Crimefest: History, wisdom, and the reek of fermented shark

 

Because it's almost time for Crimefest 2015, and because history is what I read most when I'm not reading crime, I thought I'd bring back a post about history from Crimefest 2010.   

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Andrew Taylor made trenchant observations during Crimefest 2010's historical-fiction panel, just as he had at last year's Crimefest.

"The 1950s," he said, "are a fascinating time because, I think, it was the end of history for most of us, an eternal present." But, he said, "It became clear to me it was a completely alien time," a world that would have been recognizable to someone who had been around in the 1930s.

Edward Marston, the panel's moderator, spoke of his childhood during the Second World War: "I saw no one between the ages of 18 and 40 because they had all been conscripted. I didn't see my father until I was 6. ... My grandfather lived with us. He'd fought in the First World War," and, Marston said, those who remained at home heard much about how "His war was better than our war."

Marston also made a remark that ought to make all crime readers and authors reflect on the world in which fictional detectives live and work: "Your sleuth must have social mobility."

Ruth Dudley Edwards spiced up the sex, violence and bad language panel with the observation that her Baroness 'Jack' Troutbeck, while willing to avail herself of a carnal romp with whatever sex is available, "would be just as motivated, really, by a good dinner." (My question about sex as a motivating factor in crime fiction, as a means rather than an end, won me a book bag for the session's best question. I won another later the same day, and no one was around to take it away from me.)

Elsewhere, Michael Ridpath, an author new to me who sets his recent novels in Iceland, said that country's financial crisis had forced some rewriting. "I had to change `In Iceland everything is expensive' to `In Iceland, everything is cheap,'" he said. Asked at a different session what she thought of Ridpath's choice of settings, Iceland's own Yrsa Sigurðardóttir said: "That's great. That's just excellent."

Yrsa also brought hákarl, or highly pungent fermented shark, an Icelandic specialty she was eager to share with fellow attendees, along with bracing Icelandic schnapps to wash it down. I enjoyed watching the faces of everyone who tried hákarl. You'll enjoy doing so, too. Says Wikipedia: Hákarl "is an acquired taste and many Icelanders never eat it."

I suspect that after Crimefest 2010, some Canadians, Americans, Englishmen and South Africans may join them.

© Peter Rozovsky 2010

Sheep's head revisited

I've been fond of Yrsa Sigurðardóttir since Bouchercon 2008 in Baltimore when, on a glorious fall day, we chatted about the collapse of her country's economy.

(Indianapolis, 2009. Photo by
your humble blogkeeper) 

At Indianapolis in 2009, Yrsa was part both of the first convention panel I ever moderated and also of a group that made its frequent cigarette breaks so much fun that I wanted to take up smoking at an age when most people have already quit many times.

Yrsa and I have stuffed ourselves with dim sum in San Francisco and rung up bar tabs in Bristol. In short, a crime fiction convention would not be a crime fiction convention without Yrsa and her husband, Oli, two of the most popular and hospitable figures on the convention circuit.

But something was missing from the just-concluded Crimefest 2012: Yrsa brought no Icelandic food specialties or enamel-searing spirits with which to force the delicacies down our throats. Two years earlier, she had brought hákarl, a pungent fermented shark that, according to Wikipedia, even many Icelanders never eat. And the schnapps that went with it was pure, burning volcanic effluvia. I can't even show you what Yrsa brought to Bouchercon 2011 in St. Louis. So I'll let Leighton Gage do it instead.

So, Yrsa, if you read this, what will you bring us in Cleveland?

© Peter Rozovsky 2012