And the award for best line in a supporting role goes to ...

Great opening lines are a frequent topic of discussion, and understandably so. They set a story's tone, they draw in the reader, they set the bar high for the author.

But what about those less conspicuous lines and set-ups that maintain the tone once it has been set? These may not open a story or occur at its climax or some moment of high suspense, but they are the ... well, choose your construction metaphor: the mortar or the bricks or the long-lasting aluminum siding. They contribute to the overall impression without necessarily being the lines you'll repeat to a friend the next day.

I've been reading more of Eoin Colfer's books, which abound in lines of that sort. I'll give you a few, then I'll ask you for some of your own. In Artemis Fowl: The Opal Deception, the Opal of the title is an evil genius who lies in a coma in a private psychological clinic run by one Dr. Jerbal "Jerry" Argon. You know what the makes his clinic, don't you?: The J. Argon Clinic. Say it fast, only don't say it if there's a psychologist around. He or she may not have a sense of humor.

And here's a description from a story in The Artemis Fowl Files:

"Mulch found burglary much more suited to his personality than mining. The hours were shorter, the risks were less severe, and the precious metals and stones that he took from the Mud Men were already processed, forged and polished."

The character has already been established; this is just a way of embellishing him in an entertaining fashion. And that, I'd say, is one characteristic of a good storyteller.

Now, readers, it's your turn. Think about the book you're reading now. Think about its mood or tone. Then pick a line or two that, in a modest, inconspicuous way, helps create that tone.

© Peter Rozovsky 2008

Conventions of crime

I’m starting the New Year much as I finished the old one: reading a kids’ book. Once again, it’s Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl, this time the fifth book in the series, Artemis Fowl: The Lost Colony.

This past summer, I wrote about Colfer’s entertaining spoof of hard-boiled detectives in Half Moon Investigations. In The Lost Colony, Colfer goes beyond spoof to explore and expand upon another crime-fiction convention, which might make this book especially enjoyable for experienced readers of the genre. Once again, Colfer proves not just that he can tell an entertaining story, but that he thinks seriously about crime fiction.

(I won’t say which convention Colfer explores because doing so would arguably constitute a plot spoiler, even though the exploration happens early in the book.)

© Peter Rozovsky 2008

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God rest ye fairy gentlemen (and ladies), and a comical question

I’m not sure what the rate of inflation has been since the late 1960s, but I’m pretty sure that the comic books for which I paid twelve cents back then would still not cost the $9.99 I just paid for Artemis Fowl: The Graphic Novel. But then, graphic novels have production values that the old-time DC comics could only dream of.

The newer printing processes can produce deeper, much more saturated colors. I suspect that this, as much as any predisposition toward darker subject matter on the writers’ part, is responsible for the look of graphic novels. Why do graphic novelists fill their stories with deep, dark, brooding shadows? For the same a reason a dog licks its … but never mind.

Artemis Fowl: The Graphic Novel, adapted from Eoin Colfer’s first book about a 12-year-old criminal genius, may be particularly well-suited for such treatment, since much of the story happens underground, in the land of the Lower Elements People – fairies, elves and the like. (Fowl’s antagonists and sometimes allies are members of the Lower Elements Police Reconnaissance squad, or LEPrec– you can figure out the rest of that one, too. Colfer is, after all, Irish.)

Among this graphic novel’s attractions are the opportunities to see how the characters look and to match them against the mental images one has from the book. The artist and colorist (Giovanni Rigano and Paolo Lamanna, respectively) do a good job, rendering convincing pictures of the hirsute troll that nearly puts an end to Artemis’ butler, the hairy and endearingly amoral dwarf Mulch Diggums, and more. The butler, named Butler, is a tad more gigantic than I'd have pictured, and Butler's sister, Juliet, does not look especially Eurasian, though she is described as such in one of the later novels in the series. Still, the graphic novel looks terrific, if necessarily a bit darker than the novel on which it is based.

Artemis himself looks as one might expect of a boy of such overarching ambition: short, immaculately dressed, his eyes narrowed or shielded behind special eyewear. His eyes widen just once, at a highly appropriate moment at the story’s end.

And now, readers, the question: Artemis Fowl joins Peter O’Donnell’s Modesty Blaise as characters who enjoy parallel lives in comics/graphic novels and in crime novels of the traditional, non-graphic kind. Who else has done this?

© Peter Rozovsky 2007

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Skepticism is not just for adults: Another post about Eoin Colfer and Artemis Fowl

I wrote a few months back about Ken Bruen's jaded view of the Celtic tiger and about other crime writers and their salutary skepticism of economic miracles. I have just learned that kids are getting in on the act, or at least authors who write for them. Here's a passage from Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident by Eoin Colfer:

"Holly set the coordinates to the flight computer, and let the wings do the steering for her. The countryside sped by below. Even since her last visit, the Mud Man infestation seemed to have taken a stronger hold. There was barely an acre of land without dozens of their dwellings digging into its soil, and barely a mile of river without one of their factories pouring its poison into their waters."

I've come to realize something else about Colfer now that I've read three of his novels and am into a fourth. It has to do with the old saw about a comic being someone who says funny things, while a comedian says things funny. Colfer is a comedian. He has a knack for fashioning sentences in such a way that even lines not obviously meant to elicit a laugh are amusing. I hope to build a comment around this fascinating and entertaining subject soon.

In the meantime, don't believe anyone who tells you the Artemis Fowl books are just for kids.

© Peter Rozovsky 2007

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Crime-fiction lines that make you laugh

I've just finished one novel by a chuckle-inducing Australian and started another by an equally mirth-provoking Irishman, so I thought I'd give the gift of laughter for Christmas and list some of their funniest lines. Then I'll ask you to tell me some of your favorite laugh-getters or satirical crime-fiction jabs.

From Shane Maloney's Nice Try, a story of love, murder, revenge and Murray Whelan's fight to give up smoking as Melbourne bids to host the 1996 Olympic Games:

"Like an economist, I worked backward, fabricating arguments to fit my conclusions, bolstering them with statistics plucked from thin air."

"According to what I'd read in the papers, he was a key player in preparations for the Seoul Olympics. You know, the ones with the persistent background odor of tear gas."

"At one time, the area had specialized in textile and footwear manufacturing, back before wiser heads than mine decided that the country needed fifteen-dollar Indonesian running shoes more than it
needed jobs."

"My heart, never reliably buoyant, sank. But I knew immediately what I must do. What any reasonable, thinking, politically aware member of the Labor Party would do under the circumstances. I left the scene."

From Eoin Colfer's Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code:

"The other port was in Wiltshire, beside what humans referred to as Stonehenge. Mud People had several theories as to the origins of the structure. Hypotheses ranged from spaceship landing port to pagan center of worship. The truth was far less glamorous. Stonehenge had actually been an outlet for a flat, bread-based food. Or in human terms, a pizza parlor. ... And anyway, all that cheese was making the ground soggy. A couple of the service windows had even collapsed."

"Nobody had a clue what had happened until they replayed the incident on the screen of Kamal the chicken man's camcorder. ... The traders laughed so much that several of them became dehydrated. It was the funniest thing to happen all year. The clip even won a prize on Tunisia's version of the World's Funniest Home Videos. Three weeks later, Ahmed moved to Egypt."

And now, readers, what makes you laugh in crime fiction or at least smile widely?

© Peter Rozovsky 2007

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The Eoin Colfer Code

You might be able to help me with a chronological question.

I wondered last week whether young readers would get Eoin Colfer's sly genre-fiction references. I had in mind the first book of his Artemis Fowl series, but I could as easily have been discussing Half Moon Investigations, whose opening monologue offers a 12-year-old's delightful version of the standard world-weary P.I.-novel opening. Perhaps Colfer's books are like the old Warner Brothers cartoons. I loved the cartoons' humor and richness when I first saw them, and I appreciated them anew once I understood the musical and other topical references.

Here's another genre-fiction reference from Colfer — maybe. The title Artemis Fowl and the Eternity Code would seem to be a dig at a certain bestseller of recent years. The possibility seems even stronger in the novel's opening sentences:

"For the past two years my business enterprises have thrived without parental interference. In this time, I have sold the Pyramids to a Western businessman, forged and auctioned the Lost Diaries of Leonardo da Vinci ... "

Is that a great dig, or what? One problem: Artemis Fowl and the Eternity Code and The da Vinci Code are both copyright 2003.

And now, that chronological question: Is Colfer's seeming dig really a shot at Dan Brown? Is it a highly fortunate coincidence? Or is something mysterious at work — mysterious and deep?

© Peter Rozovsky 2007

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Calling all kids, or Fowl play

As promised earlier this week, I've started Eoin Colfer's first Artemis Fowl novel, Artemis Fowl. Though the news may be old hat to young readers, the novel is a delightful blend of police procedural, science fiction and fantasy.

Here's my favorite bit so far, with a question to follow:

"Holly Short was lying in bed, silently fuming. Nothing unusual about this. Leprechauns in general were not known for their geniality. But Holly was in an exceptionally bad mood, even for a fairy. Technically she was an elf, fairy being a general term. She was a leprechaun, too, but that was just a job."

Anyone who can squeeze world-weary fictional-cop attitude into a paragraph about elves and fairies need not rely on the other world for magic. We adult readers can enjoy the knowing weary-cop reference. The question of the day is: Do young readers get references like that, too, or do they just enjoy the story because it's so much fun? In more general terms, does a book that appeals to children and adults alike appeal to both groups in the same ways?

© Peter Rozovsky 2007

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Irish crime fiction
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Artemis Fowl

Family matters

I've just picked up Eoin Colfer's first Artemis Fowl novel after having enjoyed his Half Moon Investigations. Each novel features a 12-year-old protagonist, one a criminal mastermind, the other a private detective.

I also recently discovered an article whose author found Fred Vargas' Have Mercy On Us All reminiscent of Daniel Pennac's Malaussène novels, and I agreed with the observation. (Hat tip to Detectives Literarios.) Pennac and Vargas write about "marvelous tribes" — strange families and eccentric collections of people who somehow get along harmoniously living under one weird roof.

That's two reminders the same week that not all family humor is as dreary, featureless, focus-group-driven and identically unfunny as that to be found on the typical American newspaper's comics pages.

© Peter Rozovsky 2007