – even if the first one is forgivable, it’s the murder committed just to avoid detection that justifies the murderer’s eventual punishment – like Gladys in A Pocket Full of Rye.
LikeLike
You’ve got a well-taken point, FictionFan, that if you’re going to have an unsympathetic murder victim, that usually means some sympathy for the murderer. Those two sort of go together, don’t they? And it’s so interesting that you mentioned the second murder trope (and Gladys is a great example!). We lose sympathy when the murderer strikes just to save his/her own hide. There are lots of instances of that, too. Lots to think about, for which thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Margot, for the kind mention and link. I prefer the dramatic version of Appointment with Death because the killer in the play is different from that in the novel. And what should we think of Witness for the Prosecution?😀
LikeLike
The play and the novel are different, aren’t they, Neeru? I can see how you’d prefer the dramatic version of the story. And as for Witness For the Prosecution, that is a very interesting question! Hmmm…let’s see… 😉
LikeLike