It is one of the orthodoxies of the detective story that “the
following homology must be observed: ‘author : reader = criminal : detective’”
(Todorov, “The Typology of Detective Fiction” 49). One of our objections to the Moretti of “Clues” (and what
you did not object to might also be a good topic to consider on the blog: what
does he get right?) is that he seems to delineate all the possible subject
positions so neatly and finally. The
detective individualizes (identifies/isolates) the criminal, returns us to the
beginning, where everyone is the same as he/she began (detective, characters,
readers; alas, not the victim, but Moretti does not pay him/her much attention,
with sections only on “the criminal,” “the detective,” and “Watson”). We have learned nothing and have no interest
in re-reading, only in reading new versions of the old formula that observe all
the same positions in relation to one another.
There is no social commentary (“detective fiction exists expressly to
dispel the doubt that guilt might be impersonal, and therefore collective and
social” 135), only a sense that the detective is the figure that keeps us from
having to think about it (153).
This seems a long way from the almost dizzying array of
perspectives offered by De Quincey’s three iterations of “On Murder.” As we
touched upon in class, the 1827 essay is framed by a faux letter to the editor
which both enlists readers as a force for public morality (more effective than “an
appeal to Bow-street”) and implicates readers in the violence about which they
are to read: “the hand which inflicts the fatal blow is not more deeply imbrued
in blood than his who sits and looks on; neither can he be clear of blood who
has countenanced its shedding; nor that man seem other than a participator in
murder who gives his applause to the murderer” (9). The essay that follows,
however, is fairly stable in its perspective: it is a lecture by a connoisseur
of murder to other connoisseurs, some of whom, it is implied, have dabbled in the
arts themselves. Criminals and the
author are thus linked, victims are individualized here (the German baker,
famous philosophers) and the detective is nowhere. While the 1839 paper has important
differences (I would argue more reader-friendly, and more interested in offering
up a spectrum of violence that is only barely under control as the party gets
more raucous), the positions seem similar to those of the 1827 essay. By 1854, however, it has become less
clear. The perspective of the postscript
begins in a defensive position (“under the Telamonian shield of the Dean”95), more akin to the Editor's indemnifying note of 1827, the
speaker (seems almost silly to call him anything other than De Quincey at this
point -- are there vestiges of some sort of fictional persona?) seems to both
see Williams as a garden variety English sailor (though they are always
potentially criminal) and as a freakishly individualized villain (100). The readers are invited to move with De Q
through his narration, sometimes imagining the movements of the murderer,
sometimes with a character in proximity (servant, lodger), sometimes with someone on the street
(though never in the murderer’s head -- feel free to prove me wrong). While there is still occasional fun and irreverance, there is no guilt contaminating our
spectating, but rather a sense of shared outrage at this “useless butchery” (116). Do the demands of detective work and/or
narration of a mystery drive out the work of connoisseurship or is
investigation just aesthetic appreciation by another name? How might you answer
this for De Quincey? For Holmes?
My inclination is to say for De Quincey that yes, the demands of detective work and/or narration of a mystery drive out the work of connoisseurship that he builds up in the previous two instalments. A key part of the connoisseurship seems to be admiration for the murderer and judgement of his technique, and neither of those seem to be present in the 1854 instalment. While he speculates about Williams's motives and describes his (imagined) actions, De Quincey doesn't seem to venerate him as he does in the earlier essays. I think Michael was right in class to point to a degree of aesthetic enjoyment at work in the 1854 essay, but this is at work in the structure of his story and the building of suspense rather than in his descriptions of the murders themselves.
ReplyDeleteFor Holmes, though, it seems a bit murkier: his investigations are not driven by horror or moral outrage, but by fascination with the problems that people bring to him. When he does emotionally react to the crimes he investigates (specifically to the criminals he encounters), it is striking precisely because it seems like an aberration. If anything, it seems like Holmes thinks that his investigation should be simply connoisseurship, and his occasional emotional reactions show him failing to live up to that ideal. Perhaps this is one of the reasons that none of the stories we encounter are ideal examples of Holmes's abilities?
I agree with Alyssa that,for De Quincey, connoisseurship and detection are mutually exclusive. If I had to speculate as to why, I would say it's because the appreciating murder for the "art" or aesthetics of it seems to foreclose the consideration of both motive and motivation (each as defined by Moretti), which seem necessary to detection. The 1854 piece does not dwell on motive, it's true, but the fact that it suggests several possibilities (a fight over a woman, money, the "tiger" nature of the murderer) implies that narrating this proto-detection scene somehow requires that motives be addressed before description can take over.
ReplyDeleteMoretti implies that Holmes is still in the realm of motive rather than motivation, and I agree with him. But there is still a sense of development between Holmes and De Quincey - Holmes must find a definite motive before the puzzle can be solved, while De Quincey is only compelled to consider the possibilities.
Alyssa and Rose both see the work of connoisseurship and detection at odds. It will be interesting to consider how Meadows Taylor's novel negotiates this (THUG is circa the second De Q essay and on the eve of the establishment of the detective unit of the Metropolitan Police).
ReplyDeleteA quick additional question: if connoisseurship and morality are an uneasy fit (or at least so much work needs to be done in the essays to allow them to co-exist in the same conversation), and connoisseurship and detection are an uneasy fit, are we suggesting that detection and morality are a better fit?
It does seem that for DeQuincey, connoisseurship and detection are at odds with one another (the best evidence for this, in my opinion, is the inclusion of floridly imagined moments with no real consequence or purpose except for sensationalism... a detective who is centrally concerned with "scientifically" deducing the events leading to the solution would not do this). But I think in other texts, these perspectives have the potential to overlap, and they certainly do in Holmes, as we discussed last week. If we define the connoisseur as someone who perceives a crime as something to be evaluated and appreciated for its aesthetic and sensational elements, and we define a detective as someone who perceives a crime as a puzzle to be unraveled and solved, then we can see how a particularly complex, sophisticated and/or "elegant" crime might be satisfying to both perspectives. While they ARE different, I still think they have more in common with each other than either of them do with morality. To the extent that detectives are seen as "bloodhounds of heaven" or enforcers of socially defined justice, I understand there is a moral angle to their work, and yet morality doesn't seem to be a hugely motivating force for Holmes, at least in the stories we've read so far. As Alyssa pointed out, it's striking when Holmes reacts emotionally or morally to his cases because it feels sort of aberrant.
ReplyDeleteI am straying from the focus of the course here, but I also found it interesting to think about Moretti's tidy subject positions in terms of later detective stories. Agatha Christie, in one story, has the murder committed by the Watson-type narrator; in another story, all twelve suspects carry out the murder together--you could definitely make an argument that this subverts ideas of "individual" guilt.
I like Helen's consideration of the "other stuff" ("floridly imagined moments with no real consequence or purpose") in these texts besides the work of detection and how we read that. This is a good thing to keep in mind with THUG, which I'm sure you are already noticing is chock full of other stuff. Does detection have to wage an Armstrongian battle with this other stuff to emerge as a pure, self-enclosed methodology?
ReplyDeleteA few thoughts. First, in evaluating the methods and motivations of detective and the connoisseur, it seems worth pointing out that De Quincey is writing true crime fiction. It seems to me that one of the pleasures of that subgenre is the opportunity both dwell on the details of the crime (connoisseurship) and dabble in the detective role (speculating on things like motivation). To some extent, the outcome of a crime is known and to some extent it remains obscure. Holmes is asking a different set of question in addition to employing a different methodology in answering them- he sometimes has to ask "has a crime occurred?" in addition to defining what that crime was, and eventually discovering who committed it and why. He does this by isolating elements of an event in a way that might be resistant to narrative but for Watson re-organizing them. The reader of true crime is interested in atmosphere as well as facts and discrete pieces of the whole.
ReplyDeleteAnother thing I was thinking about in class when pondering the author:detective/ author:criminal question is the direction in which a story gets formed. The detective is presented with an event that has happened or is in the process of happening. (S)he then tries to trace a sequence of events that has already occurred and tie it to something that may or may not happen in the future. The author (in most cases) knows already what has happened and is tracing the story backwards, creating in reverse a series of events ad re-structuring them so that the reader and detective can figure them out. The criminal is somewhere in between these two chronological positions and therefor has a relationship to both detective and author. The fluidity between past, present and future is slightly different for each of these subject positions but creates affinity between them.
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ReplyDeleteIt seems to me that if the impetus of the detective and the motive of the criminal ever meet, it's precisely at the level of connoisseurship. A detective might be driven by a sense of justice or morality, and a criminal might have any number of emotional or financial drives to commit a crime. But what makes a Holmes so successful, and what gives a master criminal the ability to do what he wants and get away, is a refined fascination with how crimes work. Holmes is a connoisseur of crime, as some of us and some of the critics we've read have said - he's focused on the plots of criminal plots, whatever other feelings may occasionally flare up in him. But the best criminals he comes up against, those whom he and the police have been tracking for years and whose ultimate capture seems to give Holmes the most satisfaction, are those who seem to enjoy crime as a risky, elegant art as well. The founder of the Red-Headed League, for instance, Holmes mentions had already given him the slip several times in the past. Surely there would have been an easier way to trick a typical petit bourgeoise out of his money than to create an organization based on a singular hair color? What drove John Clay, who is, as Holmes admits, "at the head of his profession," to embark on such an elaborate outlandish plan - one almost elaborate and outlandish enough to work - seems to be some kind of delight in plotting itself. Similarly, Irene Adler - did she need to nearly give away her disguise by crying out, "Good night, Mr. Holmes!"? Wasn't it, as she admitted, that she couldn't help herself, that she was enjoying her disguise too much? And, Moriarity of course, takes pleasure in meeting his match, and attempting to outwit him. Morality, emotional attachment, an offense crying for revenge, a murderous passion, lust - any might overtake a detective or a criminal, and many do overtake Holmes's prey and once in a rare while Holmes himself. But what makes the best detectives and best criminals seems to be the erotic enjoyment of the connoisseur.
ReplyDeleteAs to where the author falls in all of this - well, I think it isn't a question of whether Doyle sides with master crime-solver Holmes or master criminal Moriarity. I suspect that - whether he was conscious of it or not - Doyle, like any connoisseur, couldn't help but enjoy the work of any master.