Dr Keith Massey is not only my friend and spiritual advisor, but my publisher.
Here is a note he sent, while putting together the collection of detective stories (some previously published, some not) I Don't Do Divorce Cases.
~ ~ ~
If possible, could you send me a list of the order of all the stories as you think they would work as a whole. When I get home from Church I'm going to assemble the lot and then begin a close read through. That way I could give input on how the stories interreacted as well.
KAM
KAM
--------------------
[The reply:]
This is actually a case in which the author has no privileged perspective.
The stories were written in no particular order, with no eventual omnibus publication in mind.
Literally, most of them occurred to me in the shower, and I rushed to write them down before the inspiration evaporated along with the steam of the bath: that is why some of them are so concentrated and short.
The naive reader is not well positioned to make a structural decision.
But you are an *instructed* reader -- not only in the sense that you'll pick up on any allusions to the Aeniad or to Job, but because you have been literally instructed by the author: He has shown you his hand. So, you already know the philosophy behind it all. Since you're going to read thru all the stories anyway, treat the matter logically, sorting the stories like solitaire as you go along. As: "Hm, this one makes reference to a case in which the client's missing husband was a figment of her old maid's imagination, so it has to be ordered after that one."
I have previously indicated the book-ends:
(alpha) Nice Knowing You (a.k.a. I Don't Do Divorce Cases) -- before Joey existed, before theology entered in;
(omega) Lost and Found
Here, Murphy is at the end of his rope, and we come to the end of our tales.
There is only a shadowy, peripheral, figures-in-Hades role for Joey, because here it could logically all take place in Murphy's head: he could be an actual Brain in a Vat. And even assuming that he really did the things described, there still is no palpable story, since there is no literal missing "diamond" -- that is purely a symbol of lost virginity, lost innocence, what you wish. The diamond is 'restored' to its 'rightful owner', not by any shamus shenanigans, but by Grace: having truly hit bottom (his hurling away the stolen pearl is a rejection of any contrived solution this side the eschaton) Murphy nonetheless discovers (tacitly; he might or might not be able to verbally voice this) that, despite all tribulations, he does indeed believe in the Resurrection. The diamond of that hope has, in a sense, been restored, not to Sola Gratia (who never really lost it), but to Murphy.
("Sola Gratia": okay, that's another place where I am way too obvious, but I wanted to provide a confirming Answer Key to any reader who, by the time he ges to this last piece, thinks he has figured it all out.)
So after that -- how could we ever go back to some merry caper about stolen cars?
Beyond these termini, a quo and ad quem, the choice is yours.
Generally (and logically speaking), these are the guidelines:
* The more world-weary Murphy is, the longer he has been in this business.
* The more 'meta' a piece is, the farther back it goes.
(Thus, the one in iambic pentameters, written as a direct response to listening to Paradise Lost on an audiobook, would come very late.)
[Sidenote: Another guideline, theoretically, would be a theological evolution.
*Most* of those stories were written before I was baptised.
And yet -- all the theology is already present in nuce in the early pieces.
It's the same with Chesterton: you can't tell which pieces were written before, and which after,
he was received into the Church. Amazingly, he wrote Orthodoxy *before*.]
The 'meta' pieces must go last, not merely because they might be more difficult for the average reader to understand, but because they undermine the whole series, which is thus revealed to traverse a Hegelian arc, with the last pieces being the Antithesis. They say, in effect: "This whole vein is now played out. I don't want to write detective stories anymore."
And the synthesis? -- The rest of my life.
[Note: The stories get more 'meta' as they go along, and mostly have not been published.
If interest warrants, they shall be. But so far sales do not justify further publication.]
The stories were written in no particular order, with no eventual omnibus publication in mind.
Literally, most of them occurred to me in the shower, and I rushed to write them down before the inspiration evaporated along with the steam of the bath: that is why some of them are so concentrated and short.
The naive reader is not well positioned to make a structural decision.
But you are an *instructed* reader -- not only in the sense that you'll pick up on any allusions to the Aeniad or to Job, but because you have been literally instructed by the author: He has shown you his hand. So, you already know the philosophy behind it all. Since you're going to read thru all the stories anyway, treat the matter logically, sorting the stories like solitaire as you go along. As: "Hm, this one makes reference to a case in which the client's missing husband was a figment of her old maid's imagination, so it has to be ordered after that one."
I have previously indicated the book-ends:
(alpha) Nice Knowing You (a.k.a. I Don't Do Divorce Cases) -- before Joey existed, before theology entered in;
(omega) Lost and Found
Here, Murphy is at the end of his rope, and we come to the end of our tales.
There is only a shadowy, peripheral, figures-in-Hades role for Joey, because here it could logically all take place in Murphy's head: he could be an actual Brain in a Vat. And even assuming that he really did the things described, there still is no palpable story, since there is no literal missing "diamond" -- that is purely a symbol of lost virginity, lost innocence, what you wish. The diamond is 'restored' to its 'rightful owner', not by any shamus shenanigans, but by Grace: having truly hit bottom (his hurling away the stolen pearl is a rejection of any contrived solution this side the eschaton) Murphy nonetheless discovers (tacitly; he might or might not be able to verbally voice this) that, despite all tribulations, he does indeed believe in the Resurrection. The diamond of that hope has, in a sense, been restored, not to Sola Gratia (who never really lost it), but to Murphy.
("Sola Gratia": okay, that's another place where I am way too obvious, but I wanted to provide a confirming Answer Key to any reader who, by the time he ges to this last piece, thinks he has figured it all out.)
So after that -- how could we ever go back to some merry caper about stolen cars?
Beyond these termini, a quo and ad quem, the choice is yours.
Generally (and logically speaking), these are the guidelines:
* The more world-weary Murphy is, the longer he has been in this business.
* The more 'meta' a piece is, the farther back it goes.
(Thus, the one in iambic pentameters, written as a direct response to listening to Paradise Lost on an audiobook, would come very late.)
[Sidenote: Another guideline, theoretically, would be a theological evolution.
*Most* of those stories were written before I was baptised.
And yet -- all the theology is already present in nuce in the early pieces.
It's the same with Chesterton: you can't tell which pieces were written before, and which after,
he was received into the Church. Amazingly, he wrote Orthodoxy *before*.]
The 'meta' pieces must go last, not merely because they might be more difficult for the average reader to understand, but because they undermine the whole series, which is thus revealed to traverse a Hegelian arc, with the last pieces being the Antithesis. They say, in effect: "This whole vein is now played out. I don't want to write detective stories anymore."
And the synthesis? -- The rest of my life.
[Note: The stories get more 'meta' as they go along, and mostly have not been published.
If interest warrants, they shall be. But so far sales do not justify further publication.]
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