[Dis]solving Genres: Arguing the case for Welsh Crime Fiction Catherine Phelps B.A. Hons (University of Glamorgan), M.A. (Cardiff University) A Thesis Submitted in Candidature for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy Cardiff University 2013 Table of Contents Summary i Acknowledgements ii Introduction……………………………………………………………………….................1 Chapter I: The English Imperial Thriller…………………………………………………18 Chapter II: The Emergence of Welsh Crime Fiction…………………………………….53 Chapter III: Socialist Crime Fiction……………………………………………………….91 Chapter IV: Men and Crime……………………………………………………………...122 Chapter V: Women and Crime…………………………………………………………...156 Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………….192 Bibliography……………………………………………………………………………….195 i Summary Walter Benjamin’s suggestion that great literary works not only add to canonical literature but also ‘dissolve’ genres may not seem apt in an examination of crime fiction, a genre noted for its rigidity and structured form. Though much of this mass-marketed, populist fiction cannot be perceived as great literature, nonetheless, some do work to dissolve genres, to re- shape them to different ends. This is especially true of Welsh crime fiction written in English. This thesis posits that there is a wealth of undiscovered Welsh crime fiction written in English and that those neglected works are necessary to the study of both crime fiction and Welsh writing in English. Central to this argument is my assertion that Welsh crime fiction (as it will henceforth be referred as) is a separate genre that contains its own specific tropes and paradigms, markers that are indicative of a certain Welsh cultural identity. As this study also acts as a survey of a previously unexamined area, of necessity, the works under question are the product of a extensive period: from the late-nineteenth century to the present day. While the chapters are arranged thematically, I have also tried to keep a sense of a chronological order with a sense of authors writing against or responding too previous generations of crime writers. In this manner, a tradition can be seen to be forming, one which re-imagines Welsh identity over this protracted period. As this literature springs from a nation that has frequently been defined as ‘other’, the Introduction starts with an examination of the so-called Blue Books and how they came to define the Welsh character for those outside Wales. Following this, Chapter I discusses how English crime writers absorbed these discourses and played out their ensuing anxieties in their work. Chapter II then explores an emergent Welsh crime fiction, one which both mimics and subverts anglocentric paradigms. This subversion is also played out in socialist crime fiction, the focus of Chapter III. Interestingly, these re-workings and re-imaginings of anglocentric norms are dealt with in different ways by male and female authors so Chapters IV and V will deal with male and female appropriations of genre respectively. This thesis concludes by asserting that Welsh identity is influential in forming a new genre, one that takes a rigid and hierarchical structure and adapts it to its own ends. 1 Introduction The evidence given me of the immoral character of the people, with a few exceptions, tells the same tale. The Welsh are peculiarly exempt from the guilt of great crimes. There are few districts in Europe where murders, burglaries, personal violence, rapes, forgeries, or any felonies on a large scale are so rare. On the other hand, there are perhaps, few countries where the standard of minor morals is lower. Petty thefts, lying, cozening, every species of chicanery, drunkenness (where the means exist), and idleness, prevail to a great extent among the least educated part of the community, who scarcely regard them in the light of sins.1 In 1846, concern regarding the education of the labouring classes in Wales led the Welsh- born MP for Coventry, William Williams, to propose a government inquiry. The ensuing report, or to give it its full title, Reports of the Commissioners of Inquiry into the State of Education in Wales (1847), was a damning indictment of the education available for impoverished Welsh children. Yet the report made clear that the commissioners had other concerns. Chartism had made great inroads in Wales in the 1830s and 40s, while the Rebecca Riots of the same period had done much to unsettle authority. The Reports, or as they became known due to the colour of their binding, the Blue Books, also commented on the national moral character, possibly to ascertain the roots of the natives’ rebellious nature. Indeed, the commissioners encountered much sympathy from those they questioned for the rioters of recent years. Nonetheless, they concluded that the Welsh seemed to lack the capacity for ‘great crimes’. Other crimes such as drunkenness were a common complaint from the commissioners - even schoolmasters were described as frequently intoxicated - so it would seem that the Welsh did indulge in nefarious activities, albeit the petty vices. Perhaps it is the commonly-held view, perpetuated by the commissioners, that the Welsh were too idle or drunk to commit serious crime, which may account in part for the absence of Welsh-authored crime fiction, or of the use of Wales as a setting for such fiction. Traditionally, Wales has been seen as a bucolic place of safety by English writers, an idea 1 Reports of the Commissioners of Inquiry into the State of Education in Wales (London: William Clowes and Sons, 1848), p. 294. 2 that I explore more fully in Chapter I where I also consider how later English writers start to use Wales as a setting for crime. Even the Blue Books’ commissioners reinforce this notion of Wales as a haven, but, instead of solely believing this to be the result of a rural simplicity, they also insinuate that the Welsh lack the necessary vigour to commit major crimes. These absent crimes: violence, fraud and, to a much lesser degree, murder, were ones that were of interest in the 1840s,2 a decade in which Edgar Allan Poe writes his three C. Auguste Dupin stories, which Stephen Knight posits as the first detective fiction.3 This perceived lack of crime in Wales would not suggest it as a site in these emergent crime narratives. Crime fiction at this time was also often city-based, as evinced by the popular City Mysteries, originated by Eugène Sue but soon taken up by other writers.4 During this period, Wales lacked a famous urban centre in which to set one of these mysteries. And, as the central protagonists of these mysteries were often aristocratic, the commonly-held but mistaken view that Wales lacked a gentry class or any form of class mobility, also prevented Welsh characters from making much of a mark on these early crime fictions.5 This is a notion that also permeates the Blue Books. As one of the commissioners, R. R. W. Lingen, remarks, ‘[t]hey are never masters […] the Welsh element is never found at the top of the social scale, nor in its own body does it exhibit much variety of gradation.’6 This conviction may explain why, when Wales did appear in English crime fiction, the local people were generally marginalised and silenced, often placed as lowly rural folk for local colour and little else. 2 See Heather Worthington’s Key Concepts in Crime Fiction (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), pp. 11-13 for an examination of the changing nature of crime in fiction over time. 3 Stephen Knight, Crime Fiction 1800-2000: Detection, Death, Diversity (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 25. 4 Eugène Sue’s Les Mystères de Paris was originally published as a weekly serial in Le Journal des Débats in 1842. Such was their popularity that they were published as a novel a year later. The detection-free novel spawned a host of imitations set in a variety of cities. For an in-depth analysis of this particular genre, please refer to Stephen Knight’s The Mysteries of the Cities (North Carolina: MacFarland, 2011). 5 In his essay, ‘A Tale of Three Cities: Megalopolitan Mysteries of the 1840s’, Stephen Knight points out how Paul Féval’s Les Mystères de Londres features a Welsh girl as a protagonist whilst drawing attention to the unlikelihood of her being named Diana Stewart. Crime Fiction in the City: Capital Crimes (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2013), pp. 124-137. 6 Reports of the Commissioners of Inquiry into the State of Education in Wales, p. 4. 3 This thesis, however, challenges the concept of Wales as a haven from crime, in fiction at least, and hopes to bring to attention some neglected and forgotten crime fiction by Welsh authors or those set in Wales. It offers not only a survey of crime fiction from Wales, but also argues that such crime fiction is a separate sub-genre with specific paradigms and tropes. But in order to do so, first it is necessary to define what is meant by the term ‘crime fiction’. Crime and punishment have long appeared in print, from the biblical depiction of the first murder of Abel by Cain or Rhiannon’s penance for the suspected murder of her child in the Mabinogion, but it is the shift in emphasis from crime and subsequent punishment to the detective processes used to solve the crime that is considered pivotal to the development of crime fiction as it is currently understood. Crime writers and literary critics have been defining and redefining crime fiction for many decades. W. H. Auden provided an influential definition in his essay, ‘The Guilty Vicarage’ (1948). Simply put, Auden argued that the key events must be: ‘a murder occurs: many are suspected; all but one suspect, who is the murderer, are eliminated; the murderer is either arrested or dies’.7 However, as Julian Symons points out in his seminal work, Bloody Murder (1972), these definitions supplied by Auden and other fellow crime writers, such as R. Austin Freeman and Monsignor Roger Knox, concentrate solely on a certain type of crime genre: Golden Age detective fiction.8 For Auden et al, their definitions were insistent upon a logical detection and the absence of the supernatural or unexplained. As Symons points out, Golden Age fiction is just one aspect of crime fiction and its many sub-genres. Symons wishes to broaden the definition to include a variety of crime stories. But to do so, he has to trace the genre’s origins and concludes that 7 W. H. Auden, ‘The Guilty Vicarage’, in The Dyer’s Hand and Other Essays (London: Faber and Faber, 1963), pp. 147-158. 8 Julian Symons, Bloody Murder: From the Detective Story to the Crime Novel (1972; London: Pan Books, 1992), pp. 13-4. 4 ‘the detective story, along with the spy story and the thriller, […] makes up part of the hybrid creature we call sensational literature’.9 Although this is not made clear, it seems that he is referring to American sensational fiction, rather than the British Sensation novel.10 American sensational fiction was popular during the mid-nineteenth century and is seen as the forerunner of pulp fiction, the early-twentieth century magazines and novels named after the cheap paper on which they were printed; like pulp fiction, sensational fiction was mass- marketed while its plots tended to the lurid.11 Symons goes on to explain his use of this term as, whether detective story, spy story or thriller, ‘all deal with violent ends in a sensational way’.12 Heather Worthington’s definition is a useful addition to the features identified by Symons, since she suggests that the term crime fiction also refers to ‘all literary material, fiction or fact, that has crime or the appearances of crime, at its centre and as its raison d’être’.13 Consequently, I will not be restricting this research solely to detective fiction but will incorporate crime fiction that may include an element of mystery, or those sub-genres in which detection is secondary to the plot. Moreover, crime fiction is a genre which has invited re-writing and revision in recent decades and any generic confines are being constantly stretched into new shapes, especially by those wishing to rewrite the roles of those marginalised in crime fiction through gender, sexuality or race. To limit an examination of crime fiction solely to conservative detective fictions, then, would be to ignore these new 9 Symons, Bloody Murder, p. 16. 10 In The Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, Chris Baldick defines Sensation Literature as ‘A kind of novel that flourished in Britain in the 1860s, exploiting the element of suspense in stories of crime and mystery. The most successful examples are Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White (1860), Mary Elizabeth Braddon's Lady Audley's Secret (1862), and J. Sheridan Le Fanu's Uncle Silas (1864). The sensation novel has been seen as an early kind of thriller in that it exposes dark secrets and conspiracies, but is distinguished from the classic detective story by its lack of a central detective figure.’ So, like American sensational fiction, it too can be seen as a precursor of crime fiction recognised as such today. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008). Available at http://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780199208272.001.0001/acref-9780199208272-e- 1038?rskey=BzYLFO&result=996&q= [accessed 12 March 2013]. 11 See: ‘Ballou, Maturin Murray’, in The Oxford Companion to American Literature ed. James D. Hart (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965), p. 55. 12 Symons, Bloody Murder, p. 16. 13 Heather Worthington, Key Concepts in Crime Fiction (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), p. xi. 5 developments in crime fiction, especially those wishing to re-centre the Welsh and their specific cultural identity. Yet it is during detective fiction’s most prolific period, the inter-war Golden Age, that Welsh-authored crime fiction first appears. Prior to the mid-1920s, there appears to be little or no Welsh crime fiction.14 As was suggested earlier, detective fiction at this time was a genre bound by strict rules - rules that were often laid down by crime writers themselves. Whilst many such instructions are tongue-in-cheek, they can reveal an anglocentric focus in the conceptualisation of crime fiction. Especially pertinent to the invisibility of Welsh crime is Auden’s aforementioned essay, in which he expands upon previous definitions and delineations. In a discussion of settings in crime novels, Auden insists that they should fall into the following categories: a) The group of blood relatives (the Christmas dinner in the country house); b) the closely knit geographical group (the old world village); c) the occupational group (the theatrical company); d) the group isolated by the neutral place (the Pullman car).15 I would argue that Wales, with the exception of the Pullman car, contained all of these elements. Wales still had plenty of ‘old world village[s]’ at the time when Auden was writing the essay, for instance, but these often failed to be presented in crime fiction. Instead, fiction favoured the neat, Home Counties, middle-class village settings featured in much of Agatha Christie’s work which had little relation to Welsh rural life.16 While Auden’s essay mocks the 14 As the first detective stories were often in short story form and sometimes serialised in periodicals, Conan Doyle’s tales of Sherlock Holmes being a prime example, there is a possibility that there are forgotten crime stories awaiting rediscovery in one or more of the many Welsh newspapers and periodicals of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. More and more Welsh authors are being brought back into publication, with a special interest in the short story, so one cannot definitively state that there was no Welsh crime fiction prior to the 1920s, only that there may be a possibility that it languishes awaiting rediscovery. 15 W. H. Auden, ‘The Guilty Vicarage’, in The Dyer’s Hand and Other Essays (London: Faber and Faber, 1963), pp. 147-158 (p. 149-50). 16 Colin Watson named such villages ‘Mayhem Parva’ and it is an image that persists today in the television series Midsomer Murders (1997- ), set in a series of small villages complete with gentry, spinster sisters and a village green. A more contemporary example, one pertinent to my argument that Welsh villages do not conform to anglocentric ideals, would be the recent use of Llandaff Cathedral Green for a BBC Wales Dr Who episode, ‘The Eleventh Hour’ (2009). The Cathedral Green is not noticeably ‘Welsh’ in any sense yet the BBC production team added various set pieces, such as a village pond, parish notice board and a pub signpost, to mark it as a middle-class ‘English’ country village. 6 reductive nature of genre writing, he also stresses his difficulty in reading those fictions which were ‘not set in rural England’.17 These accepted anglocentric boundaries and guidelines regarding this genre mean that Wales will be automatically set as ‘other’ and cannot be viewed as a site in its own right. This perhaps explains why many of the first Welsh crime writers, who are examined in Chapter II, chose to set their early work outside Wales, either in England or in fictional villages that stood in for England. Previously, I provided several definitions of crime fiction but, as discussion turns to the first Welsh crime writers, it now behoves me to define what I mean by Welsh crime fiction. Naturally, it has to adhere to crime fiction’s parameters as outlined above, but for crime fiction to be considered ‘Welsh’ it must also engage with features that are unique to or indicative of Welsh culture and heritage, be these linguistic, stylistic, historical or geographical. This may appear prescriptive but it does allow for the inclusion of non-Welsh authors who employ Welsh cultural tropes. Conversely, writers who set crime in Wales or use the Welsh as central figures will not automatically merit inclusion. For example, Glyn Daniel’s Welcome Death (1954) is set in Llanddewi, Glamorgan and the crime is investigated by a visiting Cambridge don of Welsh extraction. Nonetheless, rather than view this as the beginnings of Welsh crime fiction, Stephen Knight accuses Daniel of an internalised colonialism and argues that, ‘in an Anglicised south Wales rural village people behaved just like Agatha Christie’s English – and the crimes are detected by a patronising Cambridge don, a notable symbol of enlistment for the author, himself a Cambridge don but of Welsh origin’.18 In this instance, Daniel’s revisioning of Wales as a site for crime fiction has failed in the sense that the Welsh village simply mimics its English counterpart. Rather than reclaiming the genre for a Welsh audience, his novels perform an act of anglocentric 17 Auden, ‘The Guilty Vicarage’, (p. 147). 18 Stephen Knight, ‘Crimes Domestic and Crimes Colonial: The Role of Crime Fiction in Developing Postcolonial Consciousness’, in Postcolonial Postmortems: Crime Fiction from a Transcultural Perspective, eds. Christine Matzke and Susanne Mühleisen (New York: Rodopi, 2006), pp. 17-34, (p. 30). 7 ventriloquism. With Knight’s words in mind, this examination of Welsh crime fiction does not wish to include mere imitators of English forms; the texts that are included have to write against prevailing anglocentric norms, even while seeming to mimic those paradigms. For instance, some of the crime fiction in Chapter II may appear to lack the tropes necessary for inclusion as Welsh crime fiction as they show no visible connection to Welsh cultural identity and appear to follow the patterns and structures of English crime fiction. However, rather than merely mimicking English crime fictions, a closer reading of such texts reveals a subversive act of mimicry explained by Homi K. Bhabha in The Location of Culture (1994), as one which unsettles a colonial power.19 Nonetheless, the supposed lack of Welsh crime fiction may be due in part to other reasons. As aforementioned, the conventions laid down by Auden et al positioned Wales as an ‘other’ place, one which is unsuitable for crime fiction. There are also similar ideologies at work when considering the possibilities of a Welsh detective figure. This becomes clearer when considering the detectives of early crime fiction. As mentioned previously, Stephen Knight suggests Edgar Allan Poe’s ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’20 (1841) as the first detective story, a story which, moreover, links the process of detection to what Poe referred to as ‘ratiocination’,21 that is, logical deduction by exact reasoning. Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin and, later, Conan Doyle’s renowned Sherlock Holmes, detected through the power of reason alone, aided by a superior intellect. The figure of the emotionally detached detective contrasts with contemporaneous images of the passionate Celt and thus precludes the possibility of a Welsh detective. In The Hound of the Baskervilles (1901), Dr Watson, drawing on Cesare 19 Bhabha’s theory will be explained and explored further, particularly in Chapters II and III. 20 Edgar Allan Poe, ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’, in The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe: Volume IV (1841; New York: AMS Press, 1965), pp. 146-192. 21 The Letters of Edgar Allan Poe Vol. 2, ed. John Ward Ostrom (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1948), p. 265.