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Better Dead Than Never: A novel and exegesis By Laurent Boulanger Submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy 2009 Swinburne University of Technology i Abstract The following PhD research is made of two parts, namely a crime novel titled ‘Better Dead Than Never’ and an accompanying exegesis that reflects and explores the literary techniques and the author’s journey in the creation of the novel. The novel’s frame is built around the tradition of the hard-boiled genre of crime fiction, popular in the USA in the 1930s and 1940s. Whilst the novel keeps the tradition of having a Private Investigator as the protagonist, the setting is Melbourne, Australia, and the timeframe is the mid-2000s. In addition, the protagonist is an attached woman in her thirties rather than the traditional single male protagonist. The novel, through the protagonist’s journey, explores issues of class, racism, sexism, homophobia, police corruption and the Australian legal system. The exegesis explains how the novel was created, both in terms of fiction technique and the author’s self-reflection on his choice of genre, setting, protagonist, dialogue and structure. The methodology includes placing the novel in comparative evaluation with other works from Cornwell, Grafton, Evanovich and works from the hard-boiled genre. It also examines feminism issues in terms of the protagonist’s place in a male-dominated police environment and discusses the author’s choice of using a female protagonist whilst being a male author. ii Acknowledgements I would like to thank my supervisors Professor Barbara Van Ernst, Professor Josie Arnold and Professor Kay Lipson. A special extra thanks to Professor Barbara Van Ernst for supporting me on this long journey and providing me with relentless guidance in spite of the various challenges I faced; Dr Dominique Hecq for giving her stamp of approval when the project was close to completion; Dr Carolyn Beasley for advising me on relevant readings, particularly in terms of critical theories and feminism, and for her constant encouragement throughout the years; and Dr Everarda Cunningham and Nadine White for their patience during difficult times. I would also like to thank my parents Virginie and René for their faith in my approach to life in the past few years; my brother Philippe for his humour and friendship; and my brother Alain for being close no matter how far we are geographically. Finally, I would like to thank Swinburne University of Technology and the higher research team for the opportunities they have offered me. iii Declaration by Candidate I certify that the thesis entitled “Better Dead Than Never: a novel and exegesis” submitted for the degree of PhD contains no material which has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma; to the best of my knowledge contains no material previously published or written by another person except where due reference is made in the text; and is not based on joint research or publications. Full name:………………………………………………………… Signed:……………………………………………………………. Date:……………………………………………………………… iv Table of Contents Abstract I Acknowledgements Ii Declaration by Candidate Iii Table of Contents iv Better Dead Than Never: a crime novel 1 An exegesis on Better Dead Than Never 254 Introduction 255 Why I Chose to Write a P.I. Novel 259 The Themes of Disorder, Disaffection and 265 Dissatisfaction The Cynical Protagonist 269 Dialogue 274 Setting 277 Structure 285 Finding the Right Beginning 290 Conclusion 299 References/Bibliography 302 1 ‘Better Dead Than Never: a crime novel’ 2 1 “Ms. Patricia Lunn, I’m John Bain, you were on a murder case ten years ago—” “Yes, I know that case,” I interrupted, “and I remember who you are.” In my mind’s eye, I saw his jet black hair and his captivating green eyes. I also saw the young man with the severe strangulation mark around his neck and the blue, cotton shirt torn from his pale body. Blood rushed through my brain. My right hand tightly gripped the telephone receiver. He said, “Well, something’s come up, and I’d like to meet with you.” “Do you still work for the State?” “I’m a solicitor for Smith & Gordon.” “I’m no longer a cop, so I’m not sure how I can be of assistance.” “I’d like you to come see me at the office in one hour, if that’s all right with you.” I didn’t reply, so he added, “We’ll pay you generously for your time.” I looked out of the kitchen window. Monday morning. The sky was pencil grey all the way to the horizon where the heavens and the ocean became one. It was not raining, but it had been, and the forecast was more showers throughout the day. City-bound traffic was congested as always that early in the morning. The window was wide open and the scent of saltwater roamed throughout the apartment. I was wearing my blue shorts and white tee from an early workout at Terry Bennett’s on High Street. Percolated coffee was brewing, and I had nothing on the agenda for the next twenty-four hours. 3 “Money is not a problem,” I said. “I’m just wondering what it is that you need from me—I no longer have access to the case file, and I wasn’t really involved that much in the investigation. I was only present on the last day because I happened to be on shift. Honestly, I’m really not all that familiar with the case. I’m sure the Crime Investigation Unit will be more than happy to help you.” I had the dreary suspicion that whatever Bain wanted wouldn’t include a fourteen-day paid vacation on a tropical island with two first- class return tickets. “I’ll explain everything when you get here. If you can be here in one hour, it would be great. I’ve got a court appointment at eleven.” “Look—” “This is really important. I wouldn’t have bothered tracking you down if it was just a routine matter—you come highly commended for the job.” I rolled the telephone cord around my left middle finger. It would just be a meeting after all, wouldn’t it? Free breakfast, and then I’ll turn him down flat. “All right, I’ll see you in one hour.” I hung up. Judging from the assertiveness in his voice, Bain had become used to making requests that turned into orders. He had been a hot catch back when I was still in a cop’s uniform, and the horny little devil at the back of my mind suggested that he might be worth checking out—even if I had been promised to another man for the last ten years. 4 2 “It’s so good to see you.” John Bain stood up from his high-back, leather-bound executive chair. “I’m so glad you could make it. You’re going to save me a lot of trouble.” We shook hands firmly like old friends who’d survived The Gulf War and were forever changed. He smiled and locked his green eyes with mine. I knew that very second that I was dealing with a professional who could make you feel at home, even if you were someone who kept chopped body parts in the freezer compartment of the fridge next to the ice-cream and the baby peas. He checked me from head to toe as if I were a Christmas tree he was thinking of taking home with him. My black skirt was too short and my white blouse too tight, but I liked it that way. I wasn’t one of these women who suffered from a frigid sense of post-feminist existence. Nature had given me a body for men to sin over, and who was I to argue with Mother Nature? All in all, I convinced myself that I could pass for a slut-turned-lawyer if real lawyers walked past me at one hundred miles per hour while blinking. “You look great,” he said. “Thanks.” “You work out or something?” “I work out and something. You’re not bad yourself.” 5 “Well, thank you. Please, take a seat.” I took my place on the visitor’s chair facing his desk. The south wall of his Collins Street office was panelled tinted glass overlooking the Yarra river, the Casino complex and the recently built battalions of apartments in Southbank. Filtered sunlight bathed the room in a coffee colour, and his expensive citrus aftershave travelled through time and space. His desk was large and made of solid oak, and the only decorations on the walls were his university degrees and several postgraduate qualifications he must have earned since I had last seen him. An impressive array of leather-bound, legal volumes stood to his left in a bookshelf that probably cost more than the total price of all the assemble-it-yourself furniture at my place. In these days of interactive multimedia resources, the legal volumes were probably just for show when consulting with prospective clients. People wanted the reassurance that they were getting value for money—and an empty office didn’t inspire confidence. I said, “You love it around here, don’t you?” “I worked hard for it.” He smiled like someone in a toothpaste advertisement. Ten years ago, John Bain looked more like a young model than a recent graduate from The University of Highton with a double degree in psychology and criminal law. He was still handsome but more assertive in a power suit that made me look like a Salvation Army Shop regular.

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