What I’m reading: Learning from P.D. James

I’m a mystery junkie. I’ve often wondered why violent death and the search for whodunit so fascinate me, but it wasn’t until I heard a lecture about my favourite mystery writer P.D. James that I found an answer.

I think my fascination comes from trying to come to grips with the silence of God in the face of human suffering. This may sound far-fetched, so let me explain.

In an interview nearly 20 years ago, James reflected on the increasing popularity of crime novels and said,

It seems to me that the more we live in a society in which we feel our problems – be they international problems of war and peace, racial problems, problems of drugs, problems of violence – to be literally beyond our ability to solve, [it is] very reassuring to read a popular form of fiction which itself has a problem at the heart of it. One which the reader knows will be solved by the end of the book; and not by supernatural means or good luck, but by human intelligence, human courage and human perseverance.

Interestingly though, James has set out to subtly deconstruct the comforting assurance of the crime novel. She remains committed to the form, but at the same time undermines the assumption that human intellect and rational inquiry can solve the most perplexing of problems, particularly questions about suffering and evil. Like all great writers, she entertains while also making the reader grapple with the deep questions of life.

At the bitter end of her latest novel, The Lighthouse, when the murder is solved, her main character, Adam Dalgliesh remarks to his subordinate Kate Miskin, “It hasn’t been one of our successes, Kate.” What has always been implicit in James’ writing, Dalgliesh now makes explicit. The murder may be solved, but it does nothing to solve the mystery of why evil and suffering exist and continue to exert their terrible hold over humanity.

The Lighthouse, like so many of James’ novels, successfully highlights the grey ambiguity of our experience of the world. All her characters carry scars, whether it’s the lingering scars of the death of Dalgliesh’s wife and young son, or Kate Miskin’s scars from being raised by a reluctant grandmother in abject poverty. Her suspects carry similar marks, from a disgraced alcoholic priest, to a crippled editor, to a boatman with a violent past, to a diplomat seeking answers for his father’s death. Even the murderer is a tragic figure, haunted by the past.

James never attempts to explain why people carry so much pain. For her the problem of suffering must remain a problem. But she has not resigned herself to despair. In the midst of a vicious murder, Sergeant Benton-Smith finds compassion, Dalgliesh finds the capacity to love, and Kate finds momentary peace for her restless soul.

To me, her approach seems to come out of rich, theological depths. It also seems to mirror my experience of the world as a Christian.

Once asked if she believes in a personal God, James replied, “What I will say is that I have had in my own life personal experiences of the love of God.”

Her interviewer followed up, “Would that have been in difficult times?”

“Yes. In difficult times.”

David Eagle is pastor at Saanich Community Church, Victoria, B.C. He blogs at khora.