An interesting comment exchange with Neeru at A Hot Cup of Pleasure has got me thinking about what some people call curiosity, and others call snoopiness. In many crime novels, there’s a sleuth who investigates a crime. When the fictional sleuth is a police or private detective, asking questions, even prying, is part of the job. Sleuths who are journalists are also expected to ask a lot of questions. It’s not seen as snoopiness so much in those sorts of characters. It’s different with other sorts of sleuths. In those cases, the author has to be careful that the character doesn’t get too nosy. For one thing, that can be a very annoying trait. For another, it can get a sleuth into a lot of trouble. Still, some authors strike the balance between curiosity (or some other motivation for solving a crime) and snoopiness.

In The Murder at the Vicarage, Agatha Christie introduces one of her sleuths, Miss Jane Marple. In the story, Miss Marple helps to solve the murder of Colonel Protheroe. Interestingly, she’s portrayed as too nosy and somewhat judgemental. As the series goes on, though, she develops as a character, and her questions and curiosity fit in with the stories. For example, in 4:50 From Paddington (AKA What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw!), she works to solve the murder of an unidentified young woman who is strangled on a train. She does ask questions, but she’s subtle about it, and uses her own observations (as well as those of her friend Lucy Eyelesbarrow) to work out what happened. The other thing that works to Miss Marple’s advantage is that she’s an older lady, so it’s almost expected that she’ll be a bit overcurious about others.

Ian Hamilton’s Ava Lee is a forensic accountant. Her specialty is finding money, and she’s good at it. She works for a Hong Kong-based company that helps desperate people who’ve been swindled to get their money back. For various reasons, these people can’t go to the police for help, so they have to turn elsewhere. The questions Ava asks clients are sometimes personal, and they often have to do with private financial issues. But in her role, she has to ask those questions if she’s going to get their money back for them. So, although her clients are at times uncomfortable with her questions, they know the reason she’s asking, and they usually answer.

Mette Ivie Harrison’s The Bishop’s Wife is told from the perspective of Linda Walheim. She is the wife of a Mormon bishop and, as such, is something of a ‘mother to the ward,’ or local Mormon community. In that role, she visits people, she gets to know many of their situations, and so on. It’s not unexpected that she would take an interest when Carrie Helms, a member of the community, goes missing. Carrie’s husband Jared says that she left her family, and that she has mental problems. Linda doesn’t trust what he’s saying though, and she’s worried for their daughter. She takes whatever opportunities she can to  find out more about the people involved, although she doesn’t break into people’s homes or hack their social media. Still, she does observe, she finds some clues, and she does talk Carrie’s parents, Jared’s parents, and others to try to piece together what happened. It’s more or less within the context of her role as the bishop’s wife, but it’s also a case of an amateur sleuth who both wants to help and is curious.

Colin Conway’s Beauregard ‘Beau’ Smith is a former member of Satan’s Dawgs, a motorcycle gang that is not known for kindness and compassion. He was arrested for murder but agreed to testify against the gang in exchange for witness protection. He’s been given a new name and occupation, and all he wants now is a peaceful life. It doesn’t seem to happen for him, though. In the novels that feature him, he is moved to a few different places, each with a new name. But murder seems to find him, and in Cozy Up to Murder, he’s suspected when a body is found in the vintage music shop he’s running. For Beau, finding out who’s responsible isn’t just a matter of curiosity; he has to clear his name or he’ll blow his all-important cover.

It’s understandable that Jake Hardy, whom we meet in Anthony Bidulka’s Going to Beautiful, would ask a lot of questions. As the novel starts, he’s a successful Toronto-based celebrity chef. Everything in his life seems to be going right until his husband Eddie Kravetz dies after a tragic fall from their balcony. The police investigate, and although Jake is a ‘person of interest,’ they soon clear him of suspicion. Still, there is online gossip about him. When Jake consults Eddie’s list of last wishes, he sees the word beautiful written on it. Once he figures out that the word refers to Eddie’s hometown of Beautiful, Saskatchewan, he decides to visit the place. It’ll give him a chance to escape the pressure he’s under, and it’ll help him learn about a part of Eddie that he didn’t know. When he gets there, he uncovers Eddie’s past, and he finds out what really happened to his husband. In this case, Jake’s questions aren’t seen as nosy as much as they are a sign of his caring.

Some crime-fictional characters really are annoyingly nosy, and that can put a reader off. But when that curiosity falls out naturally, and when it’s written well, it can spur a character to find out answers. And it can serve as an interesting character trait. Thanks, Neeru, for inviting me to think about this. Now, please treat yourself to a visit to Neeru’s terrific blog, where you’ll find all sorts of fine book reviews.

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Tom Petty.