Drop the dead dog, or how I turned to “cosy” crime

I turned to “cosy” crime after finishing the fourth gritty police procedural in my series of detective novels set in Norfolk.

At this stage in my fiction writing, I wanted to have more fun and less gore. Having read Richard Osman – who appears to have cornered the market in this subgenre of crime fiction – and studied the tricks of the trade of other “cosy” crime authors, I decided to take the plunge.

It struck me that the experience of my French sister in law, a longtime local councillor who made a living from a smallholding in deepest Brittany, had the potential to be turned into a fictional murderous romp. Set in a small community and focusing on the relationship between Bretons and Britons, there were all the elements for a “cosy” series, it seemed to me. And so amateur sleuths Jennifer and Pippa made their appearance in the fictional village of Louennec.

However, as my publisher can attest, I soon fell foul of the “cosy” conventions, in which murders – while they can be plentiful – are almost secondary to the plot. They’re never of the grisly kind that I’d described in my earlier novels. And they definitely don’t involve animals.

My worst offence was to kill off a dog. I should say that the Collie cross belonging to one of the characters in The Brittany Murders was extremely annoying because he kept on trying to round up visitors. When discussing an early draft with my editor, she gently pointed out that whenever a dog, or a pet, died in a cosy mystery, the publisher received letters of protest from readers. So Captain the Collie had to be resuscitated and the novel restructured around him. (I’m reminded of distressed listeners’ protests to the BBC in August 2023 when a dog was put down by a vet in an episode of The Archers).

But in that same draft I’m afraid to say that I was a repeat offender, because a white-furred rabbit named Lady Gaga on the smallholding was going to be slaughtered. Needless to say, the rabbit escaped the chop in the final version and has so far survived in the first two books of my Brittany murders series, although her babies quietly disappear offstage every so often.

Another aspect of everyday life on the farm had to be toned down for mentioning “too much blood” in a weasel attack on a henhouse. Then there was the adopted daughter of two of the main characters, who reacted to being bullied at school by self-harming. This was deemed “too dark” and disappeared altogether.

Meanwhile though, I was happy that another “cosy” convention involves sex, or the lack of it, because as every writer knows, describing sex is notoriously difficult. In a “cosy” mystery, sexual activity is hinted at, rather than watched from the bottom of the bed.

So there are some of the pitfalls of genre hopping. It can be a steep learning curve, as I discovered myself, but I hope you’ll bear with me and follow me down this new “cosy” track. The next book in my series of Brittany novels, Murder at the Château, is out on June 6, 2024.

Is political correctness behind the police’s failure?

 As each day passed with the trial of police officer Wayne Couzens, jailed for a whole life term for the horrific kidnap, rape and murder of Sarah Everard, it has become increasingly apparent that the Met and the UK police more broadly have a problem with institutional prejudice. Are the police in denial, and if so, why? Could it be that as a society we have become so politically correct that we can’t see what’s staring us in the face? My latest novel, Murder in the Manor, touches on the issue of homophobia in a remote part of Norfolk and also suggests that the police themselves may be homophobic. Not only some friends with whom I shared the first draft felt this couldn’t be stated in blanket terms, but also I had discussions about the issue with my publisher’s editors. People are tempted to believe the “one bad apple” theory. After all, aren’t there plenty safeguards within police procedures to keep us safe? Yet now it’s known that Couzens was part of a WhatsApp group which exchanged overtly abusive content, including jokes about violence against women, racist messages and information about Couzens’ prosecution. One of the officers now under investigation for gross misconduct is from Norfolk, where my crime novels are set. This is not just a London problem. My own research for Murder in the Manor threw up plenty anecdotal reports about racism, homophobia and misogyny in constabularies across the country. So how come the police authorities have been so slow to act against what is now being described as institutional prejudice? I suspect that it could it be the same political correctness that delayed the investigations into the sex trafficking of white girls in Rochdale and Rotherham because the perpetrators were overwhelmingly of Pakistani origin. So far the Met’s reaction has been far from satisfactory in the wake of the Sarah Everard killing. The Met chief, Cressida Dick, was right to say that Couzens has “brought shame” on the force. But her apologies are not enough. Couzens was clearly not a “rogue” officer. She must resign to allow a root and branch reform of the police force whose practices have left all women wary of the very people who are supposed to protect us.