The Golden Crucifix: A Matthew Cordwainer Medieval Mystery

I can’t compete with my writer friends’ achievements, but I can support them by reading and promoting their books. 

This 2018 medieval mystery was written by my graduate school classmate at the University of Denver Joyce Tally Lionarons. Retired as a medieval professor and scholar at Ursinus College in Pennsylvania, she now applies her talents to the detective genre.  It’s clear from reading this book that she has not only done extensive research in medieval literature and language, but has also done her homework when it comes to the geography; the social, political, religious, and law enforcement structure; even the medical practices of thirteenth century York, where The Golden Crucifix is set.  In addition, she brings to life a tangible sense of the street life at the time; the reader is immersed in the sights, smells, sounds, and the very tastes of the time and place.

Most literary scholars date the origin of the detective genre to Edgar Allan Poe’s “Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841), but, of course, some find earlier examples of stories with similar characteristics. (See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Detective_fiction)

The eighteenth century is sometimes referred to as the Enlightenment period in Western history because of the rise of science and rationality as sources of knowledge, as opposed to folk traditions, superstition, religion, and anecdotal evidence.  However, in the second half of that century the Gothic genre of literature, or tale of terror, rose in popularity.  Poe, of course, is probably best known for his horror stories. 

So, why the post-Enlightenment popularity of both Gothic and detective fiction?  One theory is that it relates to the debate over human nature.  Are we rational creatures for the most part, in a world subject to natural law, able to exercise reasonable control over ourselves and our environment, as Enlightenment thinkers would have it, or are we largely irrational creatures in a world governed by mysterious, supernatural forces beyond our control?

The Gothic plot usually begins with a protagonist in ordinary reality who encounters some kind of irrational phenomenon or experience that results in either death or madness or escape.  Even if the protagonist escapes the irrational forces, however, they are not defeated and are just lying in wait for their next victim.

Keep in mind that the irrational forces can also be within the psyche of the protagonist him or herself, whether in the form of madness, uncontrollable impulses, or deliberate malice. This genre could be said to provide an outlet for our human fears of the unknown (including ourselves) or a reinforcement of those fears, or both.  Thus the term “tale of terror”.

The detective story plot also usually begins with some kind of rational order that is disrupted by a crime, usually a murder, often violent.  In this case, however, the detective comes to the rescue by applying close observation, physical evidence, witness testimony, logical analysis, and other investigative (similar to scientific) techniques of arriving at truth, solving the mystery, and restoring order.  In this genre rationality triumphs, thus reassuring its readers that our rational nature can overcome the irrational forces in the world.

In the medieval world the rational and the irrational were understood in terms of a supernatural conflict between God’s ideal of a virtuous and orderly world, on the one hand, and Satan’s mission to destroy that world.  Disorder and death come about because of evil represented by Satan and because of human sin. Redemption and salvation from evil come from adherence to the teachings of the Bible, the Church, and religious authorities, not from secular rationality.

The Golden Crucifix takes place in a world of filth in York, where the river Ouse is “a damp reek made up of decaying fish and the accumulated waste of the city.”  The opening scenes introduce us to a world of lust and greed, in which traffickers in stolen goods are juxtaposed in the next scene with the wealth of the Church on display in a Twelfth Night procession. The treasures of the secular, in this case, criminal wealthy and those of the Church are surrounded by the filth of the streets, where prostitutes, pick-pockets, panhandlers and scrabbling poor freely range in a daily struggle for survival.

Such is the ordinary reality of that world, but there is some semblance of law enforcement, and when a prostitute is found murdered and the Golden Crucifix, a valuable article in the Church treasury goes missing, the local Coroner Matthew Cordwainer takes responsibility for solving both crimes along with other local authorities.  Cordwainer is sixtyish, troubled by an arthritic hip, aided by a walking stick, and helped both at home and through the streets by a young manservant.  He shows respect to both secular and religious leaders and gives lip service, at least, to religious observances.  However, despite their sinful ways, he values the humanity of the prostitutes and is determined to bring the murderer to justice. 

Later another prostitute, and then a local “madam” are found murdered. The Prioress of the nunnery is stalked and attacked, though she survives.  Cordwainer navigates the world of the victims, the streets, the criminal traffickers, law enforcement, and the Church as he unravels the knots that tie the thefts, the murders, and the attack on the Prioress all together.  He relies not only on observations, interrogations, and rational analysis, as in the typical detective story, but also on his knowledge and experience as long-time resident and Coroner in the city. As one comes to expect in detective stories, there are multiple suspects with means, motive and opportunity and it is Cordwainer’s dogged, persistent, methodical investigation that eventually untangles the knots and restores order, such as it is.

Full justice is another story as the Church has one jurisdiction, secular authorities another, and the methods of both interrogation and punishment in secular law enforcement fall far short of humane treatment.   

The medieval mystery plays focused on Biblical stories and religious miracles, the mysteries of God’s world.  While this supernatural world view provides the backdrop to The Golden Crucifix, the novel unfolds in an all too natural and mortal world, leaving us, as in the conventional detective story, with a reassuring sense of rationality overcoming crime. It also suggests, however, that in a world of human weakness, hostility, aggression, and lust for both power and pleasure, social disorder will endure. Thus, we are additionally left, as in the Gothic tale of terror, with a sense that malignant forces still lie in wait, though they may be more human than supernatural.  

That is not to say there are no model citizens, and Cordwainer is one, but he seems to forever be hobbling through town with his bad hip trying to stay upright as he traverses the mud, the ice, animal droppings, and human filth that fill the streets.     

Joyce Lionarons has published two additional Matthew Cordwainer medieval mysteries:  Blood Libel and The White Rose.  Enjoy!

What Makes a Good Potboiler?

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins (see blog post March 12, 2015) is still at the top of the New York Times fiction bestseller list.  Recently, I saw that some folks got it mixed up with another mystery/thriller published around the same time with a similar title, Girl on a Train by A. J. Waines, which attained bestseller status on the UK and Australia Kindle charts (http://awaines.blogspot.com/p/girl-on-train.html).

Curious, I read the Waines novel for comparison’s sake, and shortly after I read Agatha Christie’s Dead Man’s Folly, which I had seen on PBS’s Masterpiece Mystery, but really couldn’t remember very well.

Comparisons among the three got me thinking about what makes a good potboiler.

A potboiler is a work created for entertainment primarily to make money, not for artistic purposes.  But, of course, even the cheapest forms of entertainment require some artistry and, I would argue, often embody or represent a serious purpose.  Popular works can tell us something about the public psyche at the time and may even raise serious social and/or philosophical issues.

The detective story, for example, came of age in the 19^th century at a time when there was public anxiety and philosophical inquiry concerning human nature.  Are we primarily rational beings, or are we fundamentally irrational creatures with a thin veneer of rational appearance masking our underlying penchant for hostility, aggression, violence, sex, and power?  Gothic fiction of the 18^th century could be viewed as an expression of social anxiety over, not only irrational human nature, but also destructive forces in the universe beyond our control.  The detective story serves to reassure us that the use of our rational powers can overcome those forces and restore order to our world.

Most detective stories begin with ordinary, familiar, seemingly innocent reality.  The crime, usually of a violent nature, usually murder (because death is our greatest anxiety), disrupts the rational order, creating a sense of chaos, confusion, and fear, not to mention mystery.  It takes the careful, methodical, reasoned calculation of the controlled and rational detective to solve the mystery and restore order.

It struck me that all three of these novels raise questions about the power of disinterested logic and rationality as means to truth, and show how observation, intuition and, in the case of both Train novels, irrational passion and even neurosis can serve as means to truth.

As in the typical detective story, Girl on a Train begins with familiar reality, a young woman on a commuter train.  Her seatmate, however, is nervous and agitated enough to draw attention to herself.  Anna tries to work, but is continually distracted by the behavior of her nervous seatmate.  At one point they engage in brief conversation in which the seatmate discovers Anna is a freelance journalist who has done investigative reporting.  No doubt that is why, when she suddenly deboards the train, she gives Anna a desperate look, which the reporter interprets as a plea for help. 

Shortly afterwards, the train unexpectedly halts.  It turns out the young seatmate has presumably committed suicide by stepping in front of the train as it departs the station, and, later, it turns out she has left a clue in Anna’s purse.  ‘The reporter doesn’t believe it’s suicide and sets out to follow a trail of clues to unravel the mystery of her seatmate’s death.

Amazingly, both The Girl on the Train and Girl on a Train feature a character named Anna and use a shifting point of view, among Rachel, Megan and Anna in The Girl on the Train; and between Anna and Elly in Girl on a Train.

As in The Girl on the Train, the “detective” in Girl on a Train (Anna) is a female witness rather than an official detective.  Her experience as a freelance investigative journalist lends her some plausibility as a “detective”; however, as in The Girl on the Train, she seems irrationally driven to solve the mystery and takes some bizarre risks in the process. 

In Dead Man’s Folly, the detective is the renowned Hercule Poirot, who receives a strange call from a friend (who is also a murder mystery novelist) to attend an event at an estate because the novelist believes something is not right, though she can’t put her finger on anything definite.  The familiar Agatha Christie pattern unfolds, as a murder occurs and Poirot must rely on his unusual powers of observation and ability to put seemingly unrelated puzzle pieces together to make sense of what seems to be an impenetrable mystery involving numerous suspects.

Unlike the witnesses in the two Train novels Hercule Poirot is an experienced private detective who is driven more by intellectual curiosity than irrational compulsions. (It is notable that the “irrational” witnesses are women whereas the disinterested detective is a man.) However, Poirot does not follow a strict path of ratiocination.  He relies as much on observation of minute details and intuition as on logic and rationality.

Thus, unlike the formulaic detective story in which irrational disorder is defeated by the power of reason alone, all three of these novels show how less rational, even irrational, processes can lead to truth.

Regardless, a good detective potboiler relies heavily on, first, mystery, suspense, and the sense of an ominous threat in the world; second, a relentless “detective,” who leaves no stone unturned in his or her pursuit of truth; and, third, compelling characters with their own personal dramas.  In The Girl on the Train the female witness is driven by her own personal drama; in Girl on a Train the female reporter is sucked in to the victim’s personal drama; and in Dead Man’s Folly, Poirot himself is compelling in his eccentricity and all the suspects have their own personal dramas, which make them suspicious, and which makes one of them commit murder.

All three of these novels also rely on far-fetched situations, unlikely coincidences (not to mention behaviors), and highly implausible circumstances.   The Girl on the Train and Dead Man’s Folly are well crafted enough to engage the reader in a “suspension of disbelief,” whereas Girl on a Train is clumsily written in places and leaves too many loose ends to keep the reader from frequent eye rolls.  It’s entertaining enough, but doesn’t display the artistry that draws the reader in and makes us believe an unlikely plot.

So, in addition to mystery, suspense, a relentless detective, and compelling characters, a good detective potboiler needs to vary the traditional formula, make us believe the unbelievable, and offer some serious philosophical, psychological, or social issues for us to chew on.

The Girl on the Train

A potboiler is a work created for entertainment primarily to make money, not for artistic purposes.  But, of course, even the cheapest forms of entertainment require some artistry and, I would argue, often embody or represent a serious purpose.  Popular works can tell us something about the public psyche at the time and may even raise serious social and/or philosophical issues.

The detective story, for example, came of age in the 19^th century at a time when there was public anxiety and philosophical inquiry concerning human nature.  Are we primarily rational beings, or are we fundamentally irrational creatures with a thin veneer of rational appearance masking our underlying penchant for hostility, aggression, violence, sex, and power?  Gothic fiction of the 18^th century could be viewed as an expression of social anxiety over, not only irrational human nature, but also destructive forces in the universe beyond our control.  The detective story serves to reassure us that the use of our rational powers can overcome those forces and restore order to our world.

Most detective stories begin with ordinary, familiar, seemingly innocent reality.  The crime, usually of a violent nature, usually murder (because death is our greatest anxiety), disrupts the rational order, creating a sense of chaos, confusion, and fear, not to mention mystery.  It takes the careful, methodical, reasoned calculation of the controlled and rational detective to solve the mystery and restore order.

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins offers a variation on this pattern that undermines our faith in rationality as the means to truth and order, suggesting that the irrational can actually lead us to a restoration of rational order.

It begins, as the detective story (and gothic tale) usually does, with familiar reality.  What could be more ordinary than a young woman on a commuter train passing by the back side of suburban houses on her daily route?  As we get to know this young woman, however, with each layer that is peeled back, we discover less and less rationality and less and less order.  The sense of irrational disorder is well established before the crime occurs.

In this case the official police investigators of the crime, using their methods rational analysis are not very successful.  The successful “detective,” who solves the crime, is considered an “unreliable witness” by the police. 

Her involvement in solving the crime is motivated by her desire to recover her lost memory of something that occurred near the time and place of the crime, but also by her own personal obsessions, fantasies, and generally disordered psychology.

She solves the crime more or less by hit-or-miss accident based on her gradually emerging but hazy memories, rather than logical calculated analysis.

Most detective stories affirm reason and rationality, but this one seems to affirm the role of irrational processes; the official detectives in the case fail to solve the crime, while the irrational “unreliable witness” succeeds.

Most detective stories reassure us that the power of rational order can overcome the irrational, but in this case, we are left with no such reassurance; irrationality is pitted against irrationality and it is through confusion, fantasy, obsession, and disordered thinking/behavior that some semblance of rational order is restored.

Parallel to the detective story is a recovery narrative in which the “detective” moves from emotional instability to health during the process of solving the crime.  Recovery of her lost memories leads to recovery of her health as well as the solution to the crime.  And just as the process of solving the crime is messy, disorderly, and irrational, so is the process of recovery.

The effect is to suggest that the irrational has the power to lead us to truth and healing as much or more than the rational.

We tend to associate reason and rationality with truth and goodness, whereas we associate the irrational with our worst emotional excesses, destructive urges, and false beliefs about reality.  The Girl on the Train reminds us that human reason has its limits.  Not only is it subject to fallacies, it may not see far enough.  It may dismiss out of hand the positive power of emotional energy, imagination, hunches, even dreams, and thereby miss the whole story.

This is not to say that reason and emotion cannot work together but that one may not necessarily be superior to the other.

Philosophy and psychology aside, The Girl on the Train is a well-crafted, suspenseful page-turner with plenty of personal drama thrown in for good measure, just like a good potboiler should be.

Dracula II

The gothic form represents a melodramatic struggle between good and evil. It is no coincidence that it rose to prominence in Western culture during the 18th century, the so-called Age of Reason in Europe and America, when science, facts, logic, and rationality were held up as authoritative guides to truth and action. As a species, our future progress was unlimited if we would only be led by our rational nature, which takes its place within a rationally ordered universe.

Easier said than done, claims the gothic tale. What if the universe is not rational; what if our human nature is not rational?

Instead of a universe ruled by the supernatural powers of religion (which the Age of Reason presumably had debunked), gothic writers projected a universe in which secular forms of the supernatural—ghosts, monsters, etc.—and (in anticipation of the Freudian Id) a fundamentally irrational human nature assert power over the rational surface of the world.

The classic gothic tale leaves us in terror, not only of the supernatural threats that might be “out there,” but also of the irrational forces “in here.” The detective story, on the other hand, reassures us that rationality, in the form of the carefully observant, thoroughly logical detective, can overcome those dark, destructive forces of nature both within and without. (See previous post.)

Dracula, published at the end of the 19th century, continues both traditions—questioning the power of rationality while at the same time asserting it and thereby capturing the continuing cultural anxiety over the nature of our universe and ourselves. Though their sources and methods are hardly scientific in modern terms, Dr. Seward and Professor Van Helsing are the knowledge experts, who use their expertise to overcome Dracula, but, of course, they cannot protect all of us from all the irrationality that stalks the earth, including the irrationality within our own psyches.

The continuing popularity of the vampire figure testifies to our ongoing cultural anxiety over the power of rationality to save us and over our own human nature. It is notable that in the gothic tradition, the battle between good and evil is presented, not in religious or moralistic terms, but rather in terms of the rational and the irrational. Religious morality has been replaced by more intellectual, psychological, and practical approaches to good and evil.

Nowhere does this create more anxiety than in the realms of human sexuality and the changing roles of women. (See next post.)