BOOK NOTE - How to Write a Mystery: A Handbook from Mystery Writers of America, edited by Lee Child with Laurie R. King

Mysteries, whether in novel form or on TV, are one of the best things in the world. A good mystery novel can transport me away from this world and provides one of the best escapes from the mundane every day. One of my first attempts at writing something as a pre-teen was a detective mystery, inspired by the many Enid Blyton adventures like The Secret Seven and The Famous Five, as well as series like The Three Investigators, presented by Alfred Hitchcock, which I spent most of my time reading.

The art of writing a mystery has fascinated me, and while I haven't yet managed to publish one, I have a few drafts and outlines lying around. How to Write a Mystery: A Handbook from Mystery Writers of America, edited by Lee Child with Laurie R. King, is a great resource for aspiring mystery writers and for those who simply want to read about how great mystery writers like Lee Child, Jeffrey Deaver, and Dale Berry approach their craft. The book offers excellent context on what it takes to build a good mystery, tips for writing across different genres of mysteries, and interesting observations from some of the best in the field.

Some of the real gems from the book that have stuck with me are the following:

1. About storytelling - Meg Gardiner, in the article Keep it Thrilling, says about storytelling: “The theater of the mind is more powerful than a bucket of blood.” Often, when we write, we try to describe everything. But storytelling can achieve even more if we let the reader's mind fill in the gaps and spark their imagination.
2. On writing children's mysteries - Chris Grabenstein notes that there is a new group of 5th graders every year, ensuring that the genre has a long shelf life.
3. On authenticity - One of the constant challenges I face is the following: I haven't, thankfully, been part of or witnessed a crime. How can I write authentically about it? Charles Salzburg offers a response to this, encouraging us not to be limited by what we know. We can let our imaginations run wild and use Google and the news cycle as inspiration.
4. On subtext - Stephen Ross provides one of the best descriptions of subtext. He describes the following grocery shopping list a character might have: “Bread. Milk. Eggs. Hammer. Quicklime. Shovel. Champagne.” He explains that this works much better than explicitly describing how the character plans a murder.
5. On villains - T. Jefferson Parker talks about the importance of the villain when he says, “Don’t underestimate the importance of this character. Villains bring the dark into which we (the authors) can bring the illumination.”

Overall, this is an amazing read and an excellent resource for inspiration on how to write a mystery.

BOOK NOTE - Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami

 

My main impression of reading Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood can be summarized in three words: Unrealistic, uneasy, and "give me more." I am genuinely impressed by Murakami's story of becoming the writer he is, his journey, personal circumstances, habits, and philosophy, and I can by reading this book realize why he deserves his literary rock star status.

Let me explain why I felt this book was unrealistic, and how realizing something made me uneasy and wanting more Murakami.

Without spoiling the story, the protagonist, Toru, comes across as depressed, numb, but somehow, remarkably in control of himself. He has gone through some truly traumatic experiences in his young life, leaving him both numb and strangely optimistic. He moves through life, connecting with people and seemingly leaving them better off, but we don’t really see how he himself changes—despite the story being written from his point of view. Until the reader makes the uneasy realization which I will describe below.

Despite a certain non-appealing, uninteresting quality about him, he uncharacteristically ends up sleeping with every major female character and is also implied to have unromantic relationships with many other women off the narrative screen. This seemed unrealistic to me, even within the almost melancholic setting of late-20th-century Japanese life.

The women in Toru’s life seem one-dimensional, shaped by their own major traumas. So are most of the other characters. However, here is the uneasy realization. Their traits and actions are just reflections of different parts of Toru’s own personality. Naoko, his main female interest, represents the part of him that is reflective of his trauma—his sadness and the part of him that wants to give up, and eventually does. Kizuki, his childhood friend, embodies the root of his early trauma. Midori, his other female love interest, represents the carefree, wild side of Toru, but one that is tinged with the limitations of reality. For example, Midori and Toru are unable to fully give in to their desires for each other due to real-life constraints, such as Midori’s dying father. Nagasawa, his wealthy and powerful university friend, symbolizes Toru’s masculinity—a part of himself that he despises and ultimately banishes from his life. Hatsumi, Nagasawa's fiancée, embodies the ideal partner Toru desires. She is the only one he doesn’t sleep with, because he does not respect what he desires. It’s remarkably poignant that Toru’s inability to save Hatsumi—whether from Nagasawa’s disdain —leads to the loss of his feminine ideal forever. Reiko, a much older woman and a recluse from society, symbolizes maturity—or the lack thereof. As Naoko’s close companion, she represents the memory of his troubled youth. His intimate encounter with her at the end is symbolic of holding onto the past. Storm Trooper, his quirky roommate, represents discipline and routine, which Toru mostly treats as a joke before it disappears from his life.

What left me uneasy was how unrealistic the characters feel when taken at face value as part of a conventional story—until the realization dawns that Norwegian Wood is really about Toru interacting with different parts of himself. This, to me, is the masterstroke of Murakami’s writing in this book, and left with the need to read more of his work.

Give me more!

BOOK NOTE - The Pillars of Hercules: A Grand Tour of the Mediterranean - Paul Theroux

 

A good travelogue is always a good companion, especially when you are not travelling. Paul Theroux's The Pillars of Hercules: A Grand Tour of the Mediterranean is a book about a journey that is a journey in itself. I started reading it in December 2021, and while I usually finish books fast, this one has been a slow read. I completed it in October 2024. The reason is as follows: I have been distracted and have a mild case of reading too many books at the same time.

It is a typical Theroux book, but at the same time, a bit of a pessimistic ramble. I read it with the same love-hate relationship Theroux seems to have with the places he is visiting. Theroux starts in Gibraltar and, instead of crossing the Straits to hop over to Morocco, takes the long route along the interior of the Mediterranean by road and by boat, making an epic journey to the two pillars of Hercules. He does this in the 1990s, when the whole region is going through a lot of transition but is also the Mediterranean of the romantic era, unspoiled by Instagram and travel apps.

In typical Theroux fashion, he documents the idiosyncrasies of the coastal towns and villages through the interactions he has with people there. The best among them are the meetings he has with other authors based in the region—some local, some expat, and some long dead. Along the way, he encounters Salvador Dalí's estate in Figueres, Spain, and reminisces about Hemingway's love of fiestas. In Antibes, he visits Graham Greene's home and has many such encounters with the literati of the past, all of whom found themselves and their writing inspired by the Mediterranean.

Some of the best parts of the book come when he visits notable living authors. He visits Naguib Mahfouz in Egypt and Paul Bowles in Morocco. But why I struggled with this book, only able to read it in bursts and in between finishing many other books, is because Theroux is rather caustic and utterly shreds the romantic experience one has of places like the French Riviera and the Adriatic Coast, revealing their true grunginess. I was reminded of the time I was in Naples back in 2009 and was left uninspired by it.

What kept me going was the Theroux magic of weaving history, anthropology, tragedy, and humour in his writing about the place. On reflection, this is a great book, which feels like an ugly piece of graffiti on an ancient Greek marble column.