“As far as I’m concerned, you can’t beat a good whodunnit: the twists & turns, the clues and the red herrings and then, finally, the satisfaction of having everything explained to you in a way that makes you kick yourself because you hadn’t seen it from the start.”
― Anthony Horowitz, Magpie Murders
I’m no fan of whodunits. I’ve never read anything by Agatha Christie, P. D. James, Dorothy L. Sayers or Ellery Queen, not even Conan Doyle. Nor have I ever seen a film based on a whodunit. Detective stories and murder mysteries are simply not my taste.
However, I decided to listen to the audio book of Magpie Murders since the book is about much more than a murder mystery – this is a novel focusing on what it means for an author to be a writer of murder mysteries. More exactly, Magpie Murders explores a number of relationships and connections for mystery writers – to note just three: between author and audience, between author and the author’s prime creation, the detective, between author and the author’s overarching literary vision and self-identity as a writer.
Expanding to wider horizons, from murder mystery to philosophic and literary questions surrounding murder mysteries and their authors, Anthony Horowitz has propelled himself out into the postmodern metafictional universe of such as John Barth, Donald Barthelme and Robert Coover. Thus my interest.
A word about Anthony Horowitz. In interviews this vivacious and charming British author comes across as someone who would make a most enjoyable dinner companion, exactly the type of person a university would love to visit campus to give a talk to students on what it means to immerse oneself in literature and dedicate years to writing. He is also clear about his love for whodunits and writers such as Agatha Christie, Conan Doyle, Ian Fleming and Ellery Queen. And as Mr. Horowitz states directly – both as a person and a writer, he’s exactly the opposite of complete bastard Alan Conway portrayed in Magpie Murders.
Turning to Alan Conway, we have a man who aspired to write literary fiction, to join the ranks of leading contemporary British authors such as Salman Rushdie, Martin Amis, David Mitchell and Will Self. But, alas, his serious efforts where tossed back in his face with rejection slips. Knowing Alan to be an exceptionally talented writer, his wife at the time suggested he write a popular detective novel. Alan did just that. Money and fame gushed in, enough money Alan could finally quit his dreaded teaching job and enough fame the publishing industry and the public clamored for more whodunits featuring Alan’s phenomenal Inspector Atticus Pünd, a detective right up there with the immortals, a detective to be mentioned in the same breath with Sherlock Holmes.
But money and fame came with a price: Alan Conway had to abandon his dreams of becoming a serious literary writer, another Salman Rushdie or Martin Amis. And the more whodunits he wrote, the more his readers and publisher demanded even more Atticus Pünd. Alan responds: Very well, if all you people want your silly whodunits featuring Inspector Atticus Pünd you will have them. All nine volumes. I’ll have my revenge at the end when I reveal to the world the buried code, an anagram constructed from the titles of those nine volumes I wrote for you, the hidden message: your dear Atticus Pünd, hero of heroes, mastermind of masterminds, is nothing more than a piffling poopstick (my term, Alan Conway’s term is more offensive).
At this point we can ask: Why does Alan Conway judge Atticus Pünd a dunce? Pünd is an exceptional detective and wants to continue his detective work right up to the time of his death. What’s wrong with that? First, let us turn to the following quote from the nineteenth century German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer: “The wise man will, above all, strive after freedom from pain and annoyance, quiet and leisure, consequently a tranquil, modest life, with as few encounters as may be; and so, after a little experience of his so-called fellowmen, he will elect to live in retirement, or even, if he is a man of great intellect, in solitude. For the more a man has in himself, the less he will want from other people,–the less, indeed, other people can be to him.”
Perhaps it is Alan Conway’s observation that Atticus Pünd, a man aware of his impending death in a matter of weeks, is incapable of solitude and deep contemplation and thus clings to his need to play his role as detective to crack the case. And maybe Conway is extending such an immature clinging to an entire population incapable of moving on from their reading of superficial whodunits.
Another equally valid reason hearkens back to Alan Conway’s childhood. As we learn from his sister who grew up with him, her brother was a victim of child abuse – abused both physically and emotionally as a youngster, much of the abuse coming in the form of repeated canings at a boarding school. Beating children was both socially acceptable and legal at the time (such punishment in England was not outlawed until 1999). To compound the problem, Alan’s abuse was at the hands of the headmaster who also happened to be his father. Now that’s an explosive combination that can’t be discounted or downplayed.
Having had such an abusive childhood and then being compelled to write about a detective rounding up clues in quaint English villages, it isn’t hard to imagine Alan Conway seething with rage at his writing desk as he pumped out whodunits, all the while his heart and creative spirit craving to write Will Self-like biting cynicism and caustic social commentary. We can picture the author fuming: “No, not this prison. I’m trapped by readers and the publishing industry – I can only write these trite detective mysteries. This is disgusting.”
Questions worthy of consideration as we read The Magpie Murders: What does it mean for an author’s identity to be inextricably entwined with whodunits and their detective? How bound is an author of murder mysteries by the public – their publisher, the media, their readers? How does their success impact their vision and personal integrity as literary artist and creator? Thank you, Anthony Horowitz, for stepping out to the metafictional land of Robert Coover and John Barth to ask such questions.
Short lively video of author Anthony Horowitz talking about Magpie Murders:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgFyj… “ a army for the liberation of rwanda as I ‘m concerned, you ca n’t beat a estimable whodunnit : the twists & turns, the clues and the bolshevik herrings and then, ultimately, the satisfaction of having everything explained to you in a means that makes you kick yourself because you had n’t seen it from the start. ” ― Anthony Horowitz, I ‘m no fan of whodunits. I ‘ve never read anything by Agatha Christie, P. D. James, Dorothy L. Sayers or Ellery Queen, not even Conan Doyle. Nor have I ever seen a film based on a mystery. detective stories and mangle mysteries are plainly not my taste.However, I decided to listen to the audio book ofsince the book is about much more than a murder mystery – this is a novel concenter on what it means for an writer to be a writer of mangle mysteries. More precisely, explores a numeral of relationships and connections for mystery writers – to note merely three : between generator and audience, between generator and the generator ‘s premier creation, the detective, between author and the author ‘s overarching literary sight and self-identity as a writer.Expanding to wider horizons, from mangle mystery to philosophic and literary questions surrounding murder mysteries and their authors, Anthony Horowitz has propelled himself out into the postmodernist metafictional universe of such as John Barth, Donald Barthelme and Robert Coover. Thus my interest.A bible about Anthony Horowitz. In interviews this vibrant and charming british writer comes across as person who would make a most enjoyable dinner companion, precisely the type of person a university would love to visit campus to give a talk to students on what it means to immerse oneself in literature and give years to writing. He is besides clear about his love for whodunits and writers such as Agatha Christie, Conan Doyle, Ian Fleming and Ellery Queen. And as Mr. Horowitz states immediately – both as a person and a writer, he ‘s precisely the opposite of complete bastard Alan Conway portrayed inTurning to Alan Conway, we have a man who aspired to write literary fabrication, to join the ranks of leading contemporaneous british authors such as Salman Rushdie, Martin Amis, David Mitchell and Will Self. But, alas, his good efforts where tossed back in his face with rejection slips. Knowing Alan to be an exceptionally talented writer, his wife at the time suggested he write a popular detective novel. Alan did precisely that. Money and fame gushed in, adequate money Alan could last quit his awful teaching job and adequate fame the print industry and the populace clamored for more whodunits featuring Alan ’ s phenomenal Inspector Atticus Pünd, a detective right up there with the immortals, a detective to be mentioned in the lapp breath with Sherlock Holmes.But money and fame came with a price : Alan Conway had to abandon his dream of becoming a serious literary writer, another Salman Rushdie or Martin Amis. And the more whodunits he wrote, the more his readers and publisher demanded even more Atticus Pünd. Alan responds : very well, if all you people want your silly whodunits featuring Inspector Atticus Pünd you will have them. All nine volumes. I ’ ll have my retaliation at the end when I reveal to the global the bury code, an anagram constructed from the titles of those nine volumes I wrote for you, the hidden message : your dear Atticus Pünd, hero of heroes, originator of masterminds, is nothing more than a piffle poopstick ( my term, Alan Conway ‘s term is more offensive ) .At this point we can ask : Why does Alan Conway estimate Atticus Pünd a dunce ? Pünd is an exceeding detective and wants to continue his detective function correct up to the clock time of his death. What ’ south wrong with that ? First, let us turn to the follow quote from the nineteenth century German philosopher, Arthur Schopenhauer : “ The wise valet will, above all, endeavor after freedom from pain and aggravator, lull and leisure, consequently a placid, modest life, with as few encounters as may be ; and so, after a little experience of his alleged fellowmen, he will elect to live in retirement, or even, if he is a man of big mind, in solitude. For the more a serviceman has in himself, the less he will want from other people, — the less, indeed, early people can be to him. ” possibly it is Alan Conway ’ s observation that Atticus Pünd, a homo aware of his impending death in a matter of weeks, is incapable of solitude and abstruse contemplation and frankincense clings to his want to play his role as detective to crack the case. And possibly Conway is extending such an green clinging to an integral population incapable of moving on from their interpretation of superficial whodunits.Another evenly valid reason hearkens back to Alan Conway ’ s childhood. As we learn from his sister who grew up with him, her brother was a victim of child abuse – abused both physically and emotionally as a child, much of the abuse coming in the form of repeat canings at a board school. Beating children was both socially satisfactory and legal at the time ( such punishment in England was not outlawed until 1999 ). To compound the trouble, Alan ’ sulfur mistreat was at the hands of the headmaster who besides happened to be his beget. now that ’ s an explosive combination that can ’ t be discounted or downplayed.Having had such an abusive childhood and then being compelled to write about a detective rounding up clues in quaint English villages, it isn ’ thyroxine hard to imagine Alan Conway seething with rage at his writing desk as he pumped out whodunits, all the while his heart and creative heart craving to write Will Self-like biting cynicism and caustic sociable comment. We can picture the writer fume : “ No, not this prison. I ’ m trapped by readers and the print industry – I can alone write these banal detective mysteries. This is disgusting. ” Questions worthy of consideration as we read : What does it mean for an author ’ mho identity to be inextricably entwined with whodunits and their detective ? How bound is an writer of murder mysteries by the public – their publisher, the media, their readers ? How does their success impact their imagination and personal integrity as literary artist and godhead ? Thank you, Anthony Horowitz, for stepping out to the metafictional land of Robert Coover and John Barth to ask such questions.Short lively video of writer Anthony Horowitz talking about
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