The fourth reason detective mysteries are appealing as stories is related to the foundational truth that human existence is meaningless apart from community. We do not thrive nor are we fully content as solitary creatures, because as the Creator said in the beginning, it is not good to be alone (Genesis 2:18). Extended solitary confinement can drive a person mad, and even hermits usually build their cells near one another.

            And because we are finite and fallen creatures, as soon as community is established a system of some sort is necessary if justice is to be maintained. It may be a simple system that grows up informally, but something systematic is required if the community is not to descend into some sort of libertarian anarchy. This is the wisdom in Jesus’ instructions to his followers about how to proceed if someone sins against us (Matthew 18:15-20) and when churches fail to take his words seriously the result is rarely admirable.

            And because we live in a broken world, corruption can penetrate our systems, within the church or without, and when it does all of life is disrupted and perverted. Sadly, corruption is a constant threat, from cities where the police accept bribes to look the other way to the incestuous relationship between Washington and Wall Street. Corruption undercuts the pursuit of justice, skewers the hope of victims, and allows the powerful to gain at the expense of the powerless.

            Detective stories bring this complex interrelationship of community, system, justice, and corruption into focus so that as we read life seems to be clarified. We love detectives who are incorruptible, and see them as heroic. We wonder about the detective who takes shortcuts for the greater good, and cheer if their breaking the rules results in the criminal being apprehended. And we feel a weight when the story is of corruption all through the system, so that justice is always thwarted and the forces of law instead make a bargain with the forces of crime to keep the evil within “acceptable” limits. This is why debates about a nation’s judicial system become so heated—even if we are not dragged into the justice system personally it matters to us that the system in our community is not corrupted.

            And so detective stories are appealing because they allow us to live in a fictional world where these realities are explored, for blessing and for curse. We follow the cases of incorruptible detectives and feel hopeful, or the cases of corrupt detectives and wish they would be caught and exposed. Human community, systems of law and order, and the diabolical threat of corruption are constantly with us, and both justice and hope lie in the balance.

Lord Peter & Father Brown

            If you have not read Dorothy Sayers’s (1893-1957) Lord Peter Wimsey mysteries or G. K. Chesterton’s (1874-1936) Father Brown mysteries, please do so. I think it is correct to say that these two Christian authors not only wrote ripping good stories, they revealed how glorious the detective genre could be.

            Lord Peter is a stereotypical British aristocrat, with a trusty butler, and time on his hands because his money, which is considerable, was inherited. So he solves mysteries, and because of his moral commitments and lack of need, is incorruptible in his pursuit of justice. An interesting detail for Christians is that though Lord Peter is not a believer, another character in the stories is, and the interplay between the two is fascinating.

            Father Brown is a Catholic priest, and is a good detective because he cares only for truth and has spent so many hours hearing confession that he has no illusions about human nature. He can see past and through deception and lies, and notices ordinary details that more distracted people all miss. When he confronts the criminal at the end of the story it is not with the standard, “You are under arrest,” but with “I am ready to hear your confession.”

            Both Sayers and Chesterton clearly saw how detective stories fit into the deeper biblical story of reality, and though neither series are religious in the sense of being preachy, both take law, guilt, justice, mercy and forgiveness with the seriousness they deserve. The fact that neither detective is corruptible makes the stories all the more satisfying. I’d like both Lord Peter and Father Brown to be at work in my community.

            Father Brown (51 short stories published in various editions).

            Lord Peter (11 novels plus 6 short story collections published in various editions).

The Protectors

            The Danish national police force includes the P.E.T (Politiets Efterretningstjeneste) division, whose job is similar to that of the U.S. Secret Service, providing protection to politicians, public figures, royalty, and visiting diplomats. The series follows a group of new recruits to the service, so we get a glimpse of the more mundane as well as the exciting parts of the job. The individuals on the squad have personal lives and concerns, and how these interact with their demanding and dangerous work is a subtext woven into the plot.

            In one sense The Protectors is not a detective series, yet fulfilling the tasks assigned to them usually involves needing to anticipate dangers and unravel threats to the persons they must keep safe. Their work carries them to the edge between criminal violence and social justice, and hidden clues and mysterious criminals always lurk. And they are tasked with preventing terrorist attacks, tracking dangerous persons, and finding stalkers.

            One of the delights of The Protectors is the insight it allows into Danish life and society. Filmed in Copenhagen, each episode provides lovely vistas of Danish countryside or the scenic streets, architecture, interiors, and neighborhoods of Copenhagen. Following the members of the squad also allows insight into Danish culture, mores, and daily life.

            I enjoyed this series, appreciated the character development as the episodes progressed through each season, and came to understand how even working as a bodyguard can demand choices that are rife with ethical concerns, and sometimes moral confusion. The Protectors are often misunderstood, criticized when things go badly by powerful figures in politics and the media, and ignored when everything goes well. Yet the squad remains committed to its work, and does its best even when needing to protect unsavory characters. In a fallen world, police like the P.E.T. will always be necessary, and one can only hope that they act with the integrity the officers in The Protectors sought to nurture and display.

            The Protectors (2 seasons, 10 episodes each, 1 hour each episode, Danish with subtitles, available on DVD or streaming)

Spiral

            The Protectors is set in Denmark and follows a squad of limited officers who desire to live with integrity, while Spiral takes us to France where nearly everyone depicted in the series seems willing, if not eager, to be corrupted to get ahead. Spiral is delightful for the opportunity it provides to see into French life, society and culture and the lovely setting of Paris. The corruption comes not because they are French, but because they are fallen, and to mark the contrast, one figure in the series seeks justice even at personal cost.

            The French system of justice is quite different from what I am used to, with magistrates empowered to investigate crimes and determine whether the persons involved should be brought to trial. The series follows one such magistrate and the police working under his direction depicting how he must weave his way through a labyrinth of political vested interests and legal corruption. Two young attorneys, trying to get their careers launched in a crowded and competitive field, discover the temptation to bend the law is not merely present but is usually far more lucrative than just doing the job of a lawyer.

            The depiction of corruption is never glorified, and though characters may claim things are relative, the stories reveal that is not the case. Choices have consequences, justice perverted is never victimless, and the individual who chooses corruption may gain wealth and even prestige but loses their soul.

            Each series of episodes tends to follow one major crime, as it is investigated and brought to justice, with subplots of other smaller cases woven into the plots. Over time we watch as temptation, disappointment, and choices make a difference, setting up ripples that work their way out to poison the system upon which the community depends. This is a rather dark and gritty series, one that shows not just the horror of crime, but the tragedy that is corruption.

            Spiral (5 seasons, 8-12 episodes each, 1 hour each episode, on DVD and some streaming, French with subtitles)

Peaky Blinders

            A production of BBC Two, Peaky Blinders tells the story of a family gang that ruled the streets of Birmingham, England in 1919. World War I has just ended, conditions for working men in Birmingham are grim, Communist agitators are seeking to organize resistance, industrial pollution is unrestricted, and despair and alcoholism are rampant. The Peaky Blinders, a family of gangsters are named for their caps, into the peaks of which they have sewed straight razors, so in a street fight they can be slashed across an opponent’s eyes. The neighborhoods that the gang rules are bereft of law, the police either bought off or too afraid to get involved. Then the brutal but effective Chief Inspector Chester Campbell (played by Sam Neill), is brought in from Belfast by Winston Churchill to clean up the mess, and he soon comes up against the head of the Peaky Blinders, the clever and ambitious gangster Tommy Shelby (played by Cillian Murphy).

            In this series we go one step further and watch what life is like when corruption has perverted the system, so that the street gang and the police are more alike than not. Both take life when it suits them (though for different reasons), make compromises to get ahead, and try to find a way to further their own ends even if integrity is lost in the process.

            In some neighborhoods today residents fear a squad of police arriving on their street even more than they do the gangs that rule the street when the police are absent. Peaky Blinders gives some hint of what that must be like, and it is not as it should be. Chief Inspector Campbell is on the side of law and order, yet is willing to brutalize, torture, invade homes, and make the sight of a constable a reason for the law abiding citizen to fear.

            The trajectory from Lord Peter and Father Brown to The Protectors to Spiral to Peaky Blinders follows stories of increasing corruption. None of these productions glorify crime and corruption but force us to face the reality of the tragedy of living in a darkly fallen world. They reveal how badly we yearn for a system within our communities that seeks justice with integrity, which in turn reveals why we mean it when we pray, “Thy kingdom come, they will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”

            The Peaky Blinders (2 seasons, 6 episodes each, 1 hour each episode available exclusively on Netflix and DVD)

            The world remains a troubled, and troubling place. Wars have proliferated into seemingly never ending skirmishes in numerous places around the globe, and the process of globalization means the West will be party to them even if we believe we are a force for goodness and freedom in a world torn apart by intolerance, greed, religious, nationalist and ethnic fervor, and old grievances. Too much is at stake for us to remain aloof, whether what is at stake is oil, or international terrorism, or human dignity. Most of the time I hear of all this in three forms: brief videos or photos that capture single decontextualized moments in the larger conflict, news stories that try to give some impression of what is happening, and horrific statistics of numbers killed, displaced, or maimed.

            One perspective that is difficult to achieve is the view on the ground, the way things look as events unfold not to policy makers, or military commanders, or media correspondents but to the individuals taking part in the action. I sometimes assume I can imagine that perspective, but that is an illusion. Once the conflict is underway, decisions must be made not with careful reflection but in the moment, and all the moments during armed conflict are fiercely unforgiving. Hesitate to shoot, and you might be shot, but pulling the trigger might result in some tragedy far beyond the death of the enemy combatant who has you in his sites. Brokenness is far messier than we usually admit, and armed conflict is the messiest of all. This does not mean we give up on trying to understand, but it does mean our conclusions should reflect a measure of nuance that is far deeper than what we hear from pundits, talk show hosts, culture warriors, and partisan political debates.

            Trying to gain some sense of the view on the ground—though it will always remain badly incomplete—can help in this process. Here are two books that help provide that.

Under Fire: The Untold Story of the Attack in Benghazi (Fred Burton & Samuel Katz, 2013)

            On September 11, 2012, armed men stormed the American diplomatic mission compound in Benghazi, Libya. When the attack was over at dawn the next day, the American ambassador to Libya, Christopher Stevens, the Information Officer, Sean Smith, and two CIA agents, Tyrone Woods and Glen Doherty were dead. Several of the Diplomatic Security (DS) agents, whose task is to provide protection for the Ambassador (and other diplomats) were badly injured, and all were exhausted and dispirited over the fact that on their watch such a tragedy unfolded. Under Fire is their story, told from the perspective of the DS agents on the ground in Benghazi.

            One of the authors of Under Fire, Fred Burton, is a former State Department counterterrorism deputy chief and DS agent. The other, Samuel Katz, is an expert on Middle East security and international terrorism.

The linchpin of America’s ability to lead the world, from around the world, even in locations and war zones where the intelligence community drives the diplomatic engine, is the courage, dedication, and sacrifice of the men and women of the Diplomatic Security Service who find themselves in harm’s way, driving a follow car or maintaining security programs at fortresslike embassies, and those that are not fortresses, in locations that few Americans would be able to locate on a map. American diplomatic interests—and the realities of day-to-day expeditionary diplomacy—could never be protected if this intrepid force of federal agents were not on post and on guard. The true story of the Benghazi attack is not one of failure or cover-up. The true story of Benghazi is that men and women volunteer to place themselves between a bullet or a bomb and America's diplomats and interests inside the crosshairs, inside the most dangerous and volatile locations in the world. [p. 264]

            Under Fire is not all you will need to read about the Benghazi attack. Numerous hearings have been held and reports issued in an attempt to discover what happened and why, and who, if anyone is to blame. Some of this involves an honest effort to find the truth, while much is little more than partisan posturing. Under Fire does not try to sort all that out, but rather tells the story of what the attack was like for the DS agents on the ground that had a tough, unenviable, if not utterly impossible job to do in Benghazi, and put their lives on the line attempting to fulfill it. It is easy, in discussions of Benghazi and similar events and places, for some of the players to fade into invisibility in the background. That must not happen, not because these DS agents are Americans but because they are created in the image of God.

The Good Soldiers (David Finkel, 2009)

            In 2007-2008 an army battalion of soldiers known as the “Rangers,” were sent to Iraq as part of President Bush’s strategy (“the surge”) of increasing the number of American forces in that country. Over a period of 15 months the 2-16 Battalion waited ready to dive for cover when rockets or mortar shells were lobbed into their base, went out on patrol into urban areas where the enemy, indistinguishable from ordinary civilians, prepared hidden traps designed to kill and maim, and kept one another steady in their determination to make a difference in the war. For 8 of those 15 months, Washington Post reporter David Finkel was embedded with the 2-16, living with the soldiers, going with them on missions, and promising to tell their story. “From the beginning,” Finkel says, “I explained to them that my intent was to document their corner of the war, without agenda.” The Good Soldier is Finkel’s attempt to fulfill that promise. Fourteen soldiers of the 2-16 did not return alive, and many more returned to civilian life badly broken in body and soul. And in the background Iraq remains in the news, torn by continuing armed conflict.

            It happened soon after sunrise on a quiet Sunday morning and shook every building on the FOB [Forward Operating Base]. Doors bowed from the concussion. Windows broke and blew out. It wasn't the usual rocket or mortar, but something louder and scarier. There’d been no siren, no warning at all, just a sudden explosion that felt like the end of the world had arrived, and before anyone had a chance to do anything, such as run for a bunker or crawl under a bed, there was a second explosion, and a third.

            The day of the lob bombs, this would be called. Soldiers counted fifteen explosions in all, although some may have been mixed in with the roars of missiles being fired from Apache gunships or their own racing hearts. Whatever the true number, the explosions went on for twenty minutes, and only as calm returned did the audacity of what had just happened become clear.

            There had been two long dump trucks. They had pulled off Route Pluto across from the FOB, into a dirt area beyond which was a cement factory. Each was carrying a load of thousands of brightly colored bags of chicken-flavored potato chips that had been manufactured in Syria, but hidden beneath were propane tanks on launching rails, which became visible only as the backs of the trucks rose and the bags of potato chips fell away.

            These tanks were the bombs. Each had been packed with ball bearings and explosives. A 107-millimeter rocket booster attached to the bottom was just strong enough to lob a tank over the high wall surrounding the FOB, at which point it turned nose down and plummeted onto its detonator, exploding with the noise and force of a five-hundred-pound bomb and spraying shrapnel and ball bearings in every direction for hundreds of yards. One after another, the bombs exploded in terrifying succession, until the two launching trucks were finally destroyed by Hellfire missiles, and when the wreckage had cooled enough to be searched, soldiers discovered an inscription on one of the trucks that read, when translated: “A statement from the Holy Koran. Victory is coming from God, and the entire triumph is near.” Other statements had been left, too, in the form of text messages on cell phones. “Little Hiroshima is going to happen to you,” was one. “How was your morning now? Surprises are coming.”

            This was the very first use in Iraq of a weapon that would eventually spread across much of Baghdad and be described by the military as ‘the greatest threat right now that we face” because of its capacity to kill “scores of soldiers” at once. If there was any good news to this first attack, it was that no one was seriously injured. But the damage to the FOB was significant, perhaps in the millions of dollars, and after the attack ended, Kauzlarich went to survey the extent of it, eventually arriving at a collapsed trailer outside of which stood Jeffrey Sauer.

            The trailer had been his. He had been inside, waking up, when the lob bombs began landing nearby. Blast walls surrounding the trailer had stopped the shrapnel, but concussions caved in the roof and walls, and as the trailer came down he covered his head and waited to die. Explosion after explosion—this time Sauer heard them all. Finally, he crawled outside into a smoking landscape of broken buildings and vehicles, and when Kauzlarich arrived, he was standing with a dazed expression, staring at something crawling across the ground.

            “See that bug?” he said to Kauzlarich.

            Kauzlarich nodded.

            “A week ago, I would have crushed it. But it’s Sunday, and I almost got my ass waxed, so I’m gonna let it live,” he said, and as he continued to watch the bug, Kauzlarich continued to watch the face of a man soon would be going home. [175-176]

            What happens to soldiers on the front line is always horrible. For those of us who have never been there, it is also unimaginable. The horror of the front lines is not necessarily reason not to go to war in a just cause, but it is sufficient reason to care for the soldiers who were there, regardless of the cost.

            The Good Soldiers allows us to come along through the long stretches of boredom and brief periods of intense terror that occupied the days of the 2-16 Battalion in Iraq. We not only learn what they did and talked about, but how being there changed them forever, even if they were one of the fortunate ones that were missed by the bullets and shrapnel and crushing explosions.

Under Fire: The Untold Story of the Attack in Benghazi by Fred Burton and Samuel M. Katz (New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press; 2013) 275 pages + notes + index.

The Good Soldiers by David Finkel (New York, NY: Sarah Crichton Books; 2009) 273 pages + appendix.

            There is a “casual vacancy” in Pagford. That what they call it when a member of the Parish Council—what in America would be termed the Town Council—dies unexpectedly so a post is suddenly vacant. In the greater scheme of things that would not seem to be the stuff of a novel, except for the loss and grief that has descended on Barry Fairchild’s wife and children. But J. K. Rowling is not content to allow us to see only the surface of life in this small and picturesque English village, but relentlessly burrows into the substance of lives and relationships to uncover the petty resentments, ordinary stresses, occasional illnesses, unspoken prejudices, fractured families and shattered hopes that ferment in the brokenness that is normally kept carefully out of sight. Rowling is not being unkind to the Pagford’s of the world, nor has she set up a mythical town for the setting of dark dealings and nasty secrets that could only be imagined in a piece of fiction. If we do not recognize ourselves as Pagfordians, regardless of where we live, we are not living in reality but in a world of our own imagining.

            The Casual Vacancy is a book that does not lie about the human condition. Rather, it sympathetically but relentlessly exposes it. What is extraordinary is that no one is tattled on in this story—each individual is allowed to tell their own story, in their own words. Each is allowed their own point of view, and each is convinced they understand their neighbor’s point of view and what is best for the common good. These are normal people, living ordinary lives—normal, ordinary, and broken.

            The village of Pagford lies in a valley through which a river winds. At its edge is “The Fields,” a government sponsored housing development that is feared and disliked because in its alleyways are addicts, dealers, unwed mothers, and too many people without jobs. The people of Pagford work for a living, and those that run shops and businesses tend not to hire applicants from The Fields, and if they do it is for less than a living wage. Overlooking the town, like a silent observer that acts as a sentinel for something that has been lost, perhaps irretrievably, is the ruins of a great abbey.

            We meet Howard and Shirley Millison, first citizens of Pagford who lead the effort on the Parish Council to cut funds for The Fields and close it’s free clinic/drug treatment center. Barry Fairbrother, born and raised in The Fields, having escaped it into middleclass existence, leads the opposition. His wife, Mary, is proud of Barry and much in love with him and their children, but secretly resents how much time The Fields takes him away from the family. We meet Parminder Jawanda, the general practitioner in Pagford, whose husband Vikram is a cardiologist. They are Sikhs, which causes them to stand out from the rest of the population. Vikram, seldom at home, concentrates his attention and affection on his two sons, both good students. Parminder is also on the Council, whose support of The Fields seems to be primarily support for Barry who has overcome such odds in his life. Parminder cannot understand why her younger daughter Sukhvinder isn’t more like her beautiful older sister who is not only a good student but confident and outgoing. We meet Krystal Weedon, who lives in The Fields, the older daughter of Tessa, a heroin addict and occasional prostitute, who struggles to care for Robbie, her 3 year old brother and keep the family intact. There is Kay, a social worker, and Miles Mollison, son of Howard and Shirley who becomes a candidate to replace Barry on the Council, and Stuart “Fats” Wall, whose unkind, relentless bullying drives Sukhvinder to the edge of despair. And there are more, characters like me, and you, and like our neighbors, for blessing and for curse. Rowling is a good enough writer to keep all these characters distinct as we read, and though they are all distinct from one another, I felt each was to some extent like me, or like someone I know.

            Rowling is careful to let each person have their say, and as the story unfolds we see Pagford, and life, through each character’s eyes. In doing so The Casual Vacancy becomes a parable for life in the West at the beginning of the 21^st century. The challenge of religious and cultural pluralism, the pressure of limited financial resources, the debate over the role of government, citizens who are certain they understand the other side but whose lifestyle insulates them from ever having to actually talk and listen to those with whom they disagree, and the thin layer of legality that maintains appearances while an ugly lack of civility poisons the community—all this is the wider cultural setting for Rowling’s novel.

            The Casual Vacancy is not great literature, but it is a very good novel and better than much of the fiction that competes for readers in the marketplace. It tells the truth about life and reality, and reflects, sadly and accurately the sort of pain and fragmentation that haunts our world and lies as hidden as is possible behind the drawn shades of the flats and houses that line the streets of the cities and towns where we live.

            Rowling does not provide an easy narrative with a hero and a villain, a simple conflict, a satisfying resolution, and a lovely sunset on the final page. The Casual Vacancy is peopled with ordinary folk, broken and yearning for hope in a world lying in the shadow of a ancient, rich tradition of moral wisdom and redemptive grace that is now in ruins, unappreciated and deemed irrelevant.

The Casual Vacancy by J. K. Rowling (New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company; 2012) 503 pages.

I have already said how much I like Jamie Quatro’s collection of short stories, I Want to Show You More. My review can be read here. She is a gifted artisan, crafting words with thoughtfulness and practiced skill, a beguiling storyteller, and an author that reveals, for those who have eyes to see, an imagination deeply steeped in a Christian worldview.

As I also noted in my review, some people—including some Christians—may be surprised by some of her stories. Since posting my review, a few friends have asked for help understanding or interpreting some of the stories in the collection. I have never met Quatro, and claim no special insight into her intentions or motivations as an author, but I am willing to suggest a question that seemed crucial as I read her stories. This question is not unique to Quatro’s work, but is one of a series of questions worth asking as we read fiction. You can find more detail about reading fiction with discernment here.

The question that helped me gain insight into the deeper levels of meaning in the stories in I Want to Show You More is this: Does the story function as a slice of reality, or a microcosm of reality, or a metaphor for reality? A slice of reality is just that, a story that we can imagine happening just as the author tells it—the films, Babette’s Feast (1987) and The Station Agent (2003) are good examples. A microcosm of reality is a story that every reader knows didn’t happen as it is told, but realizes instead it is intended to capture a sense of all of life within its narrow confines—see, for example, the films The Matrix (1999), The Lord of the Rings (2001), or The Tree of Life (2011). A metaphor for reality is a story that can be imagined as happening as it is told, except that it contains some aspect that is, by itself unimaginable unless it is allowed to be a symbol for some issue of significance—see, for example, Lars and the Real Girl (2007) or Snow White and the Huntsman (2012).

Some of Quatro’s stories in I Want to Show You More are slices of reality, stories we can very easily imagine unfolding in life just as they do on the page. “1.7 to Tennessee” is surely in this category, and we can imagine driving along the highway up the mountain needing to keep an eye out for Eva Bock as she walks along the shoulder of the road. Her grief over the loss of her son and the form letter generated by the White House resonate with the frustration many of us feel when our vote is required by faithfulness yet seems not just powerless, but worthless. The same holds true for “The Anointing” and some of the stories dealing with sexual desire like “Caught Up” and “You Look Like Jesus.” We may be uncomfortable with them but that makes them no less real. The level of reality is such that we can imagine them not only happening, but we can imagine inhabiting the stories ourselves.

Other of her stories are metaphors for life, so that the details may be unrealistic in the narrow sense but serve to help us see deeper levels of reality with greater clarity. “Decomposition: A Primer for Promiscuous Housewives” isn’t told to make us believe a decaying body appeared in this couple’s bed—the corpse is a metaphor for the lasting effects that unfaithfulness brings into a marriage. The story gives the lie to the myth that infidelity can be so innocent, so pleasurable, so removed from the need for commitment that a spouse can engage in it without fear of lasting repercussions when their betrayal is discovered.

I suspect that Quatro is a runner, because the details in “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Pavement” are quite exquisite. Still, is it intended to be the story of an actual race? Or is the race here a metaphor for life’s pilgrimage, and the statues a metaphor for the silly weights we lug around in a society obsessed with athleticism and sexual vitality? What is it we get through the mail that might produce those ungodly burdens?

If I am correct in these musings—and I suspect there is much more waiting to be discovered in Quatro’s stories—would you not agree that she writes not just good stories, but stories that subversively expose the weak moral and metaphysical foundations of postmodernity?

I think it’s winsome and brilliant.