I hate cozies

 This one may seem like a rant (anything that starts with "I hate" is at least at that level). I am not talking about the little rubbery covers on soda cans. I am talking about cozy mysteries. 

This is not a new feeling for me, but it intensified this week for a purely illogical and unconnected reason.

I am in a writing group with eight other people. We meet every two weeks, or actually twice a month, and at this point everyone is writing fiction, usually novels but sometimes short stories. One member is writing what she calls a cozy mystery, or at least a beach read. It has some potential, but from a reader's standpoint so far, it's a mess, and she gives us pieces out of order, or she changes the backstory without explaining it. I won't go into the plot, as I am unsure I really understand it and she might change it by next week anyway. Generally she writes well; I think she is just struggling with this particular vision. 

A cozy is defined as (by Wikipedia) 

a sub-genre of crime fiction in which sex and violence occur offstage, the detective is an amateur sleuth, and the crime and detection take place in a small, socially intimate community. Cozy mysteries thus stand in contrast to hardboiled fiction, in which more violence and explicit sexuality are central to the plot. The term "cozy" was used to describe works in this genre by the 1960s,^[1] though it only gained widespread recognition in the late 20th century, when various writers produced work in an attempt to recreate the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.^[2]

Well, let's break this down. The body is never mutilated or bloody, and if so, not shown (if a film); there might be a love interest but we don't see naked rear ends; the detective is not one professionally, is not a former police officer, gets no money for the "sleuthing," and in my view is often quirky, unassuming, or getting in the police's way. Somehow, these amateurs get access to crime scenes and evidence, usually in cute but illegal ways that cause the police inspector or detectives to threaten but never follow through on discipline. These stories usually take place in suburbs or small towns, often in the past; the sleuths tend to be women. 

But I would add some other characteristics: there are far more murders in the community than anyone living there should be comfortable with; the murders are usually of people nobody likes and there is no real grief or loss involved--in other words, kind of "good riddance" or at best, "so what or too bad, so sad for him; and there is never any contemplation of what evil is done to the community or loved ones by the death of the victim. Or often victims, since two to four murders or suspicious deaths can often take place. The sleuth and his/her companions (an eccentric friend, a cute kid, a spouse or a will they/won't they possible love interest) survive, like James Bond, a serious danger such as being sedated and having their head stuck in a gas oven or being locked in a tomb underground. 

And the worst of it, the books/films end with some kind of lighthearted moment, a kiss, a pun, or something of the kind. The sleuth hasn't learned anything because you know they are going to get into a dangerous situation solving a crime that is none of their business in the next volume or episode. There is no arc, no development, or not much. 

I have been told in multiple sessions that if you are going to write novels and be successful at it, you need to write a series, which means these kinds of books for most people. 

Examples abound:  Aurora Teagarden: so Hallmark. The Marlowe Mystery Club: PBS but really ridiculous. Good ol' Jessica Fletcher/Murder She Wrote (Still shown on cable stations). The Garage Sale Mysteries (with ex-con Lori Loughlin, still). 

And my favorite, Father Brown. Kembleford is infested with murders; everyone apparently (except the non-cool people) are Catholic; he tells every murderer to repent and ask forgiveness for their soul's sake (which I appreciate, I guess), but he has an incredibly lax view of abortion and same-sex relationships for a 1950s priest (every third guest character on the show is gay). No one can solve any mysteries in that town except the priest; his ethics are really sketch; Ruby May Martinwood has three facial expressions; everything ends happily no matter what everyone has been through; and G. K. Chesterton would be rolling in his grave if he could recognize his Father Brown from this fellow. 

However, I love Claudie Blakley, and I stopped this post to watch this week's episode, even though it was a repeat; Mrs. Divine got married to Inspector Sullivan (the writers did a good job on their relationship and this episode, I'll give them that). 

Of course, we could include the fountainhead of them all, Miss Marple. In fact, I think everyone is copying her. However, Miss Marple is based on the idea that the small towns are just as evil as anywhere else, and she is able to solve the mysteries because of her uncanny observations of how her neighbors sin. Anyway, I do not think any of Agatha's books would qualify as cozies; it is the film adaptations that give that impression. Hercule Poirot does not fit in this category. He is a real detective and the tone of them are far more serious. He is more Sherlock Holmes than cozy. 

Although I have a series of mysteries set in a small town, they are not cozies because, well, I am more concerned about the impact of the crime on the community; the mysteries are not convoluted and the whodunit nature is not that important; the "sleuth" is more of an observer than an amateur detective (he's the newspaper editor who works with the sheriff's department when possible), and the main arc is how his life develops through these episodes. 

Sorry, this is ending with an ad:  Long Lost Family, Long Lost Promise, and Long Lost Justice.

Thanks for reading!