When an older person dies, it’s sad, sometimes even tragic. That person’s friends and loved ones grieve as anyone would. But it’s often somehow different when a young person dies. There’s just something even more achingly sad about the loss of a young adult with every reason to live. People may say, ‘Well, he had his innings’ about the death of someone who was old, even as they mourn. But there is no such comfort when it’s someone younger. That distinction finds its way into crime fiction, too. Space doesn’t permit me to mention all of the examples out there – not by a long shot. But here are a few to show you what I mean.

As Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None begins, several people are making their way to Indian Island, off the Devon coast. They’ve been invited for a stay at a house on the island, and for various reasons, each has accepted. One of these people is Anthony Marston, a handsome young man who’s very much in love with life. When he and the others arrive on the island, they find that their host hasn’t made an appearance. Still, everyone settles in, and dinner that evening goes well. Then, each person is accused of causing the death of at least one other person. Not long after that shocking announcement, Marston dies of what turns out to be a poisoned cocktail. His death hits hard, since he was so young and even virile. Later that night, there’s another death. And then another. Soon enough, the survivors find that they will have to find out who the killer is if they want to stay alive.

Fiona Kidman’s This Mortal Boy is the fictional account of Albert Black, who was executed in New Zealand for murder in 1955. The story tells about his youth in Ireland, his desire to make his fortune in New Zealand, and his experiences there. He tries to fit in, and that proves to be a challenge for him since he’s a foreigner. Still, he finds a place of sorts among the young people of Auckland. He’s got dreams and energy, but unfortunately, he gets mixed up with some dangerous people and the result is a murder. In many ways, one can have sympathy for him even as one acknowledges that he took a life. It’s an interesting portrait of the case, and a look at a young man with dreams whose life ended too soon.

In Naomi Hirahara’s Clark and Division, we are introduced to Aki Ito. It’s 1942, and Aki and her family are sent to Manzanar, an internment camp for Japanese Americans. After a few years, her older sister Rose is allowed to leave the camp and start over in Chicago. The understanding is that as soon as the rest of the Ito family can leave, they’ll join her there. By the time that happens, though, Rose Ito has died after a fall onto train tracks. The death is put down to suicide, but Aki is absolutely convinced that her sister would not have killed herself. She is determined to find out what really happened to Rose and starts to look for answers. To do that, she starts asking about where Rose worked, who her friends were, and what her roommates had to say about her. As she searches for the truth, Aki finds out more about her sister, and so does the reader. Rose was a strong, vibrant young woman, and the more Aki learns, the more convinced she is that her sister was murdered. Throughout the novel, we see how especially tragic it is that someone so young and with so much promise died.

Vicki Delaney’s Winter of Secrets is the story of a ski trip that turns tragic. Jason Wyatt-Yarmouth, his sister Wendy, and four of their friends plan a holiday ski trip in Traflagar, British Columbia. One night, Jason and his friend Ewan Williams are killed when their rented SUV goes over a bridge into the Upper Kootenay River. Constable Moonlight ‘Molly’ Smith is the first law enforcement officer on the scene, and she starts the investigation. It’s soon found that Jason died as a result of the accident, but Ewan was already dead when the SUV went into the river. That fact opens up a whole new investigation for Molly and her boss, Sergeant John Winters. Throughout the novel, Delany shows readers how young and alive Jason and Ewan were. In that sense, it’s doubly tragic that their lives are cut short as they are.

And then there’s Karim Miské’s Arab Jazz, which takes place in contemporary Paris. One day, Ahmed Taroudant discovers that Laura Vignola, who lives in the apartment above his, has been brutally murdered. He alerts the police, and Lieutenants Rachel Kupferstein and Jean Hamelot take up the investigation. Ahmed himself is, naturally, a ‘person of interest’ since he found the body and since he had a sort of friendship with the victim. He wants to clear his name; what’s more, he liked Laura and wants to find out who killed her. So, in his own way, Ahmed, too, starts to look for answers. As the story goes on, we learn more about Laura, especially as we get to know her two best friends. She was young, attractive, just starting to live, and eager to experience life away from her religiously obsessed, oppressive parents. She had, as it is said, the world before her, and that makes her death all the more tragic.

And that’s the way it is when young adults die. It’s hard enough to let go of older adults we’ve known and love. But when life ends so abruptly, it can hit even harder.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Eagles’ James Dean.