Y is for Yawny Yarn (Yancy)

What I read: The Highly Effective Detective by Richard Yancey.

As stated in an earlier post, the books on this list are not (always) books I have finished. This is one I didn't finish even though I got it out of the library twice plus it is reasonably well-written with clever dialog, clearly established characters, and humorous situations. I would probably try to keep going if it wasn't due Monday.

I'm just as happy to send it back; it bores me. After some thought, I've decided that this is because it is detective rather than mystery fiction.

I enjoy mysteries, and I enjoy cop/lawyer shows, but I have never cared for American P.I. fiction. This is not because I consider P.I. fiction to be too hard-hitting. Granted, I am partial to the "cozy," but I also like Law & Order (specifically Seasons 1-4 when it still felt gritty).

Still, despite my high opinion of both Humphrey Bogart and Patrick Stewart, I've never cared much for Bogart's Raymond Chandler-type movies or for Star Trek NG's Dixon Hill episodes. I think my lack of interest is that P.I. plots are almost always gangster-oriented, and gang stories (with the exception of The Freshmen with Matthew Boderick and Marlon Brando) really bore me. The moment I see the word "gang" or "Mafia" in a book or film summary, my brain goes to sleep. I've never seen The Godfather and can't imagine a circumstance where I would--voluntarily at least. (I even skip Law & Order gang-related episodes.)

As for why gangs don't interest me, I think it is because the collective doesn't interest me. Gang stuff always seems to be about the individual P.I. or gang member versus THE GROUP or SOCIETY: environment to the max. Even with Star Trek, my interest in the Borg has always been in the ex-Borg, not the Borg itself. Collective history doesn't interest me either. I need an individual to latch onto. Even if we are all products of collective DNA or collective social pressures . . . who cares?

Which isn't to say that The Highly Effective Detective is about gangs. It doesn't appear to be at all. But there is that "P.I. investigating the world" aspect. I need an individual body--and if it is in a manor house or library, all the better!

Ruminations of Mr. B: IV

Corresponding to Letters XXXI to the 5th Week of Pamela's Bondage
I put my plan into motion that Thursday. I suppose my actions will appall your modern sensibilities, but remember, Pamela was my servant, not my peer. I arranged to have my coachman from Lincolnshire take her to my estate there. The servants in Lincolnshire are less inclined to independent action; they would not be susceptible to Pamela's complaints.

I'd kept back three of Pamela's last letters; I'd warned her what would happen if she crossed the line into gossip. I sent my own letter to her father in lieu of Pamela's letters advising him that Pamela was betrothed to my chaplain, I was working to arrange the marriage, and Pamela was safe. There was no reason her parents should be worried when she didn't show up.

I didn't expect her father to actually appear at my door.

More precisely, he appeared in Mrs. Jervis' parlor. He is about fifty and terribly poor: the grooms mistook him for a beggar. I leaned in the doorway and watched him. He was a big man and, despite his distress over his daughter, tough. If he'd walked all night, he would have plenty of stamina. His hands were calloused, his neck darkly bronzed. A hard worker. I wondered what he and Pamela ever found to talk about.

"Your daughter," I told him, "has made a great racket in my family."

He sighed. "Where is she?"

"She is well taken care of."

"How shall I know this?" he said. I guess Pamela came fairly by her lawyer's mind.

"Recollect who I am," I told him. "If I am not to be believed, what's the point in asking me questions?"

"I just wish to know her whereabouts, sir."

"She'll write to you," I said, "unless she's negligent. I can't answer for that."

I had no doubt Pamela would write. Whether I would let anyone see her letters was a separate issue.

He seemed assuaged, and I instructed Mrs. Jervis to feed him and give him money before he left. I sent a letter to Pamela, asking her to copy one I'd composed for her that would allay her parents' fears. I truly didn't want the rustics to suffer.

Pamela sent the copied letter back with an angry missive to me. Kidnapping hadn't quelled her spirit. She'd even annotated the copied letter, adding phrases like "vilely tricked" but the content was more or less the same, so I handed it over to Mrs. Jervis to send to the parents.

"Is she going to marry your chaplain?" Mrs. Jervis asked me then, and I shrugged. I suppose I would once Pamela relented. Clergymen are supposed to rescue fallen women. I didn't know then how angry this particular clergyman was going to make me.

John Arnold had brought Pamela's letters from Lincolnshire plus messages from Mrs. Jewkes, the Lincolnshire housekeeper; he approached me later in the stables, looking worried.

"It's not nice, sir," he said. "Pamela's not safe, if you pardon me mentioning it. That Mrs. Jewkes doesn't treat her well."

"Pamela is used to being treated better than her station," I pointed out, and he nodded glumly and went away.

I thought about his complaint, however. Mrs. Jewkes is a harder woman that Mrs. Jervis, being more cynical, not to forget more exacting. It occurred to me that Pamela would be chafing at her eagle eye: I'd instructed her to watch Pamela very carefully.

I wrote Pamela, assuring her that Mrs. Jewkes was meant to treat her well. I also promised not to visit until Pamela herself invited me to Lincolnshire as if she were truly mistress of the house. I did not know then what schemes were being hatched between Pamela and my chaplain.

That's right--my chaplain, a man dependent on me for a living entered into a conspiracy with Pamela. I've no doubt she began it; Mr. Williams isn't clever, alert, or cool-headed enough to "save" a kidnapped girl. But once Pamela got him going, he did plenty of damage.

I first learned of Williams's damage when Sir Simon visited Bedfordshire. "Do you know," he said to me, "your chaplain fella is spreading all kinds of rumors about you in Lincolnshire?"

Williams didn't have the imagination to spread rumors about me. I nearly said so until a qualm struck me.

"About what?" I said warily.

"You keeping some chippy locked up in your house. I told him he was out of bounds, engaging in an affair against his friend and patron."

"Yes."

"I don't care if you have ten chippies locked up in your house--nothing to do with me. I told him so. But you might want to bring him to heel."

"Yes," I said, and I knew how to do it.

Williams is not an intelligent financial manager. He's a good man who does his duties (usually) faithfully (usually). But he'd borrowed money from me nearly a year before and never repaid it. He'd probably forgotten, and he probably didn't have enough money to cover the entire sum anyway. It was a good enough reason to throw him in gaol, an excellent way to bring him to heel.

And I probably should have just done it and let the issue drop, but I wanted to know how far Pamela had confided in him. I confess, I was jealous. I could not believe Pamela would be attracted to his bland personality or labored conversation or lack of wit. What I did next was beneath me, but I did it: I sent a letter to Williams offering him Mr. Fownes' living plus Pamela's hand in marriage.

Mrs. Jewkes' next message to me confirmed my suspicions: upon receipt of my offer, Williams--the fool--immediately confessed his and Pamela's conspiracy. He was so grateful that he had been beforehand in his declarations to Pamela. In fact, they had been secreting notes to each other for over two weeks. Even after I assured Pamela that I wouldn't come down to Lincolnshire until she asked, she'd been urging Williams to help her "escape." I suppose you think I would have gone down eventually anyway, and I did, but not until Pamela proved false.

I wrote two letters, one to Pamela and one to Mrs. Jewkes. I've never been so angry. To Mrs. Jewkes, I called Pamela every name I could think of, and I wrote her directly that she was a hypocrite. All those protestations about needing her parents' approval and "yet," I wrote, "you could enter into an intrigue with a man you never knew till these last few days, and resolve to run away with a stranger you bewitched to break his ties of honor and gratitude," especially when the ridiculous man's livelihood depended on me. I sent instructions to my attorney to have Williams arrested for the debt.

I intended to go to Lincolnshire, but if I'd gone after writing those letters, I can't trust what would have happened. A bad temper runs in our family--my sister's is worse, believe it or not. I went instead to the Hargraves in Hertfordshire, and there, I nearly died.

Corresponding to the 5th and 6th Weeks of Pamela's Bondage
I'd planned to visit the Hargraves, go on to London and after that, Lincolnshire. An accident at the Hargraves altered my itinerary. I went hunting on Wednesday with Bertram Hargrave. We were fording the stream on the estate when the damn horse shied. I felt myself falling and swore; my right foot was still caught in the stirrups. I shook it loose and went into the water. The horse fell towards me. I rolled sideways. I remember the horse didn't strike me, but its collapse sent up a wave. I was tossed over, my face scrapping the gravel bed. I gasped like a fool and water flowed into my lungs. I pressed down with my hands, pushing my body desperately upwards. I met only another wave of water, and then everything went dark.

I woke from a dream. I didn't remember my dream then, but I know what it was now because I dreamed it later over and over: the sensation of choking, large falling shapes that loomed over me no matter which direction I twisted.

People were speaking--not in the dream but in the room. I lay in a bed. I recognized my sister's voice: "Is he going to die?" I didn't recognize the soothing voice that replied, but I praised it silently: "No, Lady Davers, the water is out of his lungs." And then I heard Bertram's voice: "Only bumps and bruises, Lady Davers. He'll be fine."

"But fever--"

"Let him rest. He will be well."

The voices faded. I slept and dreamed and woke, pushing frantically at the sheets. I was thankfully alone. I got up slowly and peeled off my nightshirt. My left side was a mass of dark bruises. I winced as I stood but made my way to the wardrobe. I was half-dressed when my valet entered.

"Sir," he said and looked uncomfortable. "Lady Davers will not be pleased you are up."

"My sister does not control me," I said. "Get over here."

We managed to dress me, but I had to sit down when we finished. Breathing was more difficult than I'd anticipated. I probed my ribs carefully. They didn't seem broken, but the bruises on the left-side were beginning to creep across my chest. I groaned.

"Sir--"

"What time is it?"

"Friday evening, sir."

I'd been in bed two days.

"Has the family eaten?"

"Yes, sir."

That was a blessing. I would never be able to sit through a meal.

"I'll visit with the ladies and gentlemen," I said.

There was much exclaiming when I appeared in the sitting room. My sister began to lecture me for rising but stopped when I turned away. Bertram said, "I knew he would be fine! Hunting tomorrow?"

I smiled and sat beside Sir Hargrave. He pressed a drink into my hand and started a conversation with Bertram about hounds. Intelligent man. I sipped my drink and retreated upstairs before my sister could maneuver me into a one-on-one diatribe.

She would insist on such an encounter eventually while Bertram kept proclaiming that another hunting trip would set me up "good and proper." I decided on Thursday that my trip to London could be postponed. It was time to visit Lincolnshire, to put an end to the problem of Pamela.

Barney Miller, Cults, Mind-Control, and Patty Hearst

In an episode of Barney Miller, "Abduction," parents hire a deprogrammer to save their 20-years-old child from a Hare Krishna type cult (led by a bearded guy in sandals who runs an extremely profitable organic health-food restaurant). The cops prevent the kidnapping, and the young woman and her parents end up at the 12th precinct. The cult leader eventually shows up. Towards the end of the episode, in which the young woman insists on her right to have a different life from her parents, the leader sends the young woman back to the restaurant (to finish her shift) and then comments to the parents, "You know, there's a high turnover at our place," i.e. the young woman will be back to her normal life in a few months, just wait it out.

This episode (filmed in 1977) is remarkably prescient. It prefigures a book called Strange Gods: The Great American Cult Scare by David G. Bromley and Anson D. Shupe, Jr. which was published in 1981. In this book, Bromley and Shupe examine the six great cults of the 1980s, including the Hare Kishnas, and then examine each cult's theology, membership, and so-called brainwashing techniques. They then examine anticultists and practice of deprogramming.

The most remarkable point they make is the "high turnover" mentioned in Barney Miller. This point dovetails with their overall point, which they make again and again and again: nothing is as monolithic as it seems. When Bromley and Shupe actually visited the various cults/communes, they discovered a great deal of variation among members (and ex-members); everyone had what could be called a personal theology. (Bromley and Shupe argue that Jonestown--where members of The People's Temple drank cyanide mixed with koolaid--was the result of Jones desperately consolidating a position he was about to lose rather than the result of mindless worship. Bromley and Shupe also argue that this cult was the strangest and, arguably, the only dangerous cult amongst the six they studied and not representative of other cults or religions.)

This appearance of monolithic agreement is emphasized by communal living. Frankly, I find the idea of communal living unappealing in the extreme. However, many people find it attractive. Communal living also tends to intensify the feelings and appearance of belonging, especially when a commune feels persecuted. Still, as anyone who has studied the Transcendentalists or other 19th century groups can tell you, few communes last with any degree of success. They certainly don't recruit with sustainable long-term results. There's just too much darn work involved.

Bromley and Shupe's most important point--a point that has now become commonplace--is that the brainwashing necessarily for monolithic "thought-control" just isn't that easy, if even possible. (Interestingly enough, although Bromley and Shupe detest the violence and mentally coercive techniques of deprogrammers, they also argue against the supposed "brainwashing" of deprogramming.) It is relatively easy for people to confabulate memories. It is not relatively easy, or even all that possible, to make people believe things they don't want to believe. In other words, even confabulation works because people want it to work. False memories, for instance, almost always bring with them a supposed full explanation of the past, self-justification, extreme individuation (my family doesn't understand me!), and the spotlight. (The truth is, people rarely forget real trauma.)

Even when deprogramming has seemed to work, Bromley and Shupe point out that the deprogrammee (who was never brainwashed to begin with) simply stacks already existent doubts and grievances against the gains of his or her former life "and chooses to play the game" (their emphasis). In other words, the deprogrammee has something personal to gain from being deprogrammed.

I think this goes a long way towards explaining Patty Hearst. I just finished a book about her trial. I was amazed at the willingness of so many people, including the writer, to confuse sympathy for her kidnapping (which I believe did happen) with a desire to let her off for the bank robber(ies). What is most remarkable, however, is Patty Hearst's own desperate desire to ingratiate or deprogram herself back into "normal" society.

Bromley and Shupe believe that this pressure is strongest in families that have the most to lose. They point out that anticultist organizations are often led by people with strong political, financial, and social ties. They desperately need to believe that their children are VICTIMS: neither they nor their children are to blame for the child's rejection of the aforementioned ties. It MUST be brainwashing; therefore, the children MUST be deprogrammed.

The Hearsts had this type of motivation. I consider the writer of the book about Patty Hearst, Shana Alexander, to be rather gullible, but her reporting is complete and honest. She records numerous interviews (with lawyers, psychologists, etc.) in which the interviewees argue that the Hearsts caused Patty more trauma by insisting on the trial than by going for a plea. But going for a plea would land a Hearst in jail. Of course, going for the trial did anyway, but the trial meant the family could go on refusing to admit that Patty actually WANTED to rob banks with the SLA.

Having said that, I don't believe that Patty Hearst was a villain or criminal in the classic sense of the word. I don't believe she would have gone out and robbed banks on her own or even felt compelled to if she'd belonged to a different socioeconomic class. The kidnapping was a catalytic factor. I think it was simply easier for her to live the life she had been introduced to than to think, "I should go home" OR (especially), "I should go do something else on my own." But that doesn't mean she wasn't a free agent, and I think the prosecutor was right to insist that she was.

The truth is: mind-control is something people do to themselves.

Jonathan Creek: Why Season 4 is Better Than Season 3

The major challenge with Jonathan Creek is how to create a mystery show that doesn't rely on deux ex machina explanations.

The whole idea behind a magic trick is that it is a deception. The patter misleads the audience into believing the set-up is legitimate when it isn't. But in a mystery, if it turns out that the entire set-up was a deception (the mystery never happened the way it was explained in the first place), the audience feels cheated.

My immediate response to Jonathan Creek was, "How are they going to avoid the problem of the narrator lying?" After all, the best way to get around most of the mysteries is for Jonathan simply to declare, "The person telling us all this is a huge liar."

I was impressed by how competently the first two seasons dealt with this problem. The mysteries are truly clever with truly clever solutions.

However, in Season 3, reliance on deception/false set-ups becomes too large a component. The end result is complicated, even Gothic narratives that Jonathan uncovers versus clever tricks that he unveils.

The same is true of Season 4. However, Season 4 has two things going for it. One, I quite like Julia Sawalha (I quite like Caroline Quinten too; it's always a toss-up when a replacement comes up, and Sawalha does more than an adequate job; in fact, I think the dialog exchanges between her and Davies are stronger than between Quinten and Davies).

The other thing that Season 4 has going for it is Adam (played by Stuart Milligan). The stunts Adam pulls in Season 4--and the subplots involving Adam--are totally hilarious. Stuart Milligan does a fantastic job playing a complete egoist who is, nevertheless, rather sweet and unpretentious. Oddly enough, I think Stuart Milligan does a better job than Anthony Head would have done even though, in many ways, Milligan is playing "Giles." But Anthony Head, although good as Adam, gave him a creepier edge than Milligan does. Milligan's Adam is really completely guileless with absolutely no dark side.

Milligan does good spots in Seasons 1-2 (he is almost entirely absent from Season 3). He takes over major plotlines in Season 4 and, on more than one occasion, utterly steals the show.

The entire series is worth watching, but if you watch Seasons 1-2, then skip to 4 (like I did because the library didn't have Season 3 at that time, so I ended up watching it later), don't worry, you aren't missing (as much) with Season 3 (although watching Davies is always worth the effort).