They all think any minute I’m going to commit suicide. What a joke. The truth of course is the exact opposite: suicide is the only thing that keeps me alive. Whenever everything else fails, all I have to do is consider suicide and in two seconds I’m as cheerful as a nitwit. But if I could not kill myself–ah then, I would. I can do without nembutal or murder mysteries but not without suicide. – Walker Percy, The Moviegoer
The detective narrative has evolved drastically since Doyle’s unflinching genius, Sherlock Holmes, and his uncanny ability to solve the most baffling crimes with little to no existential scars from case to case. Crime, in Holmes’ world, could always be tamed by the righteous human mind; evil was just another cog in a rationally mapped out schematic. Case closed.
However, recent TV shows have challenged this conception of the cold, rational detective who remains existentially unaffected by the cases with which they come in contact. The first season of True Detective gave blunt vocalization to the language of the new detective show, echoing Nietzsche: “…if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.” One cannot simply confront evil and come away unscathed. Holmes’ cases were easily solved because the cases were created by an author who believed all things could be rationally explained, even evil. There is an overwhelming amount of testimony to the contrary in the world of literature, film, and TV since Doyle.
I first recognized this new understanding of crime in the opening dialogue of 2008’s No Country For Old Men in which Tommy Lee Jones waxes philosophical about the nature of human evil:
The crime you see now, it’s hard to even take its measure. It’s not that I’m afraid of it. I always knew you had to be willing to die to even do this job. But, I don’t want to push my chips forward and go out and meet something I don’t understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He’d have to say, ‘O.K., I’ll be part of this world.’
This sums up the new detectives: people who push their chips forward and meet something they don’t understand. They are people who look defiantly into the abyss, even though it may change them into the monsters they are fighting. And, oftentimes, it’s that struggle that makes these detectives suffer the deep wounds of depression and anger.
Three exemplars of this archetype include John Luther, Kurt Wallander and John River, all detectives in BBC shows with their surnames as titles.
The camera makes known the internal, broiling rage and potential moral turpitude of John Luther from the very first moment of dialogue in the first episode of BBC’s Luther. As I have written about in previous articles, Luther is someone better suited to be a priest perhaps than a ‘copper.’ His presence forces the people around him to double down on the side of the moral line for which they vie even though every fiber of his being wants to release the bloodlust just beneath the surface. As Alice (perhaps his most loyal friend) puts it, his conscience has killed more people than she has–since she is a killer herself. He’s a good man who aims to enact justice and yet what he reaps is often the loss of those he loves.
Kurt Wallander, a solemn Swedish detective, finds himself on the other side of the depression spectrum. After each episode (which are often film-length), Wallander’s countenance becomes more pale and emotionless, his eyes glassy. The only times he smiles are when he’s in the presence of his daughter. With nine episodes to date, one gets the feeling that after so many interactions with evil his story will end at the bottom of several bottles of liquor or an emptied gun. It feels like each case may be the one that breaks him finally and that he won’t be able to return from the existential depression he so deeply feels.
And then there is John River who is literally haunted by the dead–whether it be by the victims harassing him to find their killers, or the darker side of his subconscious as represented by the 1800s Lambeth Poisoner, Thomas Neill Cream, who tempts him to give himself over to the worst of his human nature, or the one case he hasn’t been able to solve, the death of his partner, Stevie. Everyone around him finds him staring into space or talking to the air around him. The show is brilliantly ambiguous in characterizing him as either on the verge of psychotic breakdown or just so emotionally broken that he turns inward to cope.
Even though each of these detectives is unique in how they showcase their depression, they are all personally affected by the measure of evil they face. The abyss has gazed back. Sherlock Holmes had an on/off switch and could compartmentalize with little to no bleeding-over. Cold rationality was the name of his game. The modern detective, however, may still answer the “how” at the end of each episode, but it’s the question of “why” that pushes them into the deep end where they will forever be on the verge of drowning. The “why” is the thing that can’t be solved–the enduring, torturous question mark at the end of every “solved” case.
The more I re-watch these shows–which is an anomaly because I seldom re-watch shows–the more I find the true cost of justice, the true cost of those who “put [their] soul at hazard.” These characters’ reactions to the brokenness, evil, and chaos of the world makes a lot of sense to me as someone who, too, falls into periods of depression, frustration, and anger at the state of the world and the evil in it.
Another part of me thinks that their depression doesn’t just stem from the outward sight, but the inward eye. I think Luther, Wallander and River see the hairline fracture that separates them from those they are tracking down. They marvel with horror at the abyss secreted from the fatal wounds of their hearts. On some level, they look those criminals in the eyes and see nothing but a reflection of themselves.
I think that is the element of the new detective that feels hopeful, that feels fresh and relatable. They seek to understand their enemies by learning to understand themselves which is itself the most dangerous endeavor. It’s a type of death. To know thyself is to know the things that must be put to death, the things that connect us to those we hate, those who we consider our enemies. When we see those severe intersections of humanity, compassion flows forth freely. However, as Luther, Wallander and River have come to understand in their own ways, sometimes that means going to the dark places and trusting that there is someone outside of us who can bring us back from the ledge.
The cold rationality of Holmes only answers the how. It’s the why that agitates the souls of the new detective and leads them through the darkness of depression and anger to an understanding of grace and mercy towards those that least deserve it. The new detective answers in the affirmation of the new liturgy, saying O.K., I’ll be part of this world.
COMMENTS
11 responses to “Some Things Can’t Be Solved: The Formation of the New Detective”
Leave a Reply
Really love these thoughts Blake! esp “they look those criminals in the eyes and see nothing but a reflection of themselves.”
Have you seen Broadchurch? Another BBC show. I think it’s probably not as dark as some of these other shows, but DI Hardy definitely has “new detective” symptoms.
CJ- Thanks so much!
I’ve attempted Broadchurch two separate times and still have not made it through. I think I have an allergy to Olivia Colman, for some reason. She bothers me in everything I see her in. However, DI Hardy DOES fit into this category, but I felt ill equipped to include him without having finished the show!
I suspect that this is good analysis on the “postmodern” detective. But there are more models out there, and they don’t go in a straight line from Holmes’ cold Modern rationality to the ambiguity of current detectives.
Consider Poirot of Christie fame or Father Brown of Chesterton fame (both reprised on BBC recently). They solve crime with a penetrating understanding of evil, but the difference between them and your current examples is that they aren’t suprised by evil. I think what makes Father Brown so amusing is that he often hears the criminal’s confession when he catches him/her. I don’t think Father Brown would be surprised by Javier Bardem, even if Tommie Lee Jones is.
I suppose my question would be, then, is there a way to understand evil, “solve” evil problems, and be mostly unaffected by self-psychologizing? I personally think so, because whereas the current detective helps us come to terms with our own evil, the Poirots and Father Browns help us know that there still are heroes (or, a Hero) who solve(s) evil. Perhaps our favorite detectives, then, hinges on which typology we prefer?
David-
Of course the detectives throughout history have varied. My intent was less to draw a nuanced history from Holmes to the those I speak about, but instead to show a rather strange juxtaposition between this new crop of detective shows (Poirot and Father Brown, both great, have been around a while) and the enduring (and, IMO, tedious) slew of Sherlock Holmes films and TV shows happening at the same time.
I don’t think Luther, Wallander or River (or Tommy Lee Jones for that matter as the quote shows) are “surprised by evil” as you put it, but instead are taken aback by the chaos of it and their inability to completely comprehend why people do the things they do (something that Holmes never really cared about from what I can tell). It’s not that these questions didn’t exist in the days of Doyle, they did, but that they were not addressed because of modern/Enlightenment modes of reasoning and narrative.
I do think there is a way to confront (not necessarily “understand”) evil, solve the crimes by evil people and “be mostly unaffected by self-psychologizing”, because I don’t think they are self-psychologizing, I think they are just being human and doing their job at the same time. I don’t think there is such thing as being unaffected by crime or evil. It takes it out of those who face it. Just ask any law enforcement officer or lawyer. I think talking about the effects of those things on these detectives will constantly look like self-psychologizing because the language of our culture allows very little outside of material/scientific modes of explanation.
I appreciate your comment. Those are some solid counterpoints for discussion!
Blake,
I loved the article as I love Mockingbird. I concur with your counterpoints, and was merely hoping to open up a different line of consideration re: detectives. Thanks for your work.
For sure, I am always happy to have discussion. It helps me see the blind spots in my thinking! I appreciate your thoughts! Cheers!
There’s a series on Investigation Discovery called ‘Real Detectives’, that is similar to these fictional series. Each week, it focuses on a real murder case, and how it affected the investigating officer.
None of these people were the same professionally or emotionally, after their cases were solved. It took a piece of their souls/spirits from them.
@ CJ: I watched the first season of ‘Broadchurch’. What a great series. And DI Hardy certainly suffered greatly, after looking into that abyss.
Patricia-
I will have to check that show out, sounds right up my alley! Thanks so much for reading!
So good Blake – “When we see those severe intersections of humanity, compassion flows forth freely” – indeed.
It strikes me that the “true detectives” gets paid for the how, but aren’t truly detectives if they do not dare come face to face with the why.
I still struggle with trying to reconcile how Luther can allow Lucy to roam freely – but I trust you that there’s something good at the heart of that tension.
Howie-
That’s the thing I love about that Alice/Luther tension. It always feels a little off and yet always feels so right also. I imagine there is a large umbrella of grace going on in that tension that straddles of lines of morality. 🙂