Throughout its history, the crime fiction genre expanded as technology advanced. Circa 1800s, the Bertrillon system (named after the inventor, Alphonse Bertrillon, a French anthropologist) that kept records of photographs, physical measurements and peculiarities of known criminals was augmented by fingerprinting. Later, scientists involved in crime detection evolved from general practitioners to forensic specialists. Today, forensic technology is capable of some extraordinary feats. At this writing, the real-life drama of the O. J. Simpson trial has engaged almost a year’s worth of energy debating the credibility and integrity of DNA and other forensic evidence presented. Modern crime fiction authors have their work cut out for them if they are going to make their stories believable. Some contemporary authors have found a way to circumvent technological advances by taking the story backwards in time. In Umberto Eco’s novel, “In The Name of the Rose,” William of Baskersville, a medieval monastic detective with a penchant for heretical fact-finding and almost impious inventiveness winds up not only solving mysterious murders, but discovering the lost library of Alexandria.
As the industrial revolution enlarged the scope of existence for the ordinary person, the world seemed to have contracted—telegraphs replaced the pony express; steam replaced sails; rails replaced horses—producing accelerated modes of communication and travel that abolished the frontiers. As machines grew factories, and factories grew cities, more jobs were created for people. With more jobs came more money; more money, more time, and a better educated and affluent middle class. Service industries sprang up to support the needs of an increased population in these great industrial centers—grocers, doctors, teachers, police—and one particular service group (detective fiction novelists) began supporting a niche market of people with more time on their hands to read.
Up until this time, detective stories had catered to an uppercrust leisure class who expected cads and ne’er-do-wells, or the occasional hardened malefactor to be brought to justice usually at the hands of distinguished and scholarly gentlemen. Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler broke the spell of class distinction and dished out some gritty prose about hard-boiled knights in tarnished armor slaying fat cash-dragons; regular guys who were not too proud to whistle at a good lookin’ skirt. A British segue in this class-specific detective fiction—from affluent/distinguished to hoi polloi—was the introduction of the picaresque detective. E. W. Hornung’s (Conan Doyle’s nephew-in-law) A. J. Raffles is an example of the picaresque model. Part-time thief and part-time good guy, he is known as “the gentleman burglar.” This “set-a-thief-to-catch-a-thief” model had a real-life counterpart in the early 1800s. Vidocq, an officer in the French army—who turned criminal and escaped imprisonment by turning spy—became the head of the first detective squad in police history, and went on to found another first, the private detective agency. Vidocq is mentioned in “The Rogues’ Gallery,” edited by Walter Gibson (page 33).
Another creative outcome of crime fiction as a result of an expanding middle class during the industrial age was the police procedural. As mentioned earlier, the police were a burgeoning service industry. As cities grew, so did crime, and a larger population demanded more protection and service. Also, stories involving police were, and are, a kind of reality check. Like Inspector Lestrade in the Sherlock Holmes stories, they are perhaps the most true-to-life characters in crime fiction. Nowadays, shock video shows (catching criminals on camera) as featured in the television show “Cops” are very popular. 7th and 8th grade students seem to spend a lot of time watching the afternoon talk shows, which also often address criminal activities or behavior. Such shows have been criticised for purveying a coliseum mentality, but talk show hosts and producers argue “demand and supply” and that they are giving the people what they want. Similarly to the police procedural, perhaps it is the real-life aspect of such shows that make them appealing.
In this curriculum section, four short stories will be introduced. All four stories are taken from “The Rogues’ Gallery,” edited by Walter Gibson. Students will use clue sheets, in order to aid them in their reader-detecting. The stories will be read in two parts. The first part (usually two-thirds of the story) will be started as oral reading in the classroom. By the time there are enough clues given in the story to solve the crime, the reading is stopped. Students will be asked to take their best (calculated) guesses, and write the “whodunit” information: villain, motive, method, opportunity, and weapon. This activity will probably take the full class period (approximately 50 minutes). Students will turn in their sheets, and will be instructed to complete the reading at home. This cliff-hanger approach should make the homework less of a chore, but a more desirable activity. When the next class convenes, students will discuss the story. They will review their clue sheet deductions to see where they were right, or where they may have gone wrong. This activity is designed to introduce students to the genre’s formulaic style, as well as some of its devices and protagonist types.
Figure 3
(figure available in print form)