Trashing Simon Brett

If my last post seemed a bit splenetic* to you, I apologize. In my defense, I feel more than usually provoked these days.The cultural producers of our times sweat great rivers of oily self-righteousness and that putrid flow sometimes overwhelms my delicate equilibrium.

As an example, I hold before you one Simon Brett, a British author of murder mysteries. I recently went on vacation and one of my favorite ways to relax on holiday is work through a small pile of fiction. I usually include at least one murder mystery and this time I chose an author totally unfamiliar to me. As I read The Body on the Beach, I became increasingly agitated. Let me tell you why.

This author is competent if uninspiring as a mystery writer. He does exhibit that fraternity's (or should I say sorority?) annoying habit of periodically inserting let's-summarize-what-we-know-now interludes, as if the author's duty were to help the reader cram for a final exam. But what led me to consign the book to the landfill was a steady drip of left-wing condescension that served no literary function. In fact, I imagine Mr. Brett probably was unconscious of his sanctimony as he wrote - it undoubtedly comes as naturally as breathing.

For example, he is indignant that the Council Flat dwelling proles stick satellite TV dishes on the sides of their homes. Not because they are filling their heads with cultural garbage, but because of the shillings pouring into Rupert Murdoch's pockets. He draws one of his peripheral characters as snobbish, domineering, materialistic, gossipy, judgmental, gauche, and shrewish. She treats her servants poorly, runs down her husband, and goes out of her way to look down her nose at everyone. It would be one thing if she were funny, in a Dickensian sort of way, but it's clear that Brett either couldn't pull that off, or actually thought he was painting a believable portrait. Oh yes, I almost forgot. He applies one other characteristic to this thoroughly repellent creature. Can you guess what it is? The most natural thing to go along with those other traits would be...her devout Christianity.

The final straw for me was a throw-away line regarding "Bourgeoisie virtues, which are for the most part financial virtues." It told me in one sentence how shallow this man is; how little thinking he has done about the Bourgeoisie, about virtue, or about finances. Bah. When I could stand it no more, I threw the book into the rubbish half-read, which afforded me the most pleasure I received from Brett's labours.

* pertaining to the spleen, also ill-humoured.