Character Interrelation in Tana French's Novels

Character Interrelation in Tana French’s Novels An Analysis of In the Woods, The Likeness and Faithful Place

Master Thesis

presented by

Fabiola Fliegel (Matr. No 1021425)

to the

Department of English and American Studies

Assoz. Prof. Mag. Dr. Sarah Herbe Ass.-Prof. Mag. Dr. Wolfgang Görtschacher

in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of

Master of Arts

in the subject of English Studies and the Creative Industries

University of Salzburg

Salzburg, August 2018

Statutory Declaration

I declare that I have authored this thesis independently, that I have not used other than the declared sources, and that I have explicitly marked all material which has been quoted either literally or by content from the used sources.

………………………………………….. ………………………………… (date) (signature)

Abstract

This thesis investigates the concept of character interrelation and interfigurality in the novels written by Tana French and its effects on the characterisation process. The use of side characters as protagonists in following novels is analysed to establish how these interrelations, as well as the use of shifting narrators influences character development. The corpus for analysis includes the first three novels by Tana French, In the Woods, The Likeness, and Faithful Place. The text- based approach of close reading is applied to use quotes from the novels to underline the argumentation. The genre-based approach allows for a close analysis of typical crime fiction genre characteristics and their effect on character expectation and character development in the novels as well as a narrative analysis and comparison thereof, while the use of a character-based approach offers a close analysis of characterisation processes and character interrelation across the novels.

Contents

Introduction ...... 1 1. Crime Fiction – A Genre Discussion ...... 3 1.1. General overview ...... 4 1.2. Hard-Boiled Detective Fiction ...... 5 1.3. Police Novel ...... 8 1.4. Crime Thriller ...... 10 1.5. Mystery Fiction ...... 12 1.6. Irish Crime Fiction ...... 13 1.7. Gender in Crime Fiction ...... 14 2. Narrative Framework ...... 19 2.1. Time and Space ...... 19 2.2. Focalization ...... 21 2.3. Character ...... 22 2.3.1. Interfigurality ...... 26 2.4. Multiperspective Narration ...... 27 2.5. Unreliable Narration ...... 32 3. Tana French – A Close Reading ...... 37 3.1. Genre Discussion ...... 38 3.1.1. In the Woods ...... 38 3.1.2. The Likeness ...... 42 3.1.3. Faithful Place ...... 47 3.2. Narrative Analysis ...... 53 3.2.1. In the Woods ...... 53 3.2.2. The Likeness ...... 56 3.2.3. Faithful Place ...... 58 3.3. Character Analysis ...... 62 3.3.1. Rob Ryan ...... 62 3.3.2. Characteristics of the Unreliable Narrator in Rob’s Narrative ...... 66 3.3.3. Rob’s Relation to Cassie ...... 70 3.3.4. Cassie Maddox – In the Woods ...... 74 3.3.5. Cassie Maddox – The Likeness ...... 78 3.3.6. Comparison of Cassie in the Two Versions ...... 88 3.3.7. Frank Mackey – The Likeness ...... 90 3.3.8. Frank Mackey – Faithful Place ...... 94 3.3.9. Comparison of Frank in the Two Versions ...... 104

3.4. Final Comparison of All Three Novels ...... 106 Conclusion ...... 114 Bibliography ...... 116 Table of Figures ...... 119

Introduction

Characters in a novel form the most basic essential element to a narrative. Without them, a story cannot unfold, develop or even exist. Readers identify with characters, experience the stories through them and laugh and cry along with them. But what happens, if the sidekicks, the secondary characters, the ones that have been described, but not considered properly before, are encountered instead of the already known protagonists? In the novels by Tana French, an interesting new concept has been employed concerning the use and re-use of characters. Side characters known from previous books are used as protagonists in the following novels, which means that although they are already known to the readers, they often have not been properly introduced yet. The interrelation between her novels is achieved mainly via these characters. This has the effect that characters are experienced differently, as they do not have the primacy effect of being completely new to the reader. Thus, the process of characterisation is different from the classical one, where the reader encounters characters without previous knowledge, yet it is also different from the characterisation in a series, as in this case, the respective character is already familiar. In this thesis, the first three novels of Tana French, In the Woods, The Likeness, and Faithful Place, will be analysed according to a theoretical framework based on genre and narrative elements to show how the interrelation between these novels is achieved via characterisation. The concept of interrelating novels via characters is not completely new and has been applied by authors before, yet the realisation of this interrelation has up until now mainly been achieved by re-using protagonists either in a series or in a new fictional surrounding. The introduction of side-characters as protagonists is relatively new, as well as the use of shifting narration and first-person narrators to change the perspective on said characters. In this thesis, the question shall be tackled how the use of side characters as protagonists in following novels influences characterisation and character perception. By analysing genre and narrative situation of the novels, a contrastive analysis will be presented to show how these factors influence the interrelation between the novels and how they either emphasize or contrast character interrelations, as well as how they influence character perception and the development of characters. The genre-based

approach is applied in this case, as it can be argued that genre always presupposes certain characters and that by this, character development as well as character constellation is influenced across different novels. Additionally, an in-depth analysis of the characters in all three novels as well as a comparison of the different presentation shall shed light on whether characters are really perceived differently when they are described by different narrating instances and whether the first-person position of the narrator influences this perception. Thus, both a genre-based and a character-based approach is applied in this analysis. In the first chapter of the thesis, an overview of genre specifics is presented to help identify typical characteristics of genre in the analysis of the novels as well as define how they resemble or differ to one another. A theoretical framework of narrative analysis is set up in the second chapter, which will then be applied in the third, analytical part of the thesis. This final part shall tackle the research question by applying the framework established before as well as the method of close reading to the novels. This final part is strongly novel-based, and all conclusions derived thereof are accounted for in the quotes. Thus, by offering two different approaches in the analysis, a contrastive analysis shall be presented to answer the question of character-based interrelation between the novels.

1. Crime Fiction – A Genre Discussion

Before starting a discussion on the genre of detective fiction, it has to be stated quite clearly that genre discussions in any literary direction are extremely difficult, as the definition of “genre” presupposes a clear distinction and differentiation into separate topics and fields. However, in most cases, genres tend to overlap, merge and change over time, while at the same time they may be subdivided into several subgenres. When looking at the specifics of a genre definition, an important distinction in the characteristics is the difference between discourse and story characteristics, i.e. the formal organisation, rhetorical structures and thematic content (cf. Frow, 75). “The formal organisation of a genre comprises the repertoire of ways of shaping the material medium in which it works and the ‘immaterial’ categories of time, space, and enunciative position.” (ibid, 74). For instance, properties of language, grammar and syntax, length, and narration are part of this organisation. The rhetorical structures refer to the organisational level of modality, speaker situation, and the degree of formality and credibility, thus they are a part of the discourse analysis. The thematic content on the other hand, refers to topics of discourse that shape a genre, e.g. recurring themes, iconography, actions and recognisable characters, i.e. they belong to the dimension of story. Of course, these dimensions cannot be clearly separated, but overlap and can be expressed via one of the other categories. This is also true for the genre of detective or crime fiction and must be kept in mind when discussing different characteristics and conditions for this genre. [Es gibt ] Die klassischen Kriminalromane, (…), die Nachfahren des hard-boileds, (…), die Thriller und Spionageromane (…), und schließlich die psychologischen Kriminalromane, in denen die Charakterstrukturen der beteiligten Personen wichtiger sind als das Mordrätsel. Literaturwissenschaftlich betrachtet bestimmt sich die Detektivliteratur darüber, daß sie eine Variationsgattung ist. (Keitel, 18)

Within the framework of these four big genres, there are of course several subgenres. Yet, the basic scheme always remains the same, it is known to the readers, and the subgenres basically vary only in three elements: who, how, and why; i.e. the narrative is always concerned with murder, but the corpse is found in a special place, e.g. the body in the library in Christie’s novels. “The concept of literary genre is still instrumental in analysing the historical evolution of crime fiction, but a fundamental premise of this work

is the refusal of any monogenetic account of the origin of literary genres.” (Ascari, 8). As will be seen in the following discussion of subgenres as well as in the analytical section of the novels, in this thesis genres are also perceived not as monogenetic, but as merging into one another.

1.1. General overview

Before describing any specific genre, the development of crime fiction in general will be outlined briefly. In literary overviews on crime and detective fiction, the beginning of the genre is generally considered to be in the late 19th century, with Edgar Allen Poe as the first writer of detective stories. Thus, “through a process of escalation from the stories of Poe, and later the stories of Doyle, neither of whom concerned themselves exclusively with the crime of murder, murder became, inevitably, the most common crime investigated (…).” (Scaggs, 43). Before Poe, detective and mystery fiction was mainly written about crimes concerning property and wealth, not murder, and detectives solved crimes of theft, deceit, and skulduggery. Poe, however, changed the focus in his stories to murder and the its solution . Yet, even in these early forms of detective fiction, the solution of a murder mystery does not necessarily mean that the crime will be punished. In Poe’s detective fiction, punishment is hardly ever described. The absence of legal retribution shows that Poe put his focus on the crime and its solution, not considering the direct effects of the murder on both culprit and society. This notion changed in the course of the development of the genre. “Golden Age crime fiction”, which developed in the 1920ies, considered crime to always take place in a community, violating the community code of conduct, and thus “demanding a response in terms of the code that has been violated” (ibid, 44). Golden Age crime fiction satisfied the impulse to recover and reinstate order after a crime by describing not only murder and the solution of it, but also the punishment of the criminal. Crime fiction is generally considered “as a genre that can be used for conservative ends, to protect and sustain the dominant social order, but can also (often, paradoxically, at one and the same time) work in a more radical and challenging way” (Messent, 12). Thus, in the time following the Golden Age of crime, the direct relationship of crimes and society was and still is important to the genre and is time and again included as an important topic.

Often, crime fiction does not only include the crime and its relationship to society, but it makes aware of and criticises the fracturing social system and the faulty systems of law. In modern day crime fiction, as in classical detective fiction, the social body is seen as the “innocent” that needs to be protected, while the crime contrasts with the innocence and normality of society and threatens to destroy them. Thus, crime fiction is also referred to as a genre that can “release explosive cultural material” (cf. ibid, 12), while being neither conservative nor radical. It does, however, use its timelessness as a capacity for socio-political comment (cf. ibid, 22). Even though cultural and societal anxieties are explored through murder and crime, the most important aspect in crime fiction is still the fact that the status quo prior to the crime is being restored. It does not matter how cruel or drastic the crime was, the dominant social reality has to be restored in the end. This is true for all crime fiction, from Golden Age up to modern experimental crime fiction. To get a better insight into the features, characteristics, and differences between the subgenres, the genres relevant for this thesis will be discussed in the following chapters. Thus, a better understanding of the genre options will be provided for the discussion of genre characteristics in the novels.

1.2. Hard-Boiled Detective Fiction

The genre of hard-boiled detective fiction was established in the interwar period in America. The most famous writers associated with this genre are Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, who are often referred to as the fathers of hard-boiled detective fiction. In contrast to Golden Age detective fiction, hard-boiled fiction is more concerned with the conditions of urban life and capitalism, not ruralism and the harmony of society. The anxiety about crime is of course also central to hard-boiled fiction, yet the way it is treated differs completely from its British counterpart. In this genre, crime affects everybody, even the detective. No character is left untouched by the effects of criminality, and the crime is often the centre of the story. The stability and solid ground that can be found as a calming factor for the characters in the Golden Age detective stories, is not present in the hard-boiled version. (cf. Malmgren, 73). This is also expressed via the setting, which is contrasted to Golden Age detective fiction. The “noir” mode, which is a heritage of Gothic fiction, includes dark, shadowy

atmosphere and settings. These novels lack a rural setting, a stable society or stable environment. On the contrary, hard-boiled detective fiction focuses on alienating urban settings, where violence is an everyday occurrence. There is an “abrupt shift from the artificial gentility of the classical detective story to the creation of a fictional world of social corruption and ‘real’ crime” (Mandel, 1984 in: Scaggs, 57). The “mean streets” of urban settings are used to create realism in these stories, thus taking murder back to real life and away from the secluded setting of the “locked-room mysteries” (Messent, 35). With this change of setting, the stories become both more realistic and more chaotic and messier. On the one hand, the urban settings allow for more realism by referring to real life situations, the corruption of society and the violence of everyday life, while on the other hand, the idealistic quest for truth and justice remains the detective’s main motivation. Restoring order in this chaos and controlling crime is still the driving force for detectives, yet crime has become the normality, not the exception, as is the case in Golden Age fiction. In terms of the investigative methods, another shift can be noticed in the hard- boiled mode. The crime is no longer seen as a challenge for the detective, but rather as a personal insult. Cool deduction is not used to solve the crime, but rather hot irrational behaviour and threatening. There are no clues that can be analysed, thus making analytic deduction irrelevant to the detective, leaving him or her with the choice of direct questioning and tracking down of suspects. This method, however, often offers no tidy solutions, but only small, temporary victories. The full truth is often never revealed or supressed on purpose, thus leaving both the detective and the readers unsatisfied. The narrative style of hard-boiled fiction also differs strongly from classical detective fiction. One main feature of hard-boiled fiction is the use of fast-paced dialogues, which are used to move the narrative forward. Instead of long descriptive passages, detailed descriptions of scene and action are used to increase the pace, leaving little to no space for feelings and emotions to be described (cf. ibid, 36). Thus, the focus of the story is often put on the character of the private eye as the most important part, which is often mirrored by using first-person narration. According to Scaggs (59), the centrality of the private eye, the existence of a client, the detective’s evident distrust in the client, routine police corruption, a femme fatale, and an apparently ‘neutral’ narrative method including the extensive use of

vernacular are the most important characteristics of a hard-boiled detective narrative. The most significant aspect in this list is the centrality of the hard-boiled detective or private eye (PI). He or she is the main character, the driving force of the novel, and thus also often the narrator and focalizer in the story. “The narration and the voice that render it become so important; they represent an affirmation of signification, an assertion of mastery and control over unruly experience” (Malmgren, 90). In general, the private eye is a case-hardened and pig-headed guy, and in classical hard-boiled fiction rarely a woman. He has no commitments, “be it personal or social, beyond the accomplishment of his job” (Scaggs, 59). He is mainly presented as a strong, tough man, who is honourable, yet unattached and solitary, and is not disinclined to the use of violence. However, he is also depicted as a divided figure, a character with two voices, tough but sensitive, intelligent but violent. “Overt display of masculine self-sufficiency practiced by the hard-boiled protagonist are at [sic] often at odds with his personal vulnerability, a vulnerability that would normally code as “feminine” (Messent, 39). Yet, the presentation of the detective as hard-boiled does not only stem from the character itself, but also from his environment in the novel. Other characters tend to lie, create illusions and cheat, thus making it difficult for the PI to tell truth from lies. The stories which the detectives are told are often inventions by people instead of real events. This disruption of truth is reflected in the character of the detective, who is forced to improvise, as normal behaviour and detection do not work in such an environment. The schizophrenic world of constant action and the detective’s desire for social change is contrasted with the reality of social disease (ibid, 39). And while the PI is always looking for truth and solutions, other characters actively seek to destroy, hide or bury the truth, as it is often related to their past, and the return of a character’s past is represented as threatening the existence in the present (cf. Scaggs, 66). In general, the hard-boiled detective or private eye is often represented by the male gender, and the genre has often been criticized for being misogynistic. Historically speaking, there are no women PIs, yet in later novels, women detectives have developed in both classical detective stories and the hard-boiled mode. As a woman’s place was seen at home, it was believed to be contrary to customary social patterns to describe women as PIs. A discussion in one of the following chapters about women in detective fiction will however describe their role as both victims and active characters in crime fiction.

1.3. Police Novel

The police novel, or police procedural, developed comparatively late as an independent genre, as for a long time, policemen and women were not seen as heroic material for a novel. Es gibt freilich gerade im englischsprachigen Raum lange Zeit hindurch auch tiefsitzende Widerstände gegen Polizisten als Helden und gegen die Polizei als Gegenstand der Erzählfiktion. Polizisten sind kleine Leute. Ihr sozialer Status ist bis weit ins 20. Jahrhundert hinein so, daß [sic] sie als literarische Zentralfigur kaum in Frage kommen. (Suerbaum, 161)

Yet when these first doubts were dispelled, police novels became one of the more famous and successful subgenres of detective novels, and later several subgenres were created out of this genre. In modern times, it seems that police novels are much more successful than their big brother, the detective novel. The most important feature of a police novel is of course its namesake, the police officer as the main character. In many police novels, the protagonists change during the novel, thus making it easy to replace one officer with another. The main detective figure, as we know it from the classical detective fiction, is no longer used. This may also be due to the fact that detectives identify more strongly with their work and cases, whereas police officers often represent the attitude and ethos of the police system in general. Thus, police novels not only include the police officers themselves, but also the apparatus behind them, i.e. the whole organisational apparatus such as the chief, the office workers, lab workers, etc. This means that the methods of the police and the inner workings of this system are also described in detail and are part of the novel. The protagonist is seen as part of this legal system and is officially subject to its regulations. However, the focus of the novel is put on the individual law enforcer, i.e. the police officers, and the system only has a secondary place. “The police detective, then, can stand as a mediating figure between the authority of the law (and the social order it upholds) and an emphasis on an individual or alternative sense or moral responsibility, social justice, and freedom of expression.” (Messent, 46). The police are generally represented as an official party, yet the police officer offers a link to society and to the background in which a crime has been committed. The police as an institution represent “notions of state bureaucracy, collective agency, and forms of social monitoring and control” (ibid, 45), but through their acting individuals,

i.e. the police officers, they have access to all layers of society, are able to relate to private citizens and keep a connection with the social network they represent and protect. The police men and women however, often try to stand apart from their system, and although they are both part of the system and society, they follow their own set of rules and morality. Thus, they are more aware of the individual social rules dominating society and can identify faults in a social system, a characteristic which their chiefs and the law system often lack. Thus, police officers are an important link between official parties and society, as they have access to both the resources and authorities of the system and the problems and anxieties of society, yet they are never as included in a society as a detective is. In general, police novels tend to be more realistic than detective fiction, thus often leaning more towards the genre of hard-boiled detective fiction. It is “a form that can follow classical conventions but more usually, nowadays, stays closer to the assumptions and outlook of the hard-boiled form” (Messent, 40). Thus, they often lack the romantic aspect that is so essential to detective novels. Realism is seen as the foundation for the investigative process of police novels, but also for themes, characters, action and setting of the novel. The basic structure of a police novel, however, follows the conventions of classical detective fiction (cf. Suerbaum, 146): “Man kann den Polizeiroman als eine reduzierte und abgeschwächte Form jenes Grundtypus der Detektivgeschichte betrachten, der sich auf der Linie von Poe über Conan Doyle zu Christie herausgebildet hat.“ (ibid, 166). The solution of the crime is often pieced together, and although there may be a surprise ending, the information collected by the police officer is always described throughout the novel. Every piece of evidence that is collected, is also presented to the reader, thus avoiding sudden surprising entrances of hidden relatives or similar devices often used in detective fiction. Solutions in police novels are often factual reconstructions of evidence, which means they often lack a psychological explanation as to why a crime has been committed. The locations are often also restricted, as police officers only work in one area and are often not allowed into other territories. However, locations in police novels also allow for more variation, as a simpler case may suddenly merge into a more complicated one, which includes working together with other police forces, thus offering a wider choice of

geographical variations. Yet, again, the actual methods and procedures of police work are central to the structure, themes and action of the novel (cf. Scaggs, 91). The setting in police novels, is also often used as a core of police work. Urban centres often feature in these novels to show the contrasts in society, i.e. the public urban face vs. the lower-class under-privileged side of society. “Urban realism is central to its [the novel’s] commitment to social, structural and thematic realism” (ibid, 93). In general, police novels use third-person narratives to create the illusion of objectivity. However, the use of a police team offers the possibility of several focalizers, thus allowing for several different ‘objective’ narrators. Numerous members of a police team can create several different plot lines, a method which also facilitates the variation between official and unofficial methods of investigation, as the personal involvement of the investigators varies from focalizer to focalizer. However, this feature also allows for a certain level of redundancy, as the police routine, the office work and reporting to a chief always stays the same for all investigators. This variation, however, opens the stage for new characters and new subgenres, i.e. the psychological profiler novel.

1.4. Crime Thriller

“[This genre] is often broadly termed the crime thriller, the main focus of which is the crime, and the criminal committing it.” (ibid, 105). The Crime thriller, as a subgenre of crime fiction, stands apart from the previously described genres, as there are major narrative differences to the other genres. One of the most striking differences that “sets the crime thriller apart from the detective story is its focus on the crime” (ibid, 107). Thus, there is a shift of focus from the protagonist to the crime as a major aspect. This is shown either in the complete absence of a detective or police force, or by letting the police officers and detectives only play a minor role in the novel. Instead, the focus is put on the psychology of the criminal, showing the reasons for the act of violence, a characteristic that is often missing in detective and police novels. The attention of the reader is held by changing the perspective, i.e. writing from the perspective of the murderer. Thus, the emphasis is also put on the present danger represented by the murderer, instead of past dangers that are described in detective novels. In terms of narrative, crime thrillers are more set on heightening the narrative quickly by exaggerating experiences and events. Vision and active observations are key

aspects to crime thriller narrative, “knowledge and authority [are] synonymous with the seeing eye/I, and to use a first-person narration (or a third-person narration representing the detective’s point of view)” (Messent, 67) allows for a quicker pace in the narrative. Some texts also quite consciously disrupt the predictable concepts of crime fiction, i.e. the reliable narrator, or the fixed triangle relation of detective, victim and criminal. Instead, the narrative focus is put on the setting, which is often essential to the novel and linked to the crime. As can be seen from previous comparisons, the classical genres can be divided into rural settings (i.e. Golden Age and detective fiction) versus urban settings (i.e.hard-boiled detective and police novels). This, however is not applicable to the crime thriller, which can take place both in rural and urban settings. Also, crime thrillers can be set in a decentred or centred world. The former instance involves either the example of a “straight” character (…) being temporarily led astray before regaining his senses or the relatively straightforward case of the “bad seed” character, the psychopathological misfit. In the latter case, since the narrative takes place in a grounded world featuring a relatively stable society, the protagonist’s story turns out to be the study in social deviance. (Malmgren, 146).

As both possibilities occur in crime thrillers, the narrative focus may also be shifted to the theme of identity, away from the settled or unsettled detective who is always somehow related to the world he or she lives in. Instead, the theme of the protagonist’s selfhood, be it detective or murderer, is used to change the focus to psychology. Often, the search for identity is problematic, including mental diseases such as paranoia or schizophrenia (cf. ibid, 147). Through this, identity can also be called into question, and the stability and sanity of the characters is no longer assured. Related to this thematic shift, there is also a new diversification of central characters, which are no longer restricted to just one protagonist. Instead, there are four positions for the central character or protagonist: killer, guilty bystander, falsely suspected, or victim. “In order to establish the narrative dominant, emphasize the thematic field, and highlight the uncertainties, crime fiction frequently foregrounds that central character by using first-person narration.” (ibid, 150). Because of these narrative shifts, readers can no longer be sure what really happened and what is imaginary. In contrast to detective fiction and police novels, the narrative consciously disrupts the trust that the reader has in a reliable narrator and destroys the trustworthiness of the characters.

By blurring the line between fictional and factual, by calling into question narrative voice, and by dismantling the signifying system that creates voice and identity, crime fiction extends its investigation of selfhood and human motivation to include the motivation of signs. (ibid, 152)

1.5. Mystery Fiction

Mystery fiction, as the last genre that will be discussed here, can be seen as a perfect example of an overlap genre. Thus, its characteristics may not be as typical as or strikingly different from the previously discussed genres. The most specific characteristic, as the name already suggests, is the mystery that has to be solved. It has to be made quite clear at the beginning that ‘mystery’ does not mean supernatural or even magical. Rather, the concept of ‘mystery’ has to be understood in the sense of the classical “locked-room mystery”, i.e. a puzzle that has to be solved. Thus, mystery novels are concerned with cause and effect and relate back to the earliest traditions of detective fiction. However, the murder always plays on the mysterious and supernatural. The crime per se is perceived as being superhuman, and only the solution can demystify the supernatural element of it. The use of allegorical figures is therefore a quite frequent narratological element in mystery fiction. However, the motivation for the crime becomes clear in the end, and there is a rational solution for everything. Mystery fiction is dedicated to the idea that reason and logic can solve crimes and explain the world. Hence, a meta-literary discourse is frequently adopted, through which the detective explains the mystery and thus denies any supernatural source of it. Mystery, like detective fiction, always starts with a murder, and the desire to solve a crime and restore morality is the main motivation in the novel. “Murder is originary, at once source and cause and end of the narrative that follows” (ibid, 19). Thus, in mystery novels, the murder is dominant in the plot, in the investigation and solution of the mystery, the who, how and why. One other major similarity to classical detective fiction is that mystery fiction is always set in a centred world. In mystery fiction, there is usually one significant scene of the crime (estate, village, railway car); the investigator examines this scene, trying to link it signs (clues) to their root cause. In detective fiction, the investigator invariably traverses a decentered world comprising a variety of physical spaces; he interviews clients, tails suspects, stakes out residences and so on. (ibid, 13).

In mystery fiction, everything can be deduced from signs. At first, the signification of the sign is obscured to create suspense, but in the end, the meanings of the clues are explained. “Each piece of the puzzle must be put in its rightful place, since the narrative conventions of mystery dictate that its signifying systems be replete, that its world be full of meaning.” (ibid, 24). Thus, the solution is closure, and closure here means justice. Justice recreates the world as before and offers a restoration to the narrative’s imbalance that has been created by the crime. Only in recent mystery novels, the problem of truth versus justice has been addressed. Often, finding the truth does not mean offering justice. Instead, the truth is obscured to keep up justice. Also, sometimes there is no justice at the end of mystery novels, even when the crime is solved. Thus, readers have to be satisfied that they know the truth instead of having the satisfaction of justice. In the end, mystery novels are not only descendants of the detective fiction and hardboiled fiction, but a connection of both. They offer a grittier version of realism than classical detective fiction, include problems of society and often the murder of innocents (i.e. children). Yet, they also offer a redemption, a solution to the crime and, more often than not, justice being offered to the reader.

1.6. Irish Crime Fiction

Irish crime fiction has had a bumpy start, as in its early days it appealed to only few readers, and even these few were sceptical. There were several reasons for this difficult start, going back historically to its roots in hard-boiled detective fiction. One problem, ‘the rural divide’ (cf. Connolly, 44) explains that according to literary detective theory, the new hard-boiled crime fiction had to be urban, related to city life, yet many Irish people of that time lived in the country leading a rural life. Thus, Irish writers had to address a different audience than their contemporaries in Britain and America. Furthermore, as crime novels often explore the tension between the past and present, one question in Irish literature remained: “what happens when a past, that a newly wealthy country has tried to forget ever existed, collides head-on with the twisted materialist mores of the present” (French, in Coughlan 335). Also, “the Irish police had yet to establish themselves in the mind of the populace and after centuries of British rule our faith in the Establishment and its values was minimal” (Connolly, 48). Another reason for Irish crime fiction to take a slow start was

the fact that crime fiction in general not only engages with but represents society to a certain extent. The Irish, however, defined themselves as a private, intimate nation, who were not ready to share dark societal secrets in novels that were read by the whole world. This changed, however, when a common trait for Irish crime fiction became the use of violence aimed at or committed within a family, which shows the important status of family in Irish society. Crime fiction was generally seen as a new way to deal with identity and understand matters that society could not deal with. Irish crime fiction then was culturally very specific, i.e. it explored the “crucial issues of the nation’s identity” (French in Coughlan, 336). Also, the type of murder was determined by the culture itself, as it explored a culture’s deepest fears. Generally, the Irish identity, which had suffered under the British rulership, was just newly established and had not yet been properly introduced into the world of novels. “The only unique thing about the Irish, perhaps, is their utter conviction that there is something unique about being Irish” (Black, 212). Writing was seen as a nationalistic issue, which makes up Irishness. “The writer’s job was to reclaim and remake that identity, taking it out of the hands of the oppressors and giving it back to those it was stolen from” (ibid, 213). Therefore, importing genres from other countries, such as detective fiction, and claiming them for the Irish was a way to reclaim Irish identity by means of a well-known literary genre. However, the fictionalised setting that is often used in Irish crime fiction also functions as a way to evade the real world, and thus escaping it. For instance, by returning the police force in Dublin back to Dublin Castle, Irish identity can be reclaimed by forging a new reality, in which this identification with a landmark of Dublin can become reality. Thus, “modern Irish crime novelists will have to balance their desire to write distinctive, native addition to the genre with a recognition of the need to appeal to a larger readership beyond Ireland if crime writing is to succeed here.” (Connolly, 50).

1.7. Gender in Crime Fiction

Finally, one topic that should be discussed here are gender roles, not only because they have become an important issue in general, but because crime fiction reflects so well the development of gender perception in its novels.

Traditionally, the detective in detective novels, Golden Age novels and hard- boiled fiction is always male, and always white. He possesses the typical male characteristics, i.e. reason and an analytic mind, whereas women represent female intuition and emotion. The male detective is often a free agent, who is self-sufficient, autonomous, tough-talking, physically active and if necessary violent. This is true not only for classical, but for hard-boiled detectives as well. Women, on the other hand, are either victims or femme fatales, rarely ever take actions, and mostly need to be saved by the male heroes or detectives. One noticeable exception for this rule is Miss Marple, the heroine of several Agatha Christie novels. However, she represents the only other way, in which women were portrayed traditionally: the single elderly women, a spinster, who uses her time to help society, in this context by solving cases. Only in recent times, female protagonists have started to crop up in crime fiction, and women writers as well as men have started to write back against the male dominance. The aim is to redirect “crime novel to represent a feminist ideology and reconceive it with a woman hero at its centre” (Messent, 90). One major problem with this idea was and still is that tough-talking and self-assertiveness were seen as being opposed to conventional feminine ways. Already in the early 80s, when feminism and equality still had a long way to go, female writers started to invent the first female detectives. The main problem of their novels were the contradictions in the stories. The independence and autonomy of female detectives stood in contrast to the feeling of group solidarity, the tough, machismo mode was contrary to female consciousness, and all female detectives were strongly aware of their physical vulnerability as compared to men. Hence, one of the major criticisms of these novels was that instead of creating something new and female, the novels were only imitations of male detective novels, and that these women were only feigning independence (cf. ibid, 90). For instance, in police procedurals, the validation of women’s work was depicted, but was only shown by their work in a team, not by their individual efforts. However, in later novels, “all of these characters, and others, serve to expose the dominant ideology of the white heterosexual masculinity through textual hijacking of one of its principal vehicles: crime fiction” (Scaggs, 104). In modern crime fiction, women appear more frequently as protagonists of their own crime novels. The characteristics of these novels may of course differ from the traditional detective fiction, yet they often orientate themselves on their classical

predecessors. Female detective novels are often written as first person narratives, thus offering insights into the feelings of the detective. The narrative voice has to be reliable and believable, allowing the reader to relate properly to the narrator, while it is also ironic and humoristic, and often plays on gender roles and male characters. The professional women represented in these novels identify strongly with their jobs, and their identity is strongly linked to their work (cf. Keitel, 55). However, women detectives are often described as solving their cases not with logic, but with intuition. “In order to justify their choice of sex, they are obliged to be so irritatingly intuitive as to destroy that quiet enjoyment of the logical which we look for in our detective reading.” (ibid, 1) Thus, although the female detective is represented as being more human and more understandable, she is also down-sized to intuition and emotions, characteristics that seem to be stereotypical of women. Because of this biased representation in many works, a new form of female detective novels has developed – the hard-boiled female detective novel containing intertextual references and allusions. Die Heldin der 80er und 90er Jahre verkörpert Intuition und Aktivität, Emotionalität und Tatkraft. Und das aufs Perfekteste. Sie beweist Entschlossenheit, Erfolg und Durchsetzungsvermögen, im Dschungel der Großstädte. Mit ihren Fäusten besiegt sie jeden Mann. Sie verkörpert den Prototyp eines geschlossenen, autonomen und politisch handlungsfähigen Subjekts. (ibid, 79)

The modern female detective is thus based on hard-boiled detectives, which means that although sexuality and partners are a normal part of their lives, they are more often single or divorced, solitary characters who are looking for friendship, not relationships. Female detectives also fight back against external control more strongly, as the obstacles that investigators often encounter, i.e. resistance against investigative methods by their chiefs, are often reinforced by gender obstacles. Series (…) incorporate similar feminist critiques of gender roles and social constraints, with the detective often reflecting on their own roles and occasionally even comparing themselves to their fictional male counterparts, as if to point the contrast while also making the connection with an identifiable tradition. (Reddy, 199).

The investigations in the novels are often linked to a wider social context and are also often connected to women’s continuing oppression and social problems concerning them. Thus, female villains are not represented as seductresses, as in traditional hard- boiled fiction, but are either patriarchal enforcers, or women who are trying to avenge or

end their victimisation (cf. ibid, 198). Especially in murder cases, women kill for other reasons than men, often out of revenge, while men are in many cases represented as killing out of jealousy or anger. Generally, contrasting the modern female hard-boiled detective fiction with its ‘predecessor’, the female chick-lit, it can be seen that there are three major differences: setting (work place, the mean streets vs. family and the ‘save haven’), the professional performance (professional advancements vs. personal life), and gender and body issues (how is the body perceived, male vs. female body). The female hard-boiled detective novel takes a new stand towards these topics, and often does so by contrasting male and female in both performance and appearance, thus allowing for a critical view on these topics through the novels (cf. Altnoeder, 92). In female hard-boiled fiction, relationships and sexuality are often treated as secondary topic, thus allowing the focus to be mainly on the crime. However, these topics are used to discuss a woman’s ability to both pursue a career and a family, or the decision to focus only on the job. Female detectives often want to be independent, but at the same time search for intimacy. Thus, they need a new form of relationship, not the “socially sanctioned ones that have defined and oppressed women” (Malcah, 158). Usually, expectations are that women can stand their ground in their profession, but at the same time fulfil their roles in society, i.e. as mothers, seductresses, etc. (cf. ibid, 161). Thus, female detectives often use the perceived gender stereotypes to their own advantage and to make situations manageable for themselves. Gender politics can be discussed in an exemplary way, when discussing police novels, the roles females play, and the way gender politics influence the workplace there. On the one hand, female officers are quite common in police novels in modern novels. However, the police force is still represented as a dominantly male profession. Thus, female officers often have to prove themselves worthy by acting masculine to become part of the club at all. Also, the police hierarchy is always problematic for relationships. When two equal police officers are dating, “an intra-office romance will predominantly have consequences for her”(ibid, 161). This shows, that gender still influences the working environment quite strongly, and a discussion of this issue can be initiated by representing these problems in female crime fiction.

Finally, crime fiction can generally be used as a basis for a discussion on gender, when focusing on one element that is part of almost every crime novel – the body. The body is one of the major themes in crime fiction, its objectification is essential in most novels, as the effects on the victim of a crime - murder or violence - are often represented through the damage done to the body. A high level of physical violence is typical of crime fiction, especially hard-boiled fiction, and can be seen as a product of increasing “gothicization” of crime in general (cf. Messent, 77). Often, the victims, and hence the bodies, are female. The treatment of their bodies is used as a metaphor of the treatment of their gender and relates back to gender anxiety in general. Thus, they “suggest a deeper level of cultural analysis that we can bring to such depictions of violated bodies in the genre, and of female bodies in particular” (ibid, 78). A more detailed discussion of gender in crime, and especially of female detectives and the representation of body will follow in the chapters discussing the novels by Tana French.

2. Narrative Framework

Before starting a detailed analysis of the different novels and their characteristics, a framework needs to be established, which can be used to compare and contrast the novels according to certain guidelines. This newly established framework, based on different literary theories and methods of analysis, will be set out in the next chapters. Detective fiction is generally often seen as a ‘lesser’ genre in literary analysis and is not considered to be proper high literature (cf. Marcus, 245). Thus, it is still difficult to find literature on the narrative analysis of detective fiction or its follow up, the crime novel. However, according to Marcus (245), detective narratives display self-reflexivity: “metaliterary stories which, dedicated to their own constructive principles, and openly displaying the similarities between detection and the reading processes, become representative of literature in general”. Thus, certain basic narrative characteristics can be defined for this genre. Firstly, there is a double narrative in detective fiction, i.e. an absent story (the crime) and a secondary story (the investigation), which can be found in any subgenre of this type. Secondly, the narrative structure of a detective novel is classically closed and leads to the exposure of the crime in the end. Enigmas and the fantastic side of a detective fiction are often used as a counterpart to the logic of the crime, which is, in the end, always solved. These are, however, already very specific narrative characteristics to crime fiction. Before starting a close analysis on these characteristics in the novels, some basic narrative structures and their analysis will be discussed here.

2.1. Time and Space

Some of the most basic structures that make up a novel, are time and space. “Temporal and spatial relationships are essential to our understanding of narratives and go beyond the specification of a date and location” (Bridgeman, 52). While time refers to the sequence of events in the novel, space is often used to oppose the dynamics of time via static descriptions. Time in a novel does not only refer to the passing of time in the novel itself, but it also describes story and discourse of a novel. The story time in literature is the temporal

sequence of events, while discourse time is always the time of telling or reading. This means that in a novel, months can pass while in reality only one hour of reading has been used. According to Genette (1980), there are four types of temporal narration: subsequent, prior, simultaneous, and interpolated. Subsequent narrating stands for the classical position of the past-tense narrative, while prior narrating stands for a predictive narration. Simultaneous narration is a narrative in the present contemporaneous with the action, and interpolated narration means that the narrative takes place in between the moments of action. Genette (1980) also suggests that the events in a narrative can be described through the theory of order, duration and frequency. For instance, flashbacks and flashforwards are included in the theory of order, the different length of scenes valuing them differently are described by the theory of duration, and repetition of scenes can be found in the theory of frequency. “The order in which events are represented in the text is therefore crucial to our temporal experience of narrative” (Bridgeman, 57). Different methods can be used to twist the reader’s temporal experience of a novel, e.g. flashbacks (analepsis) to fill in past history or flashforwards (prolepsis) to establish a narrator’s mastery of the narrative or generate suspense. However, playing with the gap between story time and discourse time can also lead to a different time experience. The ‘universals of suspense, curiosity and surprise’ (cf. ibid, 54) are elements in literature which use the temporal gap between story and discourse time to keep the reader’s interest. Suspense describes the gap between what has been told and what is anticipated; curiosity describes the gap between what has been told and what has only been guessed; and surprise describes the twist in the order of the narrative that conceals events previously hidden from the reader. In terms of duration, there are also several different literary tools that can stretch or limit discourse time in a narrative. These include descriptive pauses (zero story time), stretches, slow-downs, the use of scenes (textual space equals story time), summaries, and ellipses. All these temporal devices are mostly used to give significance to certain scenes, marking them as important, while less important ones are summarized or skipped completely. In a narrative, these scenes are often also marked by minute descriptions, long dialogues or direct comments by the narrator. Finally, a device often used to put emphasis on certain scenes regards the frequency of an event. The most typical one is the

repetition, i.e. more than one occurrence of a single event in the narration; while iteration, the single telling of multiple events, normally describes the classical structure of a narrative. As illustrated above, space is often used to oppose the dynamics of time, as space, in contrast to time, often describes stable objects, or places and locations that do not change for a long period of time. However, space can also refer to the movement of people around the narrative. This applies to the description of perspective: “The idea of perspective, or point of view, in narratology includes indications in the text of both physical angles of view and the subjective attitudes and emotions of individuals; further, the former can often signal the latter.” (ibid, 56).

Thus, spatial information is often given to the reader to keep track of the narrative, both in terms of space and of perspective and opinion. Seeing space as a means of perspective also means that spatial descriptions include the focalization of the narrative, as “when we see through the eyes of a protagonist (who thereby becomes the “focalizer”), his or her location becomes the centre of experience” (ibid, 62).

2.2. Focalization

“Narration is the telling of a story in a way that simultaneously respects the needs and enlists the co-operation of its audience; focalization is the submission of (potentially limitless) narrative information to a perspective filter.” (Jahn, 94). Often, in novels, there is a confusion between the narrator and the voice of focalization, i.e. the differentiation between who sees (character) and who speaks (narrator). A narrator is not always the focalizer, yet the focalizer often provides the information for the narrator. In modernist texts, writers often even go so far as to leave out the narrator completely, and only the figural text filters and colours the narration. This however means that a realistic depiction of narrative is often missing in modern texts, as the world is only described as it appears to the characters, to their concerns, beliefs and moods. Also, the subject and the object of focalization must be studied separately as the focalization defines the relationship between the two. In classical narrative, there is a differentiation between three different types of focalization: non-focalization, interal and external focalization. Non-focalization, or zero- focalization means that there is no focalizer in the text, which is often the case when an omniscient point of view is used. Internal focalization means that the narrator is internal

to the story, i.e. the data of the story is restricted to the data known to the character. This type often occurs in first-person narration. Internal focalization can be subdivided into three different forms of focalization: fixed focalization, variable focalization (i.e. there are several different focalizers), and multiple focalization (i.e. the same event is described by different focalizers). External focalization originally only describes outsider’s point of view, i.e. camera point of view, stage directions, etc. but was later expanded to include zero-focalization as well. Often, within a novel, the type of focalization changes to create a dynamic focalization and increase or slow down the pace of the narration. In first-person narration, there is a differentiation not only between the focalization, which can include several different first-person narrators, but also between the “narrating I” and the “experiencing I”. These two types of narrator are often separated in time and space, i.e. when the narrator remembers events but recounts them in the present time. This often leads to an unstable relation between the two “Is”, a case which will be discussed in the following chapter about unreliable narration in more detail. Some questions to be asked for a comprehensive analysis of focalization are suggested by Jahn (cf. 105, 106) for a comprehensive analysis of focalization: Is there one special reflector (in internal focalization)? How accurate are perceptions (is there a flaw somewhere?). Does the genre define focalization? Is there a special style or technique? To what extent is interior monologue, free indirect speech, narrated perception used? Is the focalization pattern fixed or dynamic? With the help of these questions, the focalization of the novels can be analysed and defined according to the basic definitions explained above.

2.3. Character

Before diving into a more detailed analysis of narrative structures, one of the most basic narrative structures of a novel has to be defined here: the character. Characters are described as “any entity, individual or collective – normally human or human-like – introduced in a work of narrative fiction” (Margolin, 66). These story world participants are normally defined by proper names, definite descriptions and referred to via pronouns. The properties of a character include physical, behavioural, communicative, and mental (i.e. perceptual, emotive, volitional, cognitive) descriptions. In general, these properties can also be categorised in three main domains: corporeality, mind, and sociality

(cf. Eder, 24). Corporeality refers to all bodily features, i.e. gender, age, bodily features, gestures and mimics. Sociality refers to the sociological and socio-psychological concepts surrounding a character, i.e. family, friends, ethnicity, nationality, religion. And mind refers to the inner life and personality, i.e. the perception, cognition, evaluations and values of characters. In the course of the film relevant elements of character information are frequently bundled together into significant phases or sequence types that are of particular importance to the analysis of characterization: the exposition and conclusion of the film, culmination points in actions and decisions, sequences with typical or abnormal behavior, crises and changes, character oriented deviations from the main strand of the action, scenes with significant dialogue, representations of mental processes (e.g., memories), or scenes of empathy. (ibid, 27).

This is also true when analysing characters in a novel, where significant scenes are often related to characterisations, or changes of character concur with turning points in a narrative. If these properties are modified throughout the narrative, the character evolves and changes. These changes define the difference between static characters, who do not undergo them, and dynamic characters, who often change on several levels. Also, to create different characters in a novel, they have to differ in a at least one property, in order to be individual. The sum of the properties of one characters usually creates a macro- structure for the character, i.e. “yields a cluster of features attached to this existent.” (Margolin, 73). The categorization that emerges from these macro-structures often also produces stereotypes or stock characters, who are typical of a certain genre and can be expected by the reader to appear, i.e. the detective figure in detective novels. These stereotypes include biological, cultural, social, actional and psychological features that have to be met and are expected of the characters. Also, the character constellation positions the individual characters in a network of relations with other characters, a “network of hierarchies, functions and values, interactions and communications, similarities and contrasts, attraction and rejection, power and recognition.” (cf, Eder, 28). In order to recognize typical features and character traits, readers must apply characterization processes. “Stories (..) are entangled in an experiential network that comprises their producers, their recipients, and the events and existents that they semiotically represent.” (Caracciolo, 1). As readers analyse stories, these stories are projected against a common background of perceptions, emotions and values of both

readers and narrative. “Characters’ experiences are created and recreated by the story producers and recipients, in the course of their engagement with the story, on the basis of their experiential background” (ibid, 2). A reader’s reconstruction of a character’s experience always draws on the emotional and physical interaction with the real world. However, this also means that there is a feedback reaction into the real world which leads to emotional reactions to a character or reassessment of values of a character’s action. “Through their open-endedness, or negativity, literary stories ask questions that resonate with the experiential background of many different recipients (…)” (ibid, 2). The easiest and most inadvertent form of a characterisation process is “the text- based, first-order characterization statement ascribing a property of some kind to a character” (Margolin, 76). Direct characterization is always completed in one step, whereas indirect characterization often passes through several stages, i.e. a property is ascribed to a character as a result of inference. For example, when a dark figure with a scar in an alley is described, readers will automatically perceive him or her as evil. These inferences are often culturally or genre-triggered. “Readers are inclined to take characters out of their linguistic context and “see” them as individual beings (human or with human traits), who, although fictional, could be imagined in the real world.” (Weststeijn, 416). Textual characterization can both be direct or indirect, depending on the way it is executed, i.e.by the narrator, by the characters themselves, by commenting on others, etc. When characters ascribe characteristics to other characters, they are automatically characterised themselves indirectly. This can also lead to the definition of a character narrator as reliable or unreliable. “The way in which characters are depicted, through their actions, behaviour, experiences, thoughts and feelings contributes greatly to this more complete, more gripping and more probing representation of reality found in literary texts.” (ibid, 417) One basic element of narrative that contributes to characterization is the motif, e.g. a place related to a specific character. As motifs can be seen as the ultimate thematic particle (cf. ibid, 418), a narrative, if defined as consisting of a chain of particles, can be defined by the relation between these motifs. The way in which these motifs are in the end related to character and represented by the narrator via focalization and phraseology, change the meaning of both character and narrative. Thus, the combination of semantic analysis of motifs (textual analysis), i.e. semiotic theory that sees character as text, and

the mimetic theory that sees characters as real life people can be combined in order to help the process of characterisation. “Although the text is very easy and accessible (another feature of much “great” literature), the reader is expected to do a lot of work by filling in, inferring and interpreting in order to reconstruct the complex semantic structure.” (ibid, 425). Another part of the characterization process includes dialogue, though not only the content of the dialogue, but also how certain things are expressed. Dialogue is a way of making the reader remember characters, i.e. the way they speak, the accents, and the use of catchphrases. Also, the use of speech tags influences the perception and evaluation of dialogue. These speech tags are often also used to reduce focalization and narrow the point of view to the importance of content. However, dialogue often also takes away the sense of realism in a novel, as there are no overlaps, no interruptions, no talking at the same time. Characterisation can, however, also be achieved via actions. These include physical, mental and communicative actions, described gestures, mannerism, etc. By grouping characters according to manners, for instance, readers parallel certain types of characters in genres and in the narration itself. The most difficult part to anticipate in characterisation is, however, the inference of readers. These inferences, as has been mentioned above, are based on different sets of conventions, i.e. genre conventions, period conventions, the general cultural knowledge of the readers; and these inferences have to be anticipated in the narration in order to get the right kind of characterization. Finally, a part of the characterization process in a novel is identity. Identity describes what the given individual [is] like (possession of properties, predication); what distinguishes it from all other coexisting individuals (singularity, uniqueness, differentiation); what kind of an individual is it (type or category membership, classification). (Margolin, 72).

The narrative in a novel always constructs a certain identity for the reader, which can either be referential or irrelevant. Also, identity is often deliberately misconstrued, thus trying to focus the reader’s mind only on good aspects and omitting the bad ones. Narrative identity in general is a part of the overall performance identity created in a social role (cf. Fludernik, 261). This means that the character’s identity is constituted in the interplay with other people, i.e. the reader and other characters. Thus, the more the

reader gets to know about a character, the more fluid the identity becomes, as with every telling and retelling, the identity changes and adapts to the newly added information. In connection with identity, the concept of alterity is also often used in narrative. Alterity describes the “otherness”, i.e. the deviation from cultural, societal, narrative or stylistic norms. Thus, in narrative, the concept of “othering” (cf. ibid, 262) can be used to create sympathy with the reader by finding common ground through describing and alienating other people or other worlds. This “othering” creates a connection between the reader and characters.

2.3.1. Interfigurality

A different type of connection is the relationship between characters, and here especially the intertextual one: “The interrelations that exist between characters of different texts represent one of the most important dimensions of intertextuality (…)” (Müller, 101). When characters reappear in different works of fiction, the interrelation between those characters can be referred to as ‘interfigurality’ (cf. ibid, 102). This type of connection can be achieved via different realisations, the most common of which is the use of names as an interfigural device. This can be realised by re-using names of existing characters for newly created ones, and thus adding some of the existing character traits, reputation and identity to the new character. Additionally, interfigural combinations can be achieved by taking out characters from different fictional contexts and re-grouping them in a completely new environment. This device is often used to create satire or a modernist version of classical novels. Another device of interfigurality is using characters to imitate other literary figures, e.g. characters admiring and therefore mirroring other famous characters. This again often leads to a comic imitation instead of a similar character representation. However, interfigurality can also be achieved by using figures on loan, i.e. transferring a complete character to a new fictional environment. This re-usage of figures refers to instances “whenever a literary figure is extricated from its original fictional context and inserted into a new fictional context.” (ibid, 107). This means that the character is never exactly the same, as literary characters are always related to the plot and function in a constellation within the novel. Thus, a complete exact image of the character is never achieved, but there is a new formal and ideological context. This often

leads to a “characteristic tension between similarity and dissimilarity with their models from the pre-text” (ibid, 109). Finally, interfigurality can refer to characters re-used in allographic sequels, i.e. the rewriting or sequel to an earlier text, or to characters re-used in autographic sequels or series. “But even when the subsequent text comes from the same pen as the pre-text, things may be more complex and problematic than it seems at first sight” (ibid, 112). Characters in series and novel sequences are still not exact mirrored images of themselves, as most sequels deal with a later phase of a character’s life, thus describing a more developed and mature character version of the same. “Changes in a figure that reappears in an autographic sequel or a sequence or series of an author’s work may be due to a new intention or aesthetic vision of the author’s.” (ibid, 113). In the end, interfigurality can be achieved in many different versions and different devices are used to realise it. However, the consistency of characters as well as the use of recurring figures as a connecting link is a common aim of all devices. Thus, interfigurality allows the reader to recognize characters with whom he or she has identified before, and create a connection to earlier novels.

2.4. Multiperspective Narration

In relation to focalization in a narrative, a narrative element that can be used is multiperspectivity, i.e. Erzählungen, in denen das erzählte Geschehen aus der Sicht von zwei oder mehreren Reflektorfiguren wiedergegeben wird. In diesem Fall bezieht sich die Multiperspektivität somit nicht auf erzählende Aussagesubjekte, sondern auf die Präsenz von zwei oder mehreren Fokalisierungsinstanzen bzw. Personalen Orientierungszentren (centres of consciousness). (Nünning, Multiperspektivisches Erzählen, 42).

A multiperspective text thus offers several points of view through different focalizers, but has nothing to do with the narrative instances within a novel, i.e. the speakers in a dialogue. There are several different subtypes of multiperspective texts, as can be seen in the following model.

cf., Nünning, Multiperspektivisches Erzählen, 46; types of multiperspectivity For this thesis, only three subtypes are relevant: the biperspective narrative, which means that the narrative is told either alternately by two narrators or by two narrators one after the other (cf. ibid, 44); the intradiegetic multiperspectively focalized text, which describes two texts that are narrated alternately or successively by an internal focalizer. And the homomorphic multiperspectively structured texts, which includes material or text genres that are told in a similar way. The novels discussed in this thesis can all be defined as multiperspectively focalized, intradiegetic, and biperspective, even though the last definition of biperspectivity has to be seen in relation to all novels. This will be discussed in more detail in the in-depth analysis of the novels. In general, in narrative theory, there exist different textual authorities of speech, i.e. the narrator and the characters. In a narrative, only one point of view of the various perspectives can be narrated at a time. The point of view of a character is determined by different factors, i.e. the status of information of a character at a certain time, the psychological disposition and the ideological orientation (norms and values) (cf. ibid, 48). Thus, the narrative perspective is an impression that recipients form on the basis of the information about the narrative authority that is immersed in the text (cf. ibid, 49). This is even more relevant in the case of a first-person narrator, as the narrator is more explicitly referred to and is more personalised. Often, narrators also address their recipients explicitly and talk to an “overt narratee” (ibid, 50).

The perspective structure of a narrative describes the relation of all character perspectives and the relation of the narrative perspective to the perspective of the narratee. A close analysis of the perspective structure includes the analysis of each perspective per se and a study of the relationship of all analysed perspectives. According to Nünning (54), there are two perspective axes, a paradigmatic and a syntagmatic one.

cf. Nünning, 54; paradigmatic axis of perspectives

The paradigmatic axis describes the quantitative aspect of scope, and the qualitative aspect of variation in perspective. The quantitative aspect includes the analysis of the narrative in terms of the number of perspectives present, i.e. how broad is the range of perspective (social, gender, age); the degree of concretion (information status, psychological disposition, norms and values); and the degree of definition (how exact or explicit is the narrator?). The qualitative aspect, on the other hand, concerns the analysis of the narrative in terms of quality of narration (how specific or general is the narration); the degree of self-consciousness of the narrator (i.e. how far is the role of the narrator emphasized); the individuality of a narrator (i.e. is there a collective perspective of narrators?); the unreliability of the narrator; and the authority of the narrator in the fictional world (i.e. reputation and approval of narrator).

The syntagmatic axis, on the other hand, analyses the hierarchical relationship of perspectives, which can be equal, subordinate or superordinate, depending on how the number of perspectives and their narrative time are balanced. Multiperspective narration can be successive, alternate or simultaneous. Successive narration imparts the primacy effect to the narrative that is described first, thus lending it more importance than the following narratives. Also, the perspectives are temporally related, depending on whether they are synchronic or diachronic, i.e. narrated on the same time level or divided into several ones. The local relation of perspective analyses whether perspectives are monolocal, bilocal or polylocal. The informational relation analyses how the information status of narrators differ or concur with each other, i.e. can be congruent or discrepant. The normative relation analyses the accordance to norms and values of the perspectives. And finally, the content relation analyses how compatible the narration in the perspectives is, i.e. additive, correlative or contrastive, contradictory or incompatible.

Cf. Nünning, 60, syntagmatic axis of perspectives The different types of a perspective structure include a-perspective, open and closed perspectives. Closed perspective structure refers to converging perspectives that have a common outcome of the narrative. Open perspective structure refers to perspectives that drift apart and do not have a common outcome. A-perspective structures refers to perspectives that are in complete synchronization, where all aspects are matching. This perspective is also referred to as monologic multiperspectivity: “Im Falle der monologischen Multiperspektivität fügen sich die Perspektiven somit zu einem Gesamtbild” (ibid, 61). Even though there is a variety of perspectives, in the end there is only one dominant perspective that is accepted by all narrators. Dialogic

multiperspectivity, in contrast, describes a kaleidoscopic variety of perspectives that offer mutual comments and exchanges. Thus, this type of multiperspectivity includes real polyphony, as all perspectives are equal. In the end, the more open the perspectives are, the more contradictory the narrative and the perspectives will be. Perspective structures can of course be regulated and used consciously to achieve a certain effect in a narrative. On the one hand, perspective structures can be controlled on the character level, i.e. the character conception, constellation, characterisation. On the other hand, they can also be controlled on the narrative level, i.e. arrangement of narrative perspective, controlling perspective function of narrator. Finally, on the structural level, perspective structures can be controlled via the character presentation, i.e. the relation of the perspectives to each other, the subordination or superordination of perspectives, paratextual processes, and framing processes (cf. model 5, Nünning)

Cf. Nünning, 65, Regulation of Perspectives

At last, via a complete analysis of focalization and perspective, the type of narrator can in the end be subdivided into the three commonly known categories of omnisicient narrator, third-person narrator and first-person narrator. Especially in the case of first- person narrator, the typical perspective structure refers to only one definite perspective, while the other perspectives are only arranged in the head of the narrator, thus offering

only partial or distorted perspectives. “Daraus resultiert auch die oft konstatierte Affinität zwischen dem Typus des Ich-Erzählers und dem unreliable narrator”(Nünning,68). Regarding first-person narrators, the recipient always has to differentiate between the narrating I and the experiencing I, as the narrating I often retells his or her perspective in retrospective. In this case there is often no different perspective or multiperspective offered, but different stages of development of the narrator. In the end, when analysing perspective, one always has to consider that perspective structure is no definitive narrative characteristic, but is always determined by the recipient and is defined and completed only in the process of reading and reception. (cf. Nünning, 70).

2.5. Unreliable Narration

The abovementioned first-person narrator often goes hand in hand with the unreliable narrator. The most typical combination here is the first-person narrator, who at the same time is the protagonist, thus has a high degree of overt narration, often uses biased commentary and offers interpretations of the narration. This often leads to a discrepancy between what is told and what is known to the reader, thus also leading to the exposure of the narrator as unreliable. However, the main problem here is the question whether the narrator is only untrustworthy or unreliable, i.e. can the reader believe the facts of the narration or is the whole narration unreliable. Often, there is a gradual rise from reliable to unreliable throughout the novel, and the more the narrator tells, the more unreliable he or she gets. Unreliability is also measured either by the narrated facts, or by the narrator’s interpretation of these facts. Thus, unreliability can be factual, if the narration does not accord with the fictional facts. Im Falle eines unreliable narrator resultiert dramatische Ironie aus seiner Diskrepanz zwischen den Wertvorstellungen und Absichten des Erzählers und den Normen und dem Wissenstand des realen (nicht eines implizierten) Lesers. (Nünning, Unreliable Narration, 17).

In an unreliable narration, the perspective of the narrator is often discrepant to the values and norms of the whole text, and the reader has to rely on the entire semantic system of the text in order to infer that the narrator is unreliable. Especially regarding characterization, there is often a discrepancy between the explicit comments of a narrator

about him- or herself and the implicit self-characterization. This results in a shift of the reader’s attention away from the level of story to the level of narrator, as narrative structure and perspective are emphasized. Thus, a second story is created, one that offers information given by the narrator. However, to render this possible there needs to be a point of relation set outside of the world of the narrator, otherwise the reader does not have the possibility of comparison or second story to which he or she can compare the narrator’s perspective. This basis of comparison can have both textual and non-textual signals (frames of reference) that can be applied by the reader in order to recognize an unreliable narration. Typical textual signals include: ▪ explicit contradictions within the narrative ▪ discrepancies between statements and actions of the narrator ▪ divergency between self-characterisation and characterisation by others ▪ discrepancy between explicit commentaries by others and implicit self- characterization ▪ the narration of events vs. explanation (story vs. discourse) ▪ verbal commentaries and body language of other characters ▪ multiperspective narration ▪ conscious attempts to guide the reader’s reception; explicit address of reader ▪ syntactic signals of a high degree of emotional involvement, i.e. ellipsis, repetition, exclamations; ▪ admitting unreliability or memory loss ▪ admitting partiality (cf. ibid, 27/28)

Frames of reference, on the other hand, include common knowledge of the world, historical knowledge, general cultural knowledge, theories of personality, moral and ethical values, and individual values and morals. Also, literary frames of reference can be used, i.e. literary conventions, genre conventions, intertextual references (pretextual knowledge), and stereotypical literary characters. In terms of textual signals, the figural perspective is worth looking at more closely. Here, the most common feature of an unreliable narration is the inability to form a proper relationship with the outside world and with other people. The behaviour of an unreliable narrator often deviates from “normal” behaviour, and he or she is often represented as a “mad monologist”. Interpersonal relationships are underdeveloped and the narrator often lacks the ability to properly communicate with others, which is compensated by him or her talking to the reader instead. Often, the narrator is conscious of his or her deviance,

but cannot cope and does not know how to act or balances his weakness with an overbearing self-esteem. The lacking ability to communicate is often also mirrored in the life of the narrator, i.e. by not only separating him- or herself from others, but also separating areas of life in a “semantification of space” (cf. Allrath, 59). Unreliable narrators often also cannot differentiate between reality and dream, and form “epistemologisch defizitäre Erzählinstanzen” (cf. ibid, 59), i.e. narrating hallucinations, false sensual perceptions, or an overabundance of sensual perception (e.g. an exceptional sense of hearing). In the narrative, there is often no or little distance between the narrating I and the experiencing I. Thus, the development of the narrator normally shown by the differentiation between these two narrating instances is completely missing. This also leads to a fixation of the narrator on the “I” in the narrative. His or her sense of reality, the monologues, and narrating events in order to justify own actions and behaviour are typical of unreliable narrators. This is also reflected in the selection of narrated topics, i.e. the narrator often tries to refute his or her madness by using explicit autoreferential reflections about the narrator’s unreliability or lack of memory (cf. Allrath, 68). As the narrator also has the function of emphasizing and drawing attention to certain events, it is possible for him or her to lead the reader to certain conclusions, thus recreating a past instead of only remembering it. In terms of language, typical signals for an unreliable narration can be found in the language per se, the style of narration, lexical choice, and the choice of motifs. The style of a narration often offers clues for an unreliable narration by using leitmotifs or leitmotif phrases, by frequently using monologues and incomplete sentences, and by frequently addressing the reader, often in a familiar tone in order to create closeness between narrator and reader. Addressing a reader is extremely important to an unreliable narrator, especially in monologues, as he or she has the need to justify his or her actions. Often, questions are posed to the reader, which are directly answered by the narrator, or appellative reinsurances are addressed to the reader. In terms of lexical choice, evaluative commentary is typical of unreliable narration, which offers proof of the emotional involvement of the narrator. Also, euphemisms are often used in order to suppress the reality that otherwise intrudes into the narrative. The use of leitmotifs and the use of certain specific terms and repetitions thereof also indicate that the narrator is unreliable

and tries to create his or her own reality. When multiperspectivity is used in a narrative, unreliable narration can be detected in the lacking of a common outcome, which is prevented by the subjectivity of each perspective. The lack of communication between these perspectives shows that the narrators are unreliable. In terms of the narrative situations of unreliable narration, one has to differentiate between homodiegetic, heterodiegetic and autodiegetic narrators. Homodiegetic narrators are characters in the fictional world, while heterodiegetic narrators are outside of the fictional world and do not take part in any events happening in the narrative. Autodiegetic narrators however, are not only part of the fictional world, but take part actively in the events, and unreliable narrators are always autodiegetic. “Unzuverlässige Erzähler sind häufig autodiegetische Erzähler, die einen Abschnitt ihres Lebens erzählen, in den sie noch immer stark emotional involviert sind.” (Busch, 43). The narrative function of a narrator is to constitute local, temporal and personal deixis, thus orientating the reader within the novel. However, unreliable narrators often claim omniscience, i.e. to know the thoughts of other characters, while only projecting their wishes and thoughts onto others. Instead of creating a stable world for the reader, the narrator creates a mixture of fictional reality and lies, and explicitly questions the reality of this narrative world. Comments, analysis and assessment of the world and its characters are often used to create explanative hypotheses, which only ring true to the narrator, but deviate grotesquely from reality. Inacceptable explanations in terms of other character perspectives and their opinions can also hint at the suppression or contortion of reality by the narrator. Also, explanations or evaluations from earlier on in the narrative are often refuted or contradicted later on in the narrative. The focalization of unreliable narration is often also contorted, and the question remains whether homodiegetic unreliable narrators only adapt their version of events in retrospective, or whether the earlier perception of events already was inacceptable and changed. A homodiegetic retrospective narrator uses the internal focalization for the experiencing I, and the external focalization for the narrating I (cf. ibid, 48). However, because of this internal focalization of the experiencing I, “the characters and events are just as he or she perceived them at the time of events” (ibid, 48), while the externally focalized I abstains from commenting on any events. This type of narration offers a mixture of character and narrator perspective, as the homodiegetic narrator retells his or

her own past thoughts, yet unreflected. If the narrator reflects upon and thus recognizes his own mental confusion, the narrative is dissonant, but if the narrator completely identifies with and justifies his earlier thoughts, the narrative is consonant. A special type of consonant narration is the self-narrated monologue, in which the narrator identifies with his or her earlier thoughts and tells these thoughts and feelings in unfiltered past tense form. The emphasis of this narrative is often put on dramatic moments or existential crises that have not been solved. The self-quoted monologue on the other hand, is a mimetic representation of the experiencing I in a first-person narrative in present tense. These narratives often seem to be present even though they also happened in the past, and thus often mix past and present events. All three types, the self- narrated monologue, the self-quoted monologue and the consonant self-narration emphasize the first-person narrator and his or her perspective, as the experience of the narrator is coloured and changed in the aftermath. The perspective in a narrative and the reconstruction thereof can be seen as an analytical part of the narration and the perception of the narrator. “(Perspektive ist die) Beschaffenheit des Eigenschaftsspektrums einer Figur, das System aller Voraussetzungen, das ihr Wirklichkeitsmodell konstituiert” (Nünning,50). Perspective can be considered as the entity of all concepts out of which a narrator creates his or her reality. In the end, the perspective of a homodiegetic narrator has to include the present and past self, which can be reconstructed via the perceptions of the narrator, the mental style (i.e. mode of thought), the actions, and explicit statements of the narrator.

The whole theoretical background, the information about different genres and subgenres as well as the narrative concepts introduced above can now be seen as the theoretical framework established for a conclusive analysis in the following section. The novels are to be analysed in a concise way in order to set the frame for a contrastive comparison at the end.

3. Tana French – A Close Reading

“One of the reasons I write it [crime fiction] is that I find it really hard to wrap my head around the fact that one person can go out and kill another” (French in Coughlan, 335). Tana French, who by now is a well-known Irish crime fiction writer, has written six crime novels, and has been referred to as the “First Lady of Irish Crime, who very quietly has become a huge international name among crime fiction readers” (McWeeney). French herself says about crime fiction that “the boundaries around crime that used to keep it segregated off – there’s “girly crime”, which has to be more cosy, psychological stuff and there’s “guy crime”, which has to have a gun on the cover and a hero called Jack who shoots people – all of those boundaries are breaking down; it’s not so limited” (French in Coughlan, 342). All of French’s novels are set in Dublin, because she knows the city so well and cares about both the city and its concerns. Yet, in her novels, French deals with not only the city and its problems, but with the clash of past and present that is connected with and rooted in Irish identity, as “identity gets created at the crossroads between past and present” (ibid, 338). This is reflected in her first novel, In the Woods, where one of the topics includes the conflict between an archaeological site and the construction of a modern highway; in The Likeness, where a luxury spa hotel threatens the morals and identity of the Irish rural society; and in Faithful Place, which was written in 2008, “right at the tipping point between Ireland’s economic boom and the current recession (ibid). What is so striking about French’s novels is that she does not know whodunnit when she starts writing. Instead, she starts with the characters and the premise, and the plot then springs out of the character. Thus, “French employs the device of shifting narrator identities from novel to novel because she is interested in the ‘big turning point’ in people’s lives and most people don’t have that many” (Coughlan, 341). As the author herself states: If you use one narrator, you have to keep dumping the poor guy into these life- changing situations and he’s going to end up a nervous wreck, or you have to go with the smaller ups and downs, which is what most series do. And there are writers who do that really beautifully, but it’s just not what captures my imagination, so I swap narrators. (French in Coughlan, 341)

This characteristic is what makes French’s novels something special in the world of crime fiction, and it is this striking feature that will be analysed in the following chapters in order to show how French’s novels offers something new not only to crime fiction, but for the literary analysis of characters and the connection of characters over several novels. The novels analysed in this thesis include her debut novel In the Woods, and the two follow-ups, The Likeness and Faithful Place. In the Woods is a novel about Rob Ryan, a detective in the Dublin Murder Squad, who has a shady past, and fights to keep it hidden when the murder of little girl and the following investigations lead him back to things hidden in the past. The Likeness follows Rob’s partner Cassie Maddox into an undercover investigation about the murder of a girl that is a complete lookalike of Cassie, who used Cassie’s past undercover identity as her own. And in Faithful Place, Frank Mackie, Cassie’s old boss, is lead back to his past when the body of his old girlfriend is found in the place where he grew up. As can be seen from these short descriptions, the novels are all connected via their characters, and this link, as well as the relation of narrative style, setting and genre characteristics between the novels will be analysed in the following chapters. A close reading based on the theoretical framework established above will offer the basis for a discussion on the relation between the characters, as well as a final comparison of all three novels.

3.1. Genre Discussion

3.1.1. In the Woods

The first novel of the series can in terms of genre definition be characterised as a psychological mystery novel, yet again the definition is not clear-cut, but features characteristics from several genres, i.e. the hard-boiled detective novel, the police novel, the crime thriller, and the mystery novel. In terms of hard-boiled detective fiction, the typical characteristics displayed in the novel include the crime that affects everybody - society, family and the detectives themselves; a world without stability, with a corrupt society, i.e. the corruption of the companies who build the highway; the missing resolution in the end, when the full truth is revealed, but there is no justice served; the first person narration, with a focus on the investigator, in this case the protagonist Rob Ryan; Rob as the divided character, who is both tough, yet sensitive, as is the typical hard-boiled detective; and finally, the difficult

environment of the detective permeated by lies and deceit, rendering it difficult to detect the truth. This list shows that although primarily, the novel cannot be defined as a hard- boiled novel, it does to a certain extent fit the description thereof. Most obviously, however, the novel can be seen as a police novel, as Rob Ryan is part of the Dublin murder squad, a fictional elite police department invented by French for the sake of the novel. We work out of the grounds of Dublin Castle, and in spite of all the colonial connotations, this is one of my favourite perks on the job. Inside, the rooms have been lovingly refurbished to be exactly like every corporate office in the country (…), but the outsides of the buildings are listed and still intact: old, ornate red brick and marble, with battlements and turrets and worn carvings of saints in unexpected places. (French In The Woods, 94).

Murder is one of the élite squads, and nobody under thirty gets taken on unless his father is a politician. Generally you have to spend a couple of years as a floater, helping out wherever someone is needed for legwork, and then work your way up through at least one or two other squads. (ibid, 13).

The novel features descriptions of the apparatus behind Rob and his partner Cassie Maddox, i.e. the everyday work when they don’t have a special case, their discussions with chief O’Kelly, and the investigative work and the procedures when they work on a murder. “By the time we had the incident room organised, the floaters were starting to arrive. (…) They pulled out chairs and notebooks, slapped backs and resurrected old in- jokes and chose their seats like kids on their first day at school.” (ibid, 114). “I have always loved this moment in an investigation, the moment before the briefing begins. (…) Headquarters picks the names for operations.” (ibid, 115). These brief descriptions of the work as a detective in the murder squad offer insights not only into the everyday routine, but into the more exciting moments. Also, later on in the novel, when the first suspects are pulled in, the interrogation scenes quite vividly describe police routines, e.g. the use of photos to get a confession, and explain the psychological background of their approach (cf. ibid 457 ff.). “I slammed the door behind me, told the camera, ‘Detective Ryan entering the interview room,’ (…) ‘That was the Technical Bureau,’ I told Cassie. ‘They’ve confirmed our evidence is exactly what we thought it was.’ (ibid 465).

“I wish I could show you how an interrogation can have its own beauty, shining and cruel as that of a bullfight; how in defiance of the crudest topic or the most moronic suspect it keeps inviolate its own taut, honed grace, its own irresistible and blood-stirring rhythms; (…)” (ibid, 457).

The connection between the detectives and society is depicted through both Rob and Cassie, thus presenting them as individuals within the police squad. On the one hand, this is achieved by offering background information on their social life and on themselves as characters, but also via their connection to the case, i.e. Rob’s past connection to the place of murder, and Cassie’s background knowledge and experience with psychopaths. The socio-political comment sometimes offered by crime fiction, and especially police novels, is expressed in several aspects of the novel. On the one hand, the novel describes the clash between the past and the present via the archaeological site being destroyed for a highway (cf. ibid, 133). On the other hand, the descriptions of Robs past include the social problems of the working class and the situation of teenagers in the 80ies and their poor outlook on a proper future before the Celtic Tiger struck. This also relates to the characteristic of police novels as novels of realism, in action, setting, characterisation and themes. Not only the description of the society in the 80ies, but also the present-day housing community in Knocknaree can be seen as a perfect example of realism. “The Devlin’s house was a flat-fronted semi with a patch of grass in front, exactly like all the others on the estate. All of the neighbours had made frantic little declarations of individuality via ferociously trimmed shrubs or geraniums or something (…).” (ibid,61). In terms of themes, realism is displayed for example in the psychological problems of Jessica and Rosalind, who are both known to their father but who chooses to ignore and hide them from the world (cf. ibid 569 ff.). As regards action, the investigation can be seen as an example of displaying realism. There are no magical finds of clues, no surprise characters who help solve the murder, but only basic facts, and it takes them quite a long time to figure out the solution, which in the end is a piecing together of evidence. The only deviation of these typical features of a police novel is the type of narration in the novel, as a first-person narrator is used instead of a third-person narrator. This, however, allows for some other characteristics of the novel to develop, i.e. the unreliable narrator. Thus, the novel can be seen as a quite typical example of the genre of police novels. However, it can also be argued that the novel displays features of the crime thriller. The use of a first-person narrator, for instance, allows for a quick pace in the narrative and the use of observation and vision. The predictable concepts of detective fiction have

been disrupted by the use of a first-person, unreliable narrator in the novel. Also, there is a psychological explanation of the crime offered in the end, not only the simple evidence- based explanation of a murder. ‘Who gives a fuck about the motive?’ (…) ‘In this case, I do.’ O’Kelly was right technically – as long as you can prove that your boy committed the crime, you have absolutely no obligation to explain why – but juries, trained by TV, want a motive; and this time, so did I. (ibid, 479).

Another typical feature of crime thriller is the focus on setting, in this case, the rural town of Knocknaree and the wood surrounding it. This on the one hand contrasts the place of murder, i.e. the archaeological site in the country, against the city life in Dublin, where the murder squad operate; but it also helps build tension between the city, i.e. the murder squad, and the rural society, i.e. the murder victim’s social surroundings. In terms of characters and identity, the use of psychopathological misfits is typical of a crime thriller. This, to a certain extent, is true for both Rob and Rosalind, who do not fit into society, which is one of the reasons why Rob can identify with Rosalind so strongly. Also, Rob’s search for his identity and his failing to find one, which lead to an instability of character, is typical of this genre, which does not necessarily depict stable characters. In terms of narrative, the shifts in narration disrupt the trust of the reader in the narrator, as one cannot easily discern between what is real and what is only imagined by Rob. And finally, the novel can also be seen as an example of a mystery novel, as it displays characteristics of this genre as well. The most obvious one here is the puzzle that has to be solved, i.e. the murder of Katy, where she was murdered and why she was moved to a different place. Also, murder is defined as something supernatural, and only the solution demystifies it, which in this case means, the solution of why Katy was murdered. As is typical for a mystery crime novel, the murder is central to the plot and also to its characters. There is only one scene of crime, and the signs of the murder hidden in the beginning are revealed in the course of the novel, when finally, the place and murder weapon are found, and thus ultimately, the ones who committed the crime. The only aspect in which French deviates from this genre is that the solution of the murder only partially offers justice, as not both but only one of the murderers is convicted in the end. Also, the second mystery case in this novel, the disappearance of Rob’s two childhood friends, is never solved, offering no resolution for Rob. This is striking, as the novel

reveals more and more clues about the old case throughout the narrative, and in a heightening of narrative, almost uncovers the solution, yet not completely. This discussion of genre shows again, that it is not as simple to categorise novels into a certain genre. Yet, it also shows that all genre characteristics discussed in this analysis are somehow related to character. Mostly, they relate to Rob Ryan, but are often also related to society in general, i.e. the environment in which Rob operates.

3.1.2. The Likeness

The second novel of the series can be defined as a mystery crime novel, but again it features characteristics typical of the different sub-genres discussed previously. The aspects of hard-boiled detective fiction are displayed most obviously in the clash of the urban and rural society, which is represented on the one hand through Cassie herself, who lives in the city, but as an undercover begins enjoying life in the countryside, and on the other side through the depiction of small towns dying out and needing the support of the city investors to survive (cf. French, The Likeness, 425). Also, the rural society is represented as not accepting outsiders, which is depicted in the encounter between the five ‘outsider’ students living in the house and the ‘insider’ country people. The crime in this novel becomes a personal issue for Cassie, as she identifies with the victim not only because of their similar looks, but also because of the victim’s personality. As a result, she gets too involved in the case and does not pass on to her supervisors all the information she uncovers. As the narrative is again told from a first-person perspective, the focus is put on the PI, i.e. in this novel Cassie, and on her social surroundings, i.e. her workplace as well as her four housemates. This focus offers the possibility of including fast-paced dialogues, both between Cassie and the housemates, and Cassie and her supervisor Frank. Finally, a characteristic of hard-boiled detective fiction is the active destruction of truth by characters. This applies not only to the characters surrounding Cassie, as both the housemates and Frank lie to her, but also to Cassie herself, who lies to Frank in a misdirected attempt to save the housemates and prolong her time together with them. As the first novel, the second one can also be defined as a police novel in terms of genre, as these characteristics are more prominent than the ones of the other genres. However, one major difference to the first novel is that the police department as well as

the depiction thereof have changed. On the one hand, this is due to the fact that Cassie transferred to another department at the end of In the Woods, on the other hand, there are several different departments and their structures described in this novel. Generally, there are three main detectives portrayed in the novel, and all three of them work in different departments: Sam still works in the Murder squad, Cassie works in Domestic Violence, and Frank is an undercover agent. However, Cassie is the link between all three departments, as she has worked both in Undercover and Murder before: “The abridged version [is]: UCD’s premier speed freak got paranoid and stabbed me, wounded-in-the- line-of-duty got me a place on the murder squad, the Murder squad got to be a head- wrecker, I got out.” (ibid, 10) As the investigation depicted in this novel is a joint investigation, the reader learns about both Murder and Undercover, yet some of the characteristics of the murder squad are already well-known from the first novel, i.e. the meetings in an investigation room, or the interrogations with somebody watching from behind the mirrored glass. What is new to the reader, as Cassie puts it, is this: Here’s one of the more disturbing things about working Murder: how little you think about the person who’s been killed. There are some who move into your mind (…) but mostly the victim is only your starting point; the gold at the end of the rainbow is the killer. (ibid, 227).

However, some of the characters representing the police apparatus in the first novel, are still exactly the same, e.g. Chief O’Kelly: “O’Kelly never had any use for me when I was on Murder, but the second I applied for a transfer, I somehow morphed into the serpent’s-tooth protégée who snubbed years of devoted mentoring and buggered off to DV.” (ibid., 81). This quote also shows that within the police force, there are strong inter-departmental competitions, a fact that is also depicted in the joint investigation of Frank and Sam: In a way, this fight had probably been inevitable all along, from the second Frank and Sam showed up at the same crime scene. Murder detectives are single-minded, focused on narrowing the investigation slowly and inexorably till everything extraneous is gone and the only thing left in their sight is the killer. Undercovers thrive on extraneous, on spreading their bets and keeping all their options open: (…) (ibid., 406).

Different departments have different structures and workplans, and it seems that even within the police force, these discrepancies cannot easily be overcome.

The murder case of the first novel is still mentioned throughout the novel, both by Cassie and by other detectives, but there is a hush and a reverence when talking about it: “Underneath though. Operation Vestal: say it to one of the Murder squad, even now, and you’ll get that instant look, hands and eyebrows going up meaningfully and he distances himself from the clusterfuck and the collateral damage.” (ibid, 12). Especially Cassie, who has been affected strongly by the case, describes it as one of her darkest cases, even in the murder department. In contrast to the first novel, however, the Murder squad is only briefly described from an outsider perspective, as Cassie is no longer part of it. Instead, Undercover is depicted in more detail, both as Cassie recollects it from her past memories, and her present experience: Undercovers are different. There is nothing they won’t do, to themselves or anyone else, to take their guy down. (…) It’s one of the most powerful lures of undercover, the ruthlessness, no borderlines; strong stuff, strong enough to take your breath away. (ibid,39)

I tried to tell him about undercover. I told him how your senses are never quite the same again, how colours turn fierce enough to brand you and the air tastes bright and jagged as that clear liqueur filled with tiny flakes of gold; how the way you walk changes, your balance turns fine and taut as a surfer’s, when you spend every second on the shifting edge of a fast risky wave. I told him how afterwards I never shared a spliff with my mates or took E in a club again, because no high could ever compare. (ibid, 76).

As Frank puts it, Undercover’s half intuition – and I don’t mean psychic shite. I mean noticing things and analysing them, before you even know you’re doing it. The rest is speed and balls. If you’re going to say something or do something, you do it fast and you do it with total conviction. If you stop to second-guess yourself, you’re fucked, possibly dead.” (ibid, 7)

Although it has been a while since Cassie worked undercover, she still seems to remember it in a positive way, which may be one of the reasons she decides to do it again. Her vivid descriptions of the rush one gets as an undercover agent show that she somehow still longs for this experience. However, she also admits to the dark sides of undercover work, how it ruins friendships, relationships and lives: (…) bad stuff happens to undercovers. A few of them get killed. Most lose friends, marriages, relationships. A couple turn feral, cross over to the other side so gradually that they never see it happening until it’s too late, and end up with discreet, complicated early-retirement plans. Some, and never the ones you’d think,

lose their nerve – no warning, they just wake up one morning and all at once it hits them what they’re doing, and they freeze like tightrope walkers who’ve looked down. (ibid, 77).

This, in the end, is what happens to Cassie too, when she gets too involved in the case and even breaks the one rule she knows is important for undercover: The rule is, the handler holds the brake: he’s the one who decides when you need to pull back or come out. He’s the one with the overview, after all, he may well have info that you don’t, and you do what he says if you value either your life or your career. (ibid, 540).

In this case, Frank is the handler, and when he tries to pull her out, Cassie resists and finds excuses to stay undercover, which shows that she is too involved. These detailed descriptions offer a new perspective on police work, as compared to the first novel’s depiction of the Murder squad. Finally, one aspect of police novels that is used in this novel is the restricted location, as all three detectives work in only a small geographical area. Glenskehy, as the place of murder, is the area in which Cassie operates mostly in the novel, while Sam also investigates in the neighbouring towns, and Frank even uses his FBI connections for international information on the victim. Still, the main area of work is again, as in the first novel, set around the city of Dublin, and in the nearby countryside. In terms of crime thriller, it can be argued that the focus is again on a crime, yet in contrast to the first novel, the perspective is, to a certain extent, that of the victim, as Cassie takes on the role of Lexie. Thus, the point of view is contorted to Cassie’s impression of Lexie’s life, and as there is no clue about the murderer in the beginning, the danger is still imminent. Also, this combination disrupts the fixed triangle relation of classical detective fiction, as detective and victim become one person. The focus on setting, as has been indicated above, is manifest in the clash between rural and urban, but also in the detailed depiction of the house, which is important to the narrative. On the one hand, the house represents the clash between rural and urban society, both via its present inhabitants and the past ones, i.e. the Marsh family who built the town of Glenskehy only for their own profit. On the other hand, it is also the motif for the murder, and in the end, is destroyed almost symbolically, when the friendships built in this house finally collapse. Thus, the house also functions as a motif, in the early stages of the narrative for a safe haven and place of trust, and later on, for the disruption of friendship and trust and finally

its destruction. The social deviance typical of crime thrillers is also evident in the novel, in the friendship between the five housemates, who do not fit into society and do not accept the norms and values but establish their own, rather unusual style of life. Finally, the aspect of identity is discussed in the novel through the character of Cassie, who finds her doppelganger with whom she cannot identify at first, but then merges with her too easily until it finally becomes hard even for Cassie to distance herself from Lexie. Finally, this novel can also be seen as a mystery fiction, as there is not only one, but several mysteries that have to be solved: Lexie’s murder and the reasons for it, Lexie’s true identity, her motives to steal identities, the identity of the father of Lexie’s baby, and finally the secrets concerning the house and its history. For all of these, there is a rational explanation presented in the end, yet throughout the novel there are several red herrings, i.e. false suspects or dead-end leads, as well as signs that need to be explained, i.e. why Lexie’s possessions were wiped clean, or the identity of the mysterious ‘N.’. Also, there is only one significant scene of crime, i.e. the famine cottage, which connects the murder with both the rural society and the past of this area. In this novel again, there are two major mysteries, on the one hand the murder and on the other hand, the true identity of Lexie. Both are, in contrast to the first novel, solved in the end. In terms of Irish Crime Fiction, this novel again displays some typical characteristics thereof. As indicated above, the clash of past and present is ever-present and is crucial both to the narrative and to the murder. The past is also a motif in the novel, as it turns up unexpectedly and haunts the characters in the novel. Cassie’s past catches up with her when Lexie Madison appears in her life again, Lexie tried to flee from her past by changing identity several times, and Daniel has set up the rule of ‘no pasts’ to restore peace in the house. The contrast of rural vs. urban society also already described in detail above is a typical feature of Irish Crime Fiction. “(…) a lot of the Big Houses have been bought by corporations and turned into hotels or spas or whatever, and everyone’s half-forgotten what they used to be. Here and there, though, where history scarred a place deeper than most: people remember.” (ibid, 251). And finally, it can be argued that the crime has been committed in a family, if one defines the intimacy and close relationship of the five housemates as a family. Also, the crime is related to the past of Daniel’s family, to its heritage and its consequences for the future generations.

Considering all these aspects of genre, it is again evident that the novel cannot definitely be ascribed to one single genre but is a merging of different aspects. When comparing it to the first novel, however, it can be seen that both novels display similarities in their characteristics, i.e. the strong connection to the past, the major characteristics of the police novel genre mixed with mystery fiction and crime thriller, and only a few characteristics of the hard-boiled genre. Again, these genre specifics are related to character, in this case mainly to Cassie, as the use of motifs and setting reflects.

3.1.3. Faithful Place

The final novel discussed in this thesis is Faithful Place, a mystery crime thriller introducing the reader anew to the character of Frank Mackey. The third novel in this series again features genre characteristics of all the abovementioned genres, yet it tends more towards the genres of hard-boiled and mystery fiction than its predecessors. Starting out with the genre of hard-boiled fiction again, some aspects of this novel fall more explicitly in this category than in the other two. First and foremost, the character of Frank Mackey is a typical hard-boiled detective, who lives for his work, is short- tempered, case-hardened, has no wife, and is not disinclined to use violence if necessary. The crime at the centre of the novel affects Frank personally, as the victim is his ex- girlfriend from twenty years ago, who he thought had abandoned him to start a new life. As the body is found in the place where Frank grew up, the case affects not only him, but his family who still live there as well as the neighbours and family of the girl. Thus, the crime is again the centrepiece of the novel. The setting is also typical for a hard-boiled novel, an urban environment, the working-class district of Dublin, the Liberties, and Faithful Place, the site of crime, as the main depicted area. The ‘mean streets’ of the hard-boiled genre are described in detail by Frank, both in their present and past condition, and because of his working-class background he provides a detailed insight into the society that developed there. This is also reflected in the extensive use of vernacular, i.e. the Dublin working-class accent spoken by Frank’s siblings: “ Jackie said ‘Ah she’s lovely, Donna is. She’s a wee dote; always laughing. You’ll have to meet her now, Francis.’ Carmel told me, ‘I see you in Darren. D’you know that? I always did, from when he was a little young fella.’ ‘God help him,’ Jackie and I said together.” (French, Faithful Place, 119). All of Frank’s siblings as

well as his parents and the neighbours in Faithful Place speak in this type of Dublin vernacular, while Frank, to distance himself, has already taken on a less distinctive accent, but falls back into his old accent the more time he spends in his old neighbourhood. Frank’s quest to find justice for Rosie after twenty years is also a typical characteristic of hard-boiled fiction, yet the solution in the end only does justice to Rosie and offers only partial resolution for Frank. I believe that “closure” is a steaming load of middle-class horseshite invented to pay for shrinks’ Jags, but all the same: I needed to know for sure if that had in fact been Rosie in the basement, I needed to know how she had died, and I needed to know if Scorcher and his boys had picked up any hint about where she had been going, that night, before someone had stopped her. (ibid, 134)

In the end, Frank finds out who killed Rosie and convicts the murderer, yet the closure is only partly satisfactory for him, as he finally learns that Rosie did not abandon him, but also recognises that his family is more deeply disturbed than even he has imagined. Another feature of the hard-boiled genre is that Frank prefers direct action to cool deduction or clues, and rushes straight into the case, i.e. when showing Rosie’s suitcase to her parents instead of handing it over to the police, or when exploring the derelict house by himself before calling the forensic team. Also, the use of a first-person narrator provides direct involvement in both the action and events surrounding the criminal investigation, as well as a direct insight into the working-class society of Dublin. Frank as a detective is also surrounded by people lying to him, which is typical of the hard- boiled genre, i.e. the distinction between truth and lies is difficult for him. Not only his siblings, but also his wife and even his nine-year old daughter lie to him, and Frank himself is prone to telling lies to get what he wants as well. Concerning the genre of police novel, this novel is not as clearly defined as the other two novels, mainly as the police work is performed by other people. Frank himself, although he tries to solve a murder case, does not work officially as a detective, and thus does not have all the resources an official investigation would offer. Nevertheless, some aspects of police work are featured in this novel. Furthermore, in Faithful Place, police officers are eyed with suspicion and are not to be trusted by its inhabitants, thus the prejudices against Frank are deeply rooted in his old neighbourhood, and it is difficult for both himself and the actual murder detectives to obtain information.

Frank still works in Undercover, which is where the reader first encountered him, yet his actual Undercover work is not described, as Frank takes a holiday from work early on in the novel. However, he slips in characteristics of undercover work throughout the narration. “Here’s the real risk in Undercover, in the field and out: you create illusions for long enough, you start thinking you’re in control. It’s easy to slide into believing you’re the hypnotist here (…) The fact is you’re still just another slack-jawed mark in the audience.” (ibid, 3). This quote confirms what Cassie has already described, but also shows that Frank is conscious of the fact that losing touch with reality is a risk in Undercover. However, Frank also confirms Cassie’s description of the lure of undercover work: Every cop who’s been undercover knows there’s nothing in the world quite like the day before you go into a job. I figure astronauts on countdown know the feeling, and parachute regiments lining up for the jump. The light turns dazzling and unbreakable as diamonds, every face you see is beautiful enough to take your breath away; your mind is crystal clear, every second spreads itself out in front of you in one great perfect sense. You could drink all day and be stone-cold sober; cryptic crosswords are easy as kids’ jigsaws. That day lasts a hundred years. (ibid, 314)

This fascination with his work is also a strong character trait of Frank, which will be taken up in his character discussion as well. Frank also uses his training as an undercover agent to cope with the current case and to make sure he does not get too involved, e.g. when seeing the corpse: There’s a switch you learn to flick, very early on in Undercover. It gets easier, maybe too easy, with time: one click, somewhere in the corner of your mind, and the whole scene unfolds at a distance on a pretty little screen, in living color, while you watch and plan your strategies and give the characters a nudge now and then, alert and absorbed and safe as a general. (ibid, 137)

This distancing method works for him at the morgue, yet he cannot activate it throughout the case and is still too emotionally involved in the end. Another aspect of the police work that is described is the competition between the different squads, which has already been treated in The Likeness. Here again, it is about the rivalry between Murder and Undercover, as Frank as an undercover agent disrespects the work of the Murder squad: One of the many differences between Murder and Undercover is our attitudes to subtlety. Undercovers are even better at it than you think, and when we feel like a giggle we do love to watch the Murder boys loving their entrances. These two swung around the corner in an unmarked solver BMW that didn’t need markings,

braked hard, left the car at a dramatic angel, slamming their doors in sync – they had probably been practicing – and swaggered off towards Number 16 with the music from Hawaii Five-O blasting through their heads in full surround sound. (ibid, 85f.)

This description shows his general contempt of Murder detectives, and how he judges them generally before even having talked to any of them. (see also, ibid 173). Also, in terms of investigation, Frank thinks that undercover detectives are superior in their methods: If you want to hunt like a good little panting puppy dog, shooting off on the trail the second you’re off the leash, you work Murder. If you want Undercover, and I always did, you learn to hunt the way big cats do: set up your ambush, stay low on the ground and move closer by hidden inches, for as long as it takes. (ibid, 100).

Throughout the novel, Frank operates like an undercover detective, not like a murder detective, hunting his prey slowly, while Scorcher Kennedy, the murder detective on the case, makes quick conclusions and offers an easy solution without questioning the background facts. However, when Frank uses one of the floaters from the Murder investigation as a spy and source of information and gets an impression of how his mind works, he finally admits to understanding why Murder offers its own fascination: For the first time in my career, I was getting an inkling of why Murder love their job the way they do. When undercovers go hunting, we’ll take anything that wanders into our snares; half the skill is knowing what to use as bait, what to toss back where it came from and what to knock on the head and bring home. This was a whole different thing. These boys were the specialists called in to track down the rogue predator, and they focused on him like they were focusing on a lover. Anything else that wandered into their sights, while they were trawling in the dark for that one shape, meant sweet fuck-all. This was specific and it was intimate, and it was powerful stuff. (242)

Right at the beginning of the case, Frank even wants to get included in the investigation, though it is not because of his fascination with murder, but because of his personal involvement in the case. When the leading detective refuses to let him in (cf. 93), Frank uses his own resources and connections to solve the case. This is also one of the reasons why detective work as such is not featured prominently in this novel. Therefore, crime scene descriptions are offered by Frank from an outsider perspective: It had been a while since I’d watched a crime scene from outside the tape line, like a field undercover or a civilian. (…) The Bureau boys wrapped in their head-to-toe white, swinging their heavy boxes of sinister tricks, snapping their masks into place

as they headed up the steps and vanished into Number 16, made the hairs on the back of my neck go up like a dog’s. (ibid, 77)

Cooper the pathologist, a narky little bollix with a God complex, got there first. He pulled up in his big black Merc, stared severely over the heads of the crowd till the waters parted to let him through, and stalked into the house (…). The morgue guys came next. They got out of their grimy white van and headed into the house with their blue canvas stretcher slung casually between them (…). (ibid, 85)

These descriptions offer both and outsider and an insider perspective, as Frank is not directly involved in these actions, but knows enough about the Bureau team’s work to identify what they do and how they operate. This position also allows for the aspect of individuality by a detective that is typical of police novels. Frank, with his connections and his insider knowledge of Faithful Place and its society, is the link between the police apparatus and society. In terms of the Crime thriller genre aspect, the novel is a typical example as the focus is not put on a police officer, at least not officially, but on an outsider wanting to find out the truth. Also, as Frank is not only a detective, but at the same time a victim of this crime, the traditional triangle relation of detective, victim and murderer is disrupted in this novel. The focus on setting is also typical of Crime thriller, i.e. the detailed descriptions of Faithful Place, which is both the place of murder and a symbol of Frank’s return to his past. His close connection to this place, where his fate was decided for the first time, as well as the connection of the murder with his past, show the importance of setting in this novel. Frank’s refusal to go back to Faithful Place relates back to the theme of identity, which is also a typical feature of Crime thrillers. Frank’s identity is based mainly on his working-class background as well as on the fact that he was abandoned twenty years ago, and when it finally turns out that he might not have been, it shatters his current self-perception to pieces. The return to his past as well as the return to his roots at Faithful Place turn out to be much more dangerous for him than he expected, and a quick escape from his past is not possible anymore. In terms of mystery fiction, the novel again features several mysteries that have to be solved and lie at the heart of the story. Firstly, of course, the murder of Rosie, i.e. the mystery of how she and her suitcase ended up in the derelict house at the end of Faithful Place. Also, Frank has to rewrite his past and find out whether Rosie really abandoned him or whether she was murdered before she could reach him. To a certain extent, this

murder can almost be seen as a locked-room mystery, as the suspects are found only in a very restricted area, i.e. the street of Faithful Place. The signs for the mystery’s solution are all at the murder scene, and need to be pieced together to solve it, yet are not revealed already at the beginning, but one after the other. Again, as in the other novels, there are several mysteries that have to be solved, i.e. Rosie’s and Kevin’s murder and their connection, as well as Frank’s past, yet all three are connected to one another. There is one significant scene of crime where both murders were committed, and thus Number 16 becomes almost symbolic of the solution of the crimes. Besides, the pieces for the puzzle are almost exclusively found in this house, i.e. Rosie’s body, the suitcase, and the letter. And finally, this novel offers a gritty version of truth, a hard realism of the mean streets of Dublin and the working-class environment, as well as an insight into this society. Family problems are described more openly than in the other novels, and violence and alcoholism in families are relentlessly depicted in this novel. This is completed by the murder of innocents, i.e. Rosie and Kevin, who were not involved in the family feuds and the fights, but still ended up as the victims thereof. Faithful Place also displays many characteristics of Irish Crime Fiction and Irish identity. The urban working-class society of Dublin is featured prominently in this novel and is contrasted to the modern-day middle-class society represented by Frank’s wife Olivia and his daughter, who grows up without really knowing anything about lower- class life in Dublin. Thus, a cross section of Dublin’s many layers of social classes is presented in this novel. Moreover, French concentrates again on the clash of past and present, a past murder and a present one, which haunt Frank until he faces them. This clash is also represented by the two different worlds in which Frank lives, i.e. his modern- day Dublin flat and workplace against the obsolete world of Faithful Place, where society seems to be stuck in the 80ies. Frank’s flashbacks also offer an insight into the working- class society of the 80ies and the future outlook of the younger generation at that time, and their wish to flee to a better life in England. In the present, when Frank encounters some of his old friends again, most of them seem to be stuck in exactly the lives they never wanted to end up in, married with kids, women staying at home, similar to their parents. The topic of family also features strongly in this novel, both in the family connections and the solidarity displayed towards it, as well as in the return to family bonds and the depiction of broken and disrupted families. And finally, the novel also gives a

glimpse of Irish economy, as it is set at the verge of the Celtic Tigre collapsing, with news and characters in the novel already predicting the fall and financial crisis. In conclusion, Faithful Place can again be seen as a novel displaying several different genre characteristics, and is both typical of crime fiction in general and of Irish Crime Fiction. However, in contrast to the first two novels, there are some new features and characteristics shifting the emphasis of the novel towards a focus on the crime itself. Also, the more explicit feature of hard-boiled characteristics emphasises the connection to character even more than the previous two novels.

3.2. Narrative Analysis

3.2.1. In the Woods

In the Woods is set in modern day Dublin, where both the murder and the solution take place, but it also features flashbacks to the early 80s, to Rob’s past. The timeline of the narrative is generally subsequent, i.e. the events taking place in the novel are described one after the other, especially in connection with the murder. There are descriptions for setup, scenes and dialogues of the novel used for the more interesting parts of the investigation, and also to describe Rob’s relation with Cassie in more detail. For instance, when Rob gets to know Cassie he claims: “I don’t remember very many specifics about that evening, and according to Cassie, neither does she.” (French In the Woods, 18). Yet, after that, a complete scene with dialogues follows, in which he can describe in detail what they talked about, but at the end again states: “After that my memory grows hazy again.” (ibid 23). This shows that the novel uses dialogue and scenes to highlight certain moments, not only those relevant for the crime, but relevant to Rob. The setup of the novel puts the crime right at the beginning, the investigation following immediately, with a brief ‘pause’ in the narrative when the investigation seems to get stuck. However, in the final climax of the novel, when the solution seems tangible, the pace of the narrative increases, including long scenes and dialogues of questioning suspects, as well as one long scene when Cassie tries to get Rosalind to confess (cf. ibid, 539 ff.). The only deviation from this subsequent timeline are Rob’s flashbacks, repeatedly used throughout the novel, yet their length increases with every repetition. The first flashback is still extremely short: “trainer heels dug into the earth of the bank, leaf-

shadows dappling a red T-shirt, fishing-rods of branches and string, slapping at midges: Shut up! You’ll scare the fish! – the field was where the wood had been, twenty years ago.” (ibid, 31). Later flashbacks, however, are often several pages long (cf. ibid 382 ff.) However, throughout the narrative, time is frequently also used to show that the novel is told from memory, and that this is often not as reliable as one thinks: “In my memory, we spent a million nights in Cassie’s flat, the three of us. The investigations only lasted a month or so (…); but over time those evenings have coloured the whole season for me (…).” (ibid, 191). Rob, as the narrator, tends to romanticize these evenings, and colours them in his memory, as he even admits: “I am, of course, romanticising; a chronic tendency of mine. Don’t let me deceive you: the evenings may have been roast chestnuts around a cosy turf fire, but the days were a grim, tense, frustrating slog.” (ibid, 193). He also admits that time is not a definite parameter for him, and that it is difficult in the aftermath to recreate the timeline of the investigation as clearly as he wishes: “Those were strange weeks, strange disjointed weeks. Even after all this time, I find it difficult to describe them to you. They were so full of little things, things that at the time seemed insignificant and disconnected as the jumble of objects in some bizarre parlour game.” (ibid 199). This reflection offers an explanation for the jumps in time, for the alternation of scenes, dialogue and summary in the novel, as only scenes and dialogues that seems relevant for Rob are recreated and narrated. In terms of setting, the novel is set mainly in Dublin and in Knocknaree, and the description of places mainly includes Cassie’s flat in Dublin and the surrounding area, the murder squad office in Dublin Castle, as well as Knocknaree and the woods. This can be seen as displaying the contrast between city and country, i.e. the lives of the detectives in the city vs. the lives of the rural people. Knocknaree is described as a collection of semi-d houses, small town people and “(…) potholed side roads with grass verge, hedges grown wild and scraping at the windows” (ibid, 29). While Cassie’s flat, on the other hand, is a studio flat, which is what landlords call a bedsit where there is room to have a friend over, on the top floor of a semi-dilapidated Georgian house in Sandymount. The road was quiet; the wide sash window looked out over rooftops, to Sandymount beach. There were wooden bookshelves crammed with old paperbacks, a low Victorian sofa upholstered in a virulent shade of turquoise, a big futon with a

patchwork duvet, no ornaments or posters, a handful of shells and rocks and chestnuts on the window-sill. (18).

Cassie’s flat is described in much detail, especially as not only Cassie, but also Rob spend a lot of time there, and later on, they even work on the investigation there with Sam. The flat, then also becomes to a certain extent, a motif of the closeness of Rob and Cassie, of their relationship and friendship, when Rob describes the romanticised evenings, which all take place in Cassie’s flat. Furthermore, it stands in stark contrast to the flat Rob shares with a flatmate, which is described as a rather depressing place. His flat only becomes more relevant when his past finally catches up with him and he starts losing his mind and has nowhere else to go. Thus, it is contrasted against Cassie’s flat, which stands for comfort, warmth and feeling welcome. The wood in Knocknaree, on the other hand is both a setting and a motif in the novel that stands for Rob’s restlessness and his past: “I was the one person who beyond any doubt knew at least some of the answers, and if anything could give them back to me, it was (right back to the beginning) that wood.” (ibid, 368). It is described as both protection and threat to Rob, depending on whether it is the wood of the past or that of the present that is described. The wood of his childhood is somehow also romanticised, with hidden places, an old overgrown castle and little birds and animals that are so fascinating to children. In contrast to that stands the wood of the present: Knocknaree wood was the real thing, and it was more intricate and more secretive than I had remembered. It had its own order, its own fierce battles and alliances. I was an intruder here, now, and I had a deep prickling sense that my presence had instantly been marked and that the wood was watching me, with an equivocal collective gaze, not yet accepting or rejecting; reserving judgement. (ibid, 378).

This description shows that Rob, as an adult, does not feel safe in the wood anymore and that the protection the wood offered does not exist anymore for him. Also, the wood thus serves as a motif which connects Rob’s past and present. The focalization of the novel goes hand in hand with the motifs, setting and time analysis of the novel as well. The main and only focalizer of the novel is Rob Ryan, who at the same time serves as a character in the novel, the protagonist and the narrator. He is thus a first-person internal character focalizer. In the novel, the narrating I and the experiencing I are temporarily not widely separated. The experiencing I of the novel is Rob during the case, and the narrating I is Rob when he reflects on the story afterwards,

yet the reader does not have a specific clue as to how much time has passed since the murder investigation. This already deviates from classic focalization, as normally, the experiencing I and the narrating I are separated through a period of time. Also, as has already been mentioned above, a first-person narrator is atypical of the crime genre in general, as the perception is mostly flawed and does not accord with the precision and facts when solving a crime. However, as will be seen in the section about characterisation, this type of focalization allows for a very different character perception in the novel. Again, the narrative analysis has shown that the different narrative characteristics of this novel are all related to character. The timeline of the novel is set up according with Rob’s flashbacks, the setting is related to his past as well as his present, and the motifs are all related to Rob as well. The focalisation of course also reflects this connection, as it emphasises the strong connection between focaliser, narrator and characters.

3.2.2. The Likeness

The Likeness is set in modern day Dublin, sometime between the Celtic Tiger and the recession. In contrast to the first novel, the timeline used here is not as disrupted and distinctive, as the narration is subsequent and follows the setup of a classical narrative. The only flashback described is Cassie’s recollection of her beginnings as an undercover agent, and even this is embedded properly in the narrative and does not disrupt the timeline. The setup of the novel again puts the crime right at the beginning, directly after Cassie’s description of how Lexie was developed as her undercover identity, and then follows up with the investigation and Cassie’s undercover mission. Throughout the novel, summaries, scenes and dialogues are used alternately, with dialogues being specially used when Cassie talks to her housemates or to Frank and Sam. These conversations are mainly used to describe Cassie’s relationship to other characters or the atmosphere or a scene. The climax of the novel is slightly delayed by Cassie’s action and her refusal to leave her place as an undercover, yet the narrative is again heightened towards the end, with one long scene including dialogues and the solution of the crime. This final uncovering of truth is similar to the first novel, where all the crucial information and confession are also described in one long scene with a final climactic escalation. Apart from this, however, time and narrative in this novel do not feature remarkable deviations from the classical setup of a novel.

In terms of setting, the main part of the novel is set in Glenskehy, with its long past and historical allusions: “And this was Wicklow. For hundreds of years, rebellions had been planned within a day’s walk of where I was sitting.” (French, The Likeness, 251). In contrast to this, “Dublin is modern to the point of hysteria, anything before broadband has become a quaint, embarrassing little joke; I had forgotten even what it was like to live in a place that had memory.” (ibid). Again, the city and the countryside are contrasted with one another mainly through the detectives, who work in the city and have no place in the country, and are therefore treated with suspicion by the townspeople, but also through Cassie, who works in the city, but envies the people in the country, with whom she can connect as she grew up in the country. Also, Sam, who grew up in the country as well, offers different insights into the townspeople and their history, and can make contact more easily with the people from the country than Frank, who grew up in the city (cf. 409 ff.). This shows how both setting and characters can offer both a contrast and a connection between rural and urban aspects. However, a specific aspect in this novel is that the town of Glenskehy is considered strange even by other towns surrounding it, which is also connected to its past (cf. ibid 286). The history of Glenskehy is revealed during the investigations and refers to another chapter of Irish history: the colonisation of Ireland by the British (cf. ibid 415). This aspect is also taken up in the descriptions of the house the five friends live in, Whitethorn House, which has a long, unhappy history related to the town of Glenskehy, the colonisation by an Anglo-Irish family and the feudal system enforced onto the people of Ireland by them. As Cassie describes it: If I had ever wanted a house, though, it would have been a lot like this. This had nothing in common with the characterless pseudo-houses all my friends were buying, shrunken middle-of-nowhere shoeboxes (…). This was the real thing, one serious do-not-fuck-with-me house with the strength and pride and grace to outlast everyone who saw it. (ibid, 68).

Compared to the first novel, The Likeness is more focused on setting than time, which also explains the traditional setup as contrasted to the experimental timeline of In The Woods. This also changes the focus of the second novel not only towards setting, but also towards motifs. Some motifs used in this novel have already been indicated above, i.e. Whitethorn house, and the aspect of identity. Also, the past and its connection to the present are again strongly featured in the novel, as well as stereotypes of society that have

to be fulfilled but are deviated by the characters in this novel, i.e. by the five living a happy, but simple life in their house. The focalization of this novel is similar to the first one, as there is an internal, first- person focalizer, who is again, a character in the novel, thus functioning as an autodiegetic focalizer. However, in contrast to the first novel, Cassie as the narrator makes a clear distinction between the narrating I and the experiencing I, which becomes apparent by her offering a distancing view on the events. Also, she reflects on her action in retrospect and admits to the mistakes she made during her undercover investigation. The first-person narration again deviates from the genre conventions of crime fiction, but in this novel, there are no signs of unreliable narration and the events in the novel can be taken as facts. However, the first-person narration apparently only allows for a subjective point of view, and here again, Cassie has to be considered biased when she tells her version of the story, which may have been influenced by her emotions concerning her housemates. Still, in comparison to the first novel, this one can be seen as more clearly structured and narrated in a reliable style. In the end, it can again be seen that the narrative analysis reflects the connection of narrative and characters, both in the temporal aspects, as well as in the setting, use of motifs and focalisation, which is again similar to the previous novel.

3.2.3. Faithful Place

The third novel is set in modern day Dublin around the time, when the Celtic Tiger was already beginning to collapse, and predictions about the economic development were already negative: “This country’s about to go down the tubes. It’s at the top off the cliff and it’s about to go over at a hundred an hour.” (French, Faithful Place, 122). The investigation and Frank Mackey’s narration mainly takes place in this period, which makes this again a subsequent narration. However, flashbacks are also inserted into the narrative, which describe Frank’s teen years and his relationship to Rosie Daly, his first great love. These memories are embedded into the narrative without transition and mostly emerge when Frank talks to family members or is reminded of a certain scene, which is then directly described in the next passage. “Theory two blew my mind. It was Saturday evening, just over a day before Zero Hour, the last time I saw Rosie Daly. I was heading out to work.” (ibid, 38). The

first sentence in this quote is still set in the present time of the novel, while the next sentence is already a flashback to the time when Frank was young. Afterwards, there follows a whole scene several pages long that takes place in the past. These flashback scenes become longer and more elaborate and detailed every time they appear in the narration. One scene is even repeatedly told throughout the narrative, but each time extended through more and more details. When Frank was waiting for Rosie and she never showed up, he thought she had dumped him and left by alone to go to England. Yet, the more details turn up in the murder case, the more he remembers that night, and the more he critically reviews what he heard and saw to understand finally what really happened. Some of Frank’s flashbacks are also related to his family situation and the alcoholism and abuse of his father. These scenes, which stand in stark contrast to the positive flashbacks including Rosie, are also described in detail, yet they are much shorter and clipped versions of what Frank wants to remember (cf. ibid, 155). Dialogue is used mainly to illustrate Frank’s relationship with other characters, i.e. the way he talks to his daughter differs completely from the way he talks to his siblings and his mother. As has already been mentioned above, the use of vernacular indicates both Frank’s social class and the geographical area he comes from. This is also displayed in his dialogues with his siblings, where his dialect is more distinct than in the narration. As in the other two novels, the final climactic exposure of the real events and the murderer is described in one long scene, where Frank, who already knows who committed the crime toys with the suspect and tries to trick him into a confession. This novel, like the second one, is more focused on the spatial aspects than on the temporal one. The setting of the novel already gives a first indication thereof, as this is the only novel set in the city, and does not include any rural areas in the surrounding of Dublin. The place where Frank grew up is a working-class area in Dublin: You won’t find Faithful Place unless you know where to look. The Liberties grew on their own over centuries, without any help from urban planners, and the Place is a cramped cul-de-sack tucked away in the middle like a wrong turn in the maze. It’s a ten minute walk from Trinity College and the snazzy shopping on Grafton Street, but back in my day, we didn’t go to Trinity and the Trinity types didn’t come up our way. The area wasn’t dodgy exactly – factory workers, bricklayers, bakers, dole bunnies, and the odd lucky bastard who worked in Guinness’s and got health care and evening classes – just separate. (ibid, 17)

This first impression of Faithful Place already describes its social environment as well, and reveals Frank to be a working-class police officer from the city, which according to him is uncommon among the mainly rural detectives. Also, Faithful Place, which is described in more detail than other places in the novel, is the main setting, where both murders took place, where Frank spent his childhood, and where the fateful events of present days happen. Faithful Place is two rows of eight houses, old redbricks with steps going up to the main hall door. Back in the eighties each one had three or four households, maybe more. (…) If you were on the dole, you got a basement flat and a Vitamin D deficiency; if someone had a job, you got at least part of the first floor; if your family had been there a few generations, you got seniority and top-floor rooms where no one walked on your head. (ibid, 18)

Later on in the novel, Frank even personifies this place and describes it as if it had its own mind (cf. ibid, 159). Thus, it does not only represent the most important setting in the novel, but it is also used as a motif for Frank’s past, which he attempts to repress but, in the end, comes back to haunt him in the form of that place. In Faithful Place, there is also the fateful house ‘Number 16’, the place where Frank waited for Rosie almost twenty years ago, which is also the place where both Rosie and Kevin were murdered. This house, which is now broken down and derelict, used to be the place where teenagers according to Frank would go to do all the things they were not allowed to do, i.e. drink alcohol, smoke, meet with the girls (cf. ibid, 73). For Frank, this house becomes the fateful setting where the murder that influenced his whole life took place, but also where he finally finds some kind of closure. The two other places Frank describes are his own home and the one of his ex-wife, which shows the contrast of the upper middle-class environment in which his ex-wife and daughter life and the lower-middle class environment in which Frank operates. Also, the world of his ex-wife and the sheltered environment of his daughter including modern technology and pop music is strongly contrasted to Faithful Place, a messy place with its own rules and morals. To underline this, Frank describes Faithful Place’s society, which has changed as well, yet in some matters has stayed exactly the same. Jackie steered me around the flat introducing me to my nephew and nieces, to Kevin’s old girlfriends – I got a burst of tears and a double-D hug off Linda Dwyer – to my old friend’s new families, to the four phenomenally bewildered Chinese students who lived in the basement flat and who were clustered against a wall politely holding untouched cans of Guinness and trying to look at this as a cultural

learning experience. (…) Just about every face from once upon a time was in that room. (ibid, 184f.)

This description shows that even places like Faithful Place have changed with time, i.e. the Chinese students as representatives of modern times, yet the basic structures of society have remained unchanged for the past twenty years since Frank last saw them. Local colour is also added by Frank’s description of the local pub, which he knows from his past, and now visits again: The Blackbird was the first pub I ever got served in, when I was fifteen (…): same cracked black-and-white photos of unidentified sports teams on the walls, same fly- spotted mirrors behind the bar, same fake-leather seats with their guts spilling out, a handful of old fellas on personal stools and a clump of guys in work boots, half of them Polish and several definitely underage. (ibid, 90).

This description again depicts the few changes that Faithful Place has undergone - it is basically still the same as twenty years ago. Finally, in terms of setting, one other crucial place described by Frank is the Dublin City Morgue. This building is important both as it represents Frank’s connection to the police force, but also his relationship to the city of Dublin: The City Morgue is a quick walk down the quays from my apartment, round the back of the bus station, in a beautiful piece of redbrick more than a hundred years old. I don’t often have the occasion to go in there, but usually the thought of the place makes me happy, the same way it makes me happy that Murder works out of Dublin Castle: what we do runs through the heart of the city like the river, we deserve the good parts of its history and its architecture. (ibid, 136)

In this quote, Frank, as a true Dubliner, expresses his pride of his city and its historical connotations and believes this link between the police force and the city to be important. However, when he enters the Morgue, he also mentions that although the building is beautiful inside, its new inhabitant, the forensic medicine, has added a slightly disturbing touch to it (cf. ibid, 137). Summarising, it can be said that the setting, which emphasizes Frank’s connection to this case, is again crucial to the narration and the use of motifs of setting again reinforces this connection. Frank as the focalizer in the novel is again an internal, first-person narrator, who is autodiegetic as he is a character in the narration. The focalisation in the novel is fixed, as Frank is used as the sole focalizer. However, in this novel, it is rather difficult to distinguish between the narrating and the experiencing I, as both are closely related through time and space. There seems to be almost no time gap between Frank narrating

the story and Frank experiencing it, and only the flashbacks offer a gap, in which Frank reflects on his memories. This type of narration deviates from the first two novel in that the differentiation and thus reflection upon the experiencing I is missing. Both Cassie and Rob reflected upon their narration in the aftermath, yet Frank seems to be telling the events almost at the time when he experiences them. Thus, the narration process is less reflected than in the other novels, yet it does not show any signs of unreliable narration, as in the first novel, and the narration can be seen as a reliable, if biased one, as Frank is completely emotionally involved in the case. The third novel also reflects the connection of narrative and characters, even more so as the setting emphasises this connection more strongly than the other two novels. Yet, setting, timeline and motifs are again also related to a character, in this case to Frank.

3.3. Character Analysis

3.3.1. Rob Ryan

When discussing the character of Rob Ryan, one always has to keep in mind that Rob is not only the focalizer and first-person narrator in In the Woods, but also that he displays strong signs of being an unreliable narrator. Already at the beginning of the novel, he warns the reader about his unreliability: “What I warn you to remember is that I am a detective. Our relationship with truth is fundamental but cracked (…). What I am telling you, before you begin my story, is this – two things: I crave truth. And I lie.” (French, In The Woods, 5ff.). Thus, the whole characterisation of him is more complicated, as most direct characterisation incidents are presented to the reader by Rob telling something about himself, which can or cannot be a reliable information. However, it has to be assumed both for the sake of the reader and for the sake of the novel, that the basic information he offers is truthful. In terms of corporeality, Rob can be described as a middle-aged white Irish male character, about 31 years old, as the murder investigation takes place twenty years after the incident, where Rob supposedly was about eleven years old. “(…) I am tall, with a bony, rangy built that can look lean and elegant if my suit is cut just right, and fairly good- looking in an offbeat way.” (ibid, 14). His background and past are revealed to the reader in the first few pages, which also shows that the past is ever present for him. In these first

pages, the reader also gets to know that he comes from a middle-class background and sneers at the rural background of some of his colleagues: I described my classmates as ‘a herd of mouth-breathing culchie fucktards who wade around in a miasma of cliché so thick you can practically smell the bacon and cabbage and cow shite and altar candles’. Even assuming I was having a bad day, I think this shows a certain lack of respect for cultural differences. (ibid ,11).

This already describes his sociopsychological background and surroundings. According to himself, he does not make friends easily, and even his study years are described as a rather lonely affair. Afterwards, when he starts working, he tries to fit in by eavesdropping on other detectives and copying their actions and behaviour (cf. ibid 11), yet later on in the novel, he admits that he always had difficulties to adapt himself, and that he is glad he found Cassie, with whom he shares a special connection. Apart from that, the reader also learns that he still has both his parents, whom he does occasionally visit: “That weekend I went to my parent’s house for Sunday dinner. I do this every few weeks, although I’m not really sure why. We’re not close.” (ibid, 277). Yet, here again, one gets the feeling that he does not feel connected to his family, and that Cassie is closer to him than his parents. This may, of course, also be due to the fact that he was sent to boarding school after the incident in his childhood, which may have estranged him from his parents for good. However, this is, to a certain extent, rebutted by his mother: “‘You were my little dote,’ my mother said unexpectedly. ‘The most affectionate child that ever lived.’ (ibid, 279). This is unexpected even for Rob, who does not remember being anything like that. Yet, he does not deny this description, only offers as an explanation that either he or his mother may have confused the past, thus leaving the reader without certainty. One of the more striking characterisations in this novel, however, works indirectly through the voice of the story itself. Right at the beginning, Rob says that he changed his accent to a BBC accent to fit into boarding school in England, which is the reason why people often wrongly assume that he is British (cf.ibid 14). Yet, his voice in the story tells a quite different story. He uses many cultural allusions and references to the popular culture and cultural knowledge specific to Ireland, i.e. the university, his training in Templemore College (cf. ibid 12), descriptions of the Irish mentality (cf. ibid 13). Also, he refers to himself as a narrator who loves comparisons, metaphors and euphemisms: “I have a pretty knack for imagery, especially the cheap facile kind. Don’t let me fool you

into seeing us as a bunch of parfit gentil knights galloping off in doublets after Lady Truth on her white palfrey.” (ibid. 5). This style of narration can be found throughout the novel, yet it often comes out more strongly when Rob is emotionally involved in a scene. “This was our last and greatest dance together, danced in a tiny interview room with darkness outside and rain falling soft and relentless on the roof, for no audience but the doomed and the dead.” (ibid. 457). Throughout the novel, Rob often offers direct self-characterisation to the readers: “I am not good at noticing when I’m happy, except in retrospect. My gift, or fatal flaw, is for nostalgia” (ibid. 101). This is interesting, as it shows that to a certain extent Rob as a narrator wants the reader to see the truth. He does not always show himself in a flattering light, and especially in the beginning, describes his mistakes and character flaws as well as his good qualities: “And I suppose if I’m being honest, it appealed both to my ego and to my sense of the picturesque, the idea of carrying this strange, charged secret (…).”(ibid. 46). This is also evident when he describes his living situation with his roommate: I moved in because I liked the idea of living near the sea, the rent was affordable, and I fancied her [Heather, his roommate] (…) and harboured Hollywood-style fantasies of a beautiful relationship blossoming to our mutual amazement. I stay because of inertia and because by the time I discovered her array of neuroses I had started saving for an apartment of my own (…). (ibid. 103)

In this description, he presents himself as both romantic and down-to-earth, as he harbours his romantic ideas, yet then stays out of pure pragmatism. At the same time, Rob makes statements that are clearly refuted in his later actions and reactions. “I don’t want to give the impression that my life was blighted by what happened in Knocknaree.” (ibid. 60). This is, of course, a denial of his burdened past, which will haunt him throughout the novel, which shows that sometimes, Rob only claims to be a certain person, while the story tells something completely different. The connection to the past is obviously one of the characteristics that Rob himself is aware of, yet tries to defeat, especially at the beginning of the novel. This is also reflected when he decides to change his name and drop his first name, Adam, (cf. ibid. 45) and go by Rob Ryan. On the one hand, it is an attempt to suppress his past, to change not only his past but also his identity, but on the other hand, it is also a protective mechanism, to prevent anyone at work from establishing the connection between the murder squad detective and the child from the mystery case.

The reader also learns very late, why Rob decided to become a detective (cf. ibid 186), a fact which at the beginning is only explained by “Contrary to what you might assume, I did not become a detective on some quixotic quest to solve my childhood mystery.” (ibid. 12). This again shows the denial of the past, although to Rob, it may certainly have seemed so when he made that decision. It is also possible that he really did believe he could leave his past behind and did not expect to be reconnected with it so suddenly. His difficult relation to the past is, however, not only reflected in connection to his childhood, but also when he narrates the story. There are several comments on his nostalgia and his loving recollection of pretty moments during his time with the murder squad: “But perhaps, the real reason I find it so difficult to talk about those weeks is that – in spite of all that, and of the fact that I know this do be self-indulgence I cannot afford – I miss them still.” (ibid. 199). This connection to the past may also be a reason why Rosalind has such an impact on Rob, and why it is so easy for her to fool him: “She looked at me with pure, unblemished faith in her eyes. I was flattered, of course, but at the same time, this level of trust made me very uncomfortable.” (ibid. 207). Of course, one could also argue that to a certain extent, Rob was attracted to her physically, yet mainly, he identifies too strongly with her situation because it reminds him of his own past, and because he sees himself in her situation: “I didn’t believe her of course. The lie was transparent (…) and it went straight to my heart (…) because I recognised it. (…) Children – and Rosalind was little more – don’t tell pointless lies unless the reality is too much to bear.” (ibid. 230). When he finally starts remembering, it is not voluntarily, and in the beginning, when he shows signs of weakness in connection with this process of remembering, he does not know how to cope. “I noticed that my body was having the old, infuriating automatic reaction to this conversation: shaking hands, racing pulse.” (ibid. 302). Rob tries to hide his reactions, both physical and psychical, which eventually only makes it worse and drives him towards sleep deprivation and alcohol. Other characters, especially Cassie, seem to notice the change in him earlier than he does himself: Her eyes on mine were suddenly sober, intent, questioning. ‘What?’ I said. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this interview.’ I didn’t answer. I didn’t move, just stood there on the bridge with my hand held out to her. After a moment she shook her head wryly and the expression that had startled me disappeared, and she caught my hand and let me pull her up. (ibid. 351).

This dialogue reveals that Cassie has already realised that the case has changed Rob, and that she briefly tries to be reasonable, but then decides to let it go. This indirect characterisation through others shows that even though Rob is the narrator, it is possible to get further hints at his character via the descriptions by other characters. Very late on in the novel, Cassie once states: ‘I’ve been worried about you (…).’ (ibid 370), as she has seen both the changes and the bad shape in which Rob has been, when he himself does not yet realise it: “I was in such a good mood that this unexpected protective streak, which normally would have given me the fidgets, seemed very touching.” (ibid), and does not take the concern of others seriously. Many of these character traits already hint at Rob being unreliable and psychologically not trustworthy enough to narrate a story. When taking a closer look at the typical characteristics of unreliable narration in this novel, it will become apparent to which extent Rob cannot function as a reliable source of information.

3.3.2. Characteristics of the Unreliable Narrator in Rob’s Narrative

The first thing that the reader learns about Rob is his inability to form proper relationships with others. Right at the beginning of the novel, he describes himself as an outsider, both during his studies and then at work. The only proper relationship he seems to be capable of is with Cassie, with whom he becomes very close so quickly it almost seems unreal again. He even spends more time at her flat than his, stays for sleepovers instead of going to his own apartment, which can be seen as a sign of the semantification of space that is so typical for unreliable narrators. Yet, in the end, even this relationship breaks down due to Rob’s social disfunction. In his narration, Rob often blurs the borders of reality and dreams, rendering it difficult for the reader to differentiate between fact and fiction. This is displayed specifically in his narration of past events, which seamlessly merge with the present. “The wood was silent, barely a whisper of wind through the branches overheard; somewhere a twig cracked. Peter, whirling around on the castle wall (…) We had been outside all day (…)” (ibid. 382). The first part of this quote takes place in the present, with Rob as an adult sitting in the wood, while the second part is already a memory, seamlessly merging into the first description. Gradually I became aware that under my sleeping-bag I was drenched in sweat; (…) Laughter streaming over Jamie’s shoulder like bright soap-bubbles, (..)Come on,

Adam, hurry, hurry up – (…) I thought of the torch but my fingers were frozen around it. I felt that gold thread twist and tug. Somewhere across the clearing something breathed; something big. (ibid. 392)

Here again, past and present are intertwined, as Rob sitting in the woods recollects memories, which interfere with his sensual perception of the present. Also, as has been mentioned before, there is little differentiation or development between the experiencing I and the narrating I, rather a melancholic look back to scenes he would like to relive. However, in the end, he also admits the mistakes he has made and judges his past behaviour more critically. “Now I think I was wrong. I failed to understand the one crucial thing: where the real danger lay. And I think this may have been, in the face of stiff competition, my single biggest mistake of all.” (ibid. 342). At the end of the narrative, evaluative comments are again used to justify Rob’s actions and to ask for the reader’s sympathy: I think it’s important to reiterate that, no matter what I may have claimed at the time, for most of Operation Vestal I was not in anything resembling a normal frame of mind. This may not be an excuse, but it is a fact. When I went into that wood, for example, I went into it on very little sleep and even less food and a considerable amount of accumulated tension and vodka, and I feel I should point out that it’s entirely possible that the subsequent events were either a dream or some kind of weird hallucination.” (ibid. 415).

Although before, the narrating I had melancholic recollections of the past, in the end he tries to distance himself from his experiencing I. Yet, he also accepts his mistakes and when he reflects on the case, feels a loss too: It was only much later, when the case was over and the dust had settled on the debris, when I prodded cautiously at the edges of my memory and came up empty; it was only then that I began to think this might be not a deliverance but a vast missed chance, an irrevocable and devastating loss. (ibid. 416).

The justification of actions is also one of the more frequently used characteristics of unreliable narration, especially towards the end of the novel. “(…) but remember that Cassie wasn’t the only one whose life had gone haywire, I was lost and confused and shaken to the core, and I held onto the only guidelines I could find.” (ibid. 426). Here again, Rob tries to arouse the reader’s sympathy and pleads for empathy instead of judgement. “Suddenly I was furious too, but not with Rosalind: with Damien (…). I am of course fully aware of both the irony and the tedious psychological explanations of this reaction, but at the time all I could think of was slamming into the interview room (…)”

(ibid. 514). In the aftermath, Rob admits that he is aware of his mistakes and of his misled sympathy for Rosalind, yet still justifies his reaction. “I was perfectly aware that I had been pretty shitty to Cassie lately – although I would argue that the situation was a complex one, and that I had my reasons.” (ibid. 495). Even in the aftermath, when it has become quite clear that he is to blame as well, Rob still tries to make other people responsible for his actions. I am intensely aware, by the way, that this story does not show me in a particularly flattering light. I am aware that within an impressively short time of meeting me, Rosalind had me coming to heel like a well-trained dog (…). But before you decide to despise me too thoroughly, consider this: she fooled you too. You had as good a chance as I did. I told you everything I saw, as I saw it at the time. And if that was in itself deceptive, remember, I told you that too: I warned you, right from the beginning, that I lie.” (565).

In this quote, Rob does not only explicitly address the reader, but he shifts the blame from himself to the reader. It is quite clear that the reader is dependent on the narrator and that the only way to judge a character is via the narrator’s depiction, yet Rob quite easily shakes off this responsibility and instead, puts the blame on the reader. In general, Rob frequently uses autoreferential comments on his unreliability and his memory loss, while at the same time reassuring the reader that he only tells his version of events and that somehow the reader has to sympathize with him instead of judging him. “I will come back to this story again and again, in any number of different ways. A poor thing, possibly, but mine own: this is the only story in the world that nobody but me will ever be able to tell.” (ibid. 6) Especially when they start bringing up the old case and retelling events of Rob’s past, he gets jumpier and easily frightened: The fire cracked and spat sharply. I caught it out of the corner of my eye and whipped round; I was sure I had seen something shoot out of the fireplace into the room, some small, black, clawed thing – baby bird, maybe, fallen down the chimney? – but there was nothing there. (ibid.223)

The more they talk about this case the more Rob starts to imagine things that no one seems to see except for him: “Something had darted across the road in front of the car – something dark and low to the ground (…). ‘It went straight across the road. You must have missed it. You were looking out the side.’ ‘Yeah,’ she said after what felt like a very long time.” (ibid. 260). These incidents show that he gets less reliable as a narrator with every incident that is connected to his past.

Along with this, Rob also begins to have trouble sleeping, and when he does he keeps dreaming of his past. In these descriptions, it is again difficult to differentiate between what is dream and what is memory. I was having trouble sleeping, even when I got the opportunity. I often do, as I’ve said, but this was different: in those weeks I kept finding myself trapped in some twilight zone between sleep and waking, unable to force my way into either. ‘Look out!’ voices said suddenly and loudly in my ear; or ‘I can’t hear you. What? What?’ (ibid. 223).

While the reader already sees what is happening to Rob, he himself seems to be unaware and insists that he is fine for a long time: Strange though it may seem, I had only just realised (…) that I was falling apart. I had been aware that I was sleeping less than usual and drinking more, that I was snappy and distracted and possibly sort of seeing things, but no specific incident had seemed particularly ominous or alarming in itself. (ibid.288).

His memory loss seems to be the only thing troubling him consciously: Actually this bothered me more than anything in this whole uncomfortable conversation. (…) It was entirely possible, of course, that she had unconsciously recast me as the hero, or that I had done it myself, lied to her at the time; but over the past few weeks I had come to think of my memories as solid, shining little things, to be hunted out and treasured, and it was deeply unsettling to think they might be fool’s gold, tricky and fog-shaped and not at all what they seemed.” (ibid. 281).

Throughout the novel, the more he remembers the more he is reassured that he will be able to remember the whole incident. Yet, after describing complete scenes of his childhood memories he also admits that even though he is sure they never happened, he remembers them as clearly as if they did (cf. 245). “Most people have no reason to know how memory can turn rogue and feral, becoming a force of its own and one to be reckoned with. Losing a chunk of your memory is a tricky thing, a deep-sea quake triggering shifts and upheavals too far distant from the epicentre to be easily predictable.” (ibid. 294). Here again he justifies his memory loss and the fact that some of his memories may be distorted. In combination with that, addressing the reader to create a closeness between narrator and addressee is a typical sign of unreliable narration. The more unreliable the narrator gets, the more he talks to the reader directly and tries to keep up the trust established before. “I knew, you see, that I had just made at least one of the biggest mistakes of my life.” (ibid. 403). Another typical feature of unreliable narration is the use

of comments, euphemisms and evaluative explanations of events, which twist the reality to fit the narrator’s needs. “I looked like something out of a zombie film (…). This is ridiculous, I thought, with a horrible rush of dizzy, detached amazement. How did this happen? Ho the hell did I end up here?” (ibid.289). This can lead to both the creation of a new reality for the narrator and the suppression or contortion of events in order to justify actions and behaviour. “(…) and I knew, beyond any doubt, that everything was going to be all right.” (ibid. 376). At the time when Rob makes this statement, it is already clear to the reader that nothing will be alright and that not all will end well, yet Rob still tries to convince both himself and the reader of a positive outcome. Throughout the novel, Rob does admit that he has a cruel streak in his character sometimes: “And I suppose a small part of me, whether through cruelty or detached curiosity or whatever, had noticed Cassie refused to say it, and wanted to see what would happen if she did.” (ibid. 343) This description already shows that even his close friends are sometimes treated with a detached, almost pathological interest. The unreliable narration is also reflected quite well in the narrative style: I cannot tell you, I wonder if you can imagine, how badly I wanted to do it. My whole life was shooting through my mind as a drowning man’s is said to – tear- sodden nights in a chilly dorm and bikes zigzagging look-Ma-no-hands, pocket- warm butter-and-sugar sandwiches, the detective’s voices yammering endlessly at my ears – and I knew we didn’t have enough, it would never stick, in twelve hours he would walk out that door free as a bird and guilty as sin.” (362).

Several characteristics of unreliable narration are apparent in this quote: a high degree of emotional involvement, addressing the reader directly, lists, run-on sentences, and a merging of past and present. The type of unreliable narration used in this novel can be defined as a consonant narration, as Rob does not disassociate himself from his past opinions but rather confirms them. It is also a self-narrated monologue, in which unfiltered past tense is used to tell the story exactly as the narrator thinks it happened. Finally, the narrative also fits the description of telling a dramatic moment and existential crisis in the life of the narrator, which has not been solved and is thus retold in an attempt to find a solution.

3.3.3. Rob’s Relation to Cassie

When analysing the Rob’s character, the single, most striking relationship that turns up in his otherwise socially empty life is the relation to his partner and best friend Cassie.

Right from the beginning, Rob describes Cassie in detail and it becomes quite clear throughout the novel that she is an important part of his life and that he knows her well. Even though when Cassie turns up in the murder squad, she is new to everybody, and Rob does not even express a particular interest in her, when they finally talk and meet properly they quickly become close friends, and then partners at work. “I can’t explain the alchemy that transmuted one evening into the equivalent of years held lightly in common. The only way I can put it is that we recognised, too surely for surprise, that we shared the same currency.” (ibid. 24). The other colleagues of course at first suspect an amorous affair, yet, for the main part of the novel, Rob and Cassie are just close friends. ‘That’s what I thought at first, sure: that you hadn’t met before. But then it seemed like you’d known each other for ages, so I just wondered were you old friends or… you know.’ ‘We get that a lot’, I said. People tended to assume we were cousins or had grown up next door to each other or something along those lines, and it always filled me with a private, unreasonable happiness. (ibid. 183).

In many scenes and dialogues, the closeness of Rob and Cassie can be seen merely by how they act in synchrony and how well they work together. ‘Rob, sweetie, you have to actually stir the sauce, not just hold the spoon in the pan.’ ‘Listen, Martha Stewart, am I doing this or are you?’ ‘Neither apparently.’ (…) ‘Maddox, it’s tinned tomatoes and basil, hardly haute cuisine –‘ ‘Did they surgically remove your palate at birth, or did you have to cultivate such an utter lack of refinement? Sam, wine?’ Sam looked a little bemused. Sometimes Cassie and I forget that we can have that effect on people, especially when we’re off duty and in a good mood, which we were.’ (ibid. 169).

The intimacy in this quote shows mainly by the way, the dialogue is held up by Cassie and Rob, taunting each other like siblings, throwing mock insults and ironic endearments at each other, but also sharing private jokes. “(…) Cassie and I argued over the nature of Time, or T.S. Eliot or scientific explanations for ghosts. Adolescent conversations, no doubt, and made more so by the fact that Cassie and I brought out the brat in each other (…)” (ibid.193). Here, the joke on them being siblings is referenced as well as the fact that they can talk about almost anything. They also share their biggest secrets, i.e. Cassie is the only one in the squad who knows about Rob’s past, while he is the only one who knows that Cassie did undercover work before she transferred to the Murder squad. This again emphasizes the close relationship of the two. “How can I ever make you understand Cassie and me? (…) She was the summertime cousin out of storybooks (…).” (ibid. 247). Rob often describes

Cassie like a sister or a cousin, emphasizing the closeness between them. Yet, they match each other perfectly not only in private, but also at work, when conducting an interview with a suspect or at a crime scene (for example cf. ibid. 53ff.). Also, at the beginning of the novel, Rob claims that Cassie saved him from becoming a frustrated outsider detective with no friends in the squad: “If it hadn’t been for Cassie, I think I might have ended up turning into that detective on Law and Order, the one who has ulcers and thinks everything is a government conspiracy” (ibid. 26). Their strongest connection is still via their work, and it is the trust they put into each other that intensifies their closeness as friends. The girls I dream of are the gentle ones, wistful by high windows or singing sweet old songs at a piano, long hair drifting, tender as apple-blossom. But a girl who goes into battle beside you and keeps your back is a different thing, a thing to make you shiver. Think of the first time you fell in love: that blinding explosion that left you crackling to the fingertips with electricity, initiated and transformed. I tell you that was nothing, nothing at all, beside the power of putting your lives, simply and daily, into each other’s hands. (ibid. 276)

Yet, in many descriptions of their relation, it is not quite clear whether Rob romanticises it in his memories, or whether it really did happen as he claims it did. As indicated above, Rob as a narrator tends to romanticize and gloss over scenes in his recollection, and it is quite possible that he does so with his relationship to Cassie. In the end, it is a simple, single mistake that breaks their friendship apart, one that always seems to happen to heterosexual friendships and might seem to be a cliché – their sleeping together. Yet, in this story, the point of departure is a slightly different one, as at this stage of the narrative, Rob is already a nervous wreck due to the case, and Cassie tries to support him as friend. Had it not been for Rob’s return to the wood to recollect his past and find his memories, it might never have happened, and Rob even claims afterwards that none of them had seen it coming. But it shatters their closeness already the very next morning: “ ‘Fair enough,’ she said cheerfully, but I knew something had passed between us, something alien and slender and dangerous. We held onto each other for a moment, hard, at the door of her flat.” (ibid. 402). This event can be defined as the climax of Rob’s personal narrative. Of course, the murder narrative and its solution are still going on, but from this moment, Rob and Cassie break apart and it wrecks not only their friendship, but themselves, too. “I genuinely felt, you see, although I’m unclear on the process by which my mind arrived at

this conclusion, that I had been wronged in some subtle but unpardonable way. If she had hurt me, I could have forgiven her without even having to think about it; but I couldn’t forgive her for being hurt.” (ibid.408). Rob, as the offended lover or friend, starts to ignore Cassie, does not talk to her anymore and treats her badly: “(…) and I would turn expressionlessly away from her white, uncomprehending face, giving her my shoulder with the priggish aloofness of an offended cat.” (ibid. 408). Yet, even he himself does not quite understand what went wrong in the aftermath. It seems that his mind was so confused at the time of the murder investigation that his reaction seemed reasonable and understandable from his point of view. But when he recalls the events later on, even he does not quite understand his reaction anymore. I can’t explain why I gave so little consideration to the possibility that Cassie might have told the simple, exact truth about what she wanted from me. After all, I had never known her to lie (…). It had never occurred to me that her wretchedness might actually be the result not of unrequited passion but of losing her closest friend – which I think I can, without deceiving myself, say that I was. It sounds like arrogance, fancying myself some irresistible Casanova, but I truly don’t think it was that simple.” (ibid. 426).

Here, Rob still tries to offer a justification to the reader, claiming that there is no easy solution. At the same time, not behaving as a friend, he completely ignores the fact that Cassie seems to be getting no sleep and loses weight. He obviously realises these changes as he describes them to the reader, yet he turns a blind eye to them all the same. Even when Cassie explains to him that for her, nothing has changed, he does not believe her. “Cassie spread her hands. ‘Rob,’ she said: this small clear puzzled voice, I’ll never be able to forget. ‘Rob, it’s just me.’ (ibid. 425). In the end, the novel describes the sad development of their relationship in all its details and brutal clearness, and Rob finally also realises what he has lost by ignoring his feelings and being too self-centred at that time. But by then it is too late for them to go back to normal, even though it takes its time for their accustomed ways to change, especially in the event of danger: ‘Cassie,’ I said, and held out my arms to her. My chest felt as if it was bursting open. ‘Oh, Cassie.’ Her hands came up, reaching, and for an instant I swear her whole body moved towards me. Then she remembered. Her hands dropped and her head went back, her gaze skidding aimlessly across the wide blue sky.” (ibid.556).

Rob’s reaction here comes naturally to him, and at first so does Cassie’s. This scene shows that their intimacy had really existed but had broken down and left them both lonely. This incident shows Rob’s reflection of Cassie, which has to be kept in mind when getting a first impression of Cassie in the next chapter. It will also reappear in Cassie’s characterisation of herself in the following novel.

3.3.4. Cassie Maddox – In the Woods

The characterisation and first impression of Cassie is of course coloured by Rob’s descriptions of her: “I realised, with a sudden small shot of unease, that I had no way of knowing how Cassie came across to other people. It was like trying to tell whether your sister is pretty or something: I could no more be objective about her than about myself.” (ibid. 210). However, many basic facts about her can be taken for granted even if Rob gives an account of what he was told by Cassie. In general, Cassie, as the main female character featuring in In the Woods also represents the gender aspect in the novels, described right at the beginning of the novel when Cassie joins the murder squad as a new detective, and rumours run high among the other exclusively male detectives about her and her background without even having seen her yet first. We heard about Cassie days before she joined the squad (…). For one thing she was a woman, which caused a certain amount of poorly sublimated outrage. (…) Cassie was only the fourth woman Murder had taken on (…). Also, Cassie was only twenty-eight and only a few years out of Templemore.” (ibid. 13).

This quote shows that the murder squad is not only male dominated, but also still very conservative in their thoughts. However, Cassie uses this as an advantage and often makes fun of both the stereotypes and the role she is supposed to have as a woman. She is easy- going with the other detectives and, as Rob describes her, not the ‘girly’ type, thus fitting in by rebutting any gender stereotypes. Her role as a woman in the squad is also emphasized by the fact that her chief, O’Kelly does not like her for being a woman: “He dislikes Cassie for a series of mind- numbingly predictable reasons – her sex, her clothes, her age, her semi-heroic record – and the predictability bothers her far more than the dislike.” (ibid. 29). O’Kelly is also the one who treats her derisively whenever there is a slight chance of Cassie acting

stereotypical and solving cases on intuition, i.e. when she suggests a psychological approach to a murder case (cf. ibid. 528). Thus, Rob and Cassie often swap roles in order to get what they need in a case: This was my line; (…) but if Cassie had said it O’Kelly would have gone off into a long snide boring routine about women’s intuition. (…) ‘Oh, God, Maddox. What, did Cosmo run an article on Satanism this month?’ O’Kelly’s disregard for cliché is so sweeping that it almost has its own panache.” (ibid 97ff.).

These types of comments show quite well the stereotypes played on in the novel. This is also reflected in the climax of the murder investigation, when Cassie tries to get a confession from Rosalind by playing the part of the vulnerable woman left by her lover (ibid. 539ff.). In private life, Cassie is also not depicted as the stereotypical woman, who is weak and needs help from men. Starting out with the very first description of her by Rob, one gets quite a good picture of Cassie’s appearance: “She was barely medium height, with a cap of dark curls and a boyish, slim, square-shouldered build. She wasn’t my type (…).” (ibid. 15). This description already shows that Rob does not think of her as classically beautiful but rather boyish, which corresponds with the fact that she tries to fit into a masculine world. Even her clothes seem to express that same mentality: “She was wearing combats and a wine-coloured woollen jumper with sleeves that came down past her wrists, and clunky trainers, and I put this down as affectation: Look, I’m too cool for your conventions.” (ibid.16). Later on, Rob also describes her as looking younger than her age and even admits that he thinks she is pretty though his first impression of her was different: (…)her skin was poreless as a child’s, and her features – wide mouth, high round cheek-bones, tilted nose, long curves of eyebrow – made other people’s look smudged and blurry. As far as I could tell she never wore make-up, except for a red-tinted lip balm that smelled of cinnamon and made her seem even younger. Few people would have considered her beautiful, but my tastes have always leaned towards bespoke rather than brand-name, and I took far more pleasure in looking at her than at any of the busty blonde clones whom magazines, insultingly, tell me I should desire.” (ibid. 21).

In this description, one can see that Rob has looked at Cassie and her looks quite closely, and this offers the chance for the reader to get a good image of her. However, here again, the emphasis is put on the fact that Cassie is not traditionally beautiful, as he later on states again: “I have always considered Cassie to be very clearly feminine, but I could see

how, to a certain kind of mind, the haircut and the lack of make-up and the boys’- department corduroys would add up to Sapphic tendencies (…)” (ibid. 25). All these descriptions add up to the picture of Cassie as clearly not stereotypically feminine, both in looks and in her actions. Yet, this anti-stereotype is also what makes Cassie appealing to Rob, and also appeal to the reader as a likeable character. On their first encounter when Cassie’s Vespa breaks down and Rob offers to help her, her role as opposing gender stereotypes is once more shown: ‘The thingy? Honestly, girls.’ I immediately regretted it (…). But Cassie gave me a deliberate, sideways look, and then clasped her hands with a wet spat and said in a breathy Marilyn voice, ‘Ohhh, I’ve always dreamed of a knight in shining armour coming along and rescuing little me! Only in my dreams he was good-looking.” (ibid. 18).

It is in those first few pages of the novel that the reader gets to know a lot about Cassie, mainly because Rob also only gets acquainted with her and summarizes the information about her. For instance, Rob learns that Cassie worked undercover and was stabbed before she transferred to murder, which is an information that will be quite important for Cassie’s self-characterisation in the second novel. As regards sociality, it becomes clear quite early on that Cassie, similar to Rob, is not a sociable person and likes to keep to herself (cf. ibid 278): “Contrary to appearance, Cassie is not a particularly social person, any more than I am; she is vivacious and quick with banter and can talk to anyone, but given the choice she prefers my company to that of a big group.” (ibid, 26). This again emphasized and explains the closeness between Cassie and Rob, as both of them are solitary, yet like to keep each other company. Similar to Rob, Cassie still has family somewhere in the country, yet her parents died when she was very young and she was brought up by an aunt and uncle (cf. ibid 192), which leaves her without strong family connections. It is also never quite clarified whether Cassie has a boyfriend, although she mentions having had one before her undercover work. Here again, Rob is not quite clear about the facts: “realising as I spoke that I had no idea how much action Cassie got.(…) and I like to think I would have known if she’d been dating someone, whatever that means, but beyond that I had no idea.” (273). Yet, these puzzles, the information that is omitted, make Cassie such an interesting character, and that also fascinate Rob:

There has always been something enigmatic about Cassie. This is one of the things I like in her, and I like it all the more for being, paradoxically, a quality that isn’t readily apparent, elusiveness brought to so high a level it becomes almost invisible. (…) There were questions she wouldn’t answer, topics she would discuss only in the abstract; try to pin her down and she would skim away laughing, as nimbly as a figure skater.” (ibid 177).

Cassie is quick-thinking, intelligent and easily focuses her mind on the essential things. This becomes clear when describing her work as a detective as well as in her banter with Rob. When working on the case, Cassie is completely focused: I love watching Cassie when she’s concentrating. Utterly focused, she is as absent and unselfconscious as a child – twisting a finger in a curl at the back of her head, pulling her legs into effortlessly odd angles, flipping a pen around her mouth and abruptly pulling it out to murmur something to herself.” (ibid. 171).

Her background in psychology often allows her to see the facts in a case from a different angle and offer new perspectives, and she is sometimes asked to profile suspects in a case, as she has the background knowledge for it. Even though she is clear-headed and focused most of the time, even Cassie sometimes loses her temper and gets angry, especially when Rob drives her mad and behaves terribly on purpose. “Cassie had a pretty good arm; (…) I had seen her in a temper before – I tell her it’s her French grandfather’s fault, Mediterranean lack of self-control – and I knew she’d settle down now she’d taken it out on the tree.” (ibid. 308). This side is what makes Cassie human in Rob’s descriptions, as well as her child-like and unselfconscious side: She shook back the hood and took off down the strand in a long chain of cartwheels and flips, her coat tumbling around her shoulders. My initial impression of Cassie was satisfyingly spot-on: she did gymnastics for eight years as a kid and was apparently quite good. (…) When I caught up with her she was breathless and dusting sand off her hands. ‘Better?’, I asked. ‘Much.’ (ibid 160)

One striking feature in Cassie, which is described by Rob as atypical in a detective, is her determination never to lie. It is also one of the character traits that emphasizes how terribly wrong events turned out between her and Rob, as he admits in the end not to have believed her even though he knew she never lied: ‘We’re dealing with truth, finding truth. That’s serious business.’ This is one of Cassie’s quirks, especially odd in a detective. She omits things, eludes questions with open mischief or so subtly you hardly notice her doing it, spins misleading phrases with a conjurer’s expertise; but I had never known her to lie outright, not even to a suspect. (ibid. 189)

Finally, one aspect of Cassie that the reader gets to know is that her past also haunts her sometimes, as does Rob’s, which can again be seen as a reason for their closeness. As indicated above, Cassie studied psychology for some time, and during this period had a terrible experience with a psychopath. This incident still haunts her, and causes her nightmares, a fact that Rob notices when he sleeps on her sofa: “‘Is that what your nightmares are about?’ I said gently, after a moment. I had woken her from these dreams – flailing at me, gasping incomprehensible spates of words – twice before, when we had worked rape-murders, but she would never tell me the details.” (ibid. 342). It is also because of this knowledge and her background that she realises what Rosalind is and what she is capable of, and why she finally gets a confession. Yet, this incident also leaves a mark on Cassie: “‘Scratched me,’ Cassie said. Her voice was terrible, high and eerie. ‘She touched me Sam, that thing touched me, Jesus, she spat – Get it off me. Get it off.” (ibid. 557). It is this ending of the case, as well as her broken relationship that make Cassie transfer from murder in the end, yet it is never quite clear whether it was Rob’s ignorance or the outcome or both that influenced her that much. The reader never gets to know the reason for her decision, only that Cassie transferred to Domestic Violence, and that she got engaged to Sam (ibid. 587), which is the situation in which one finds her at the beginning of the following novel, The Likeness. Yet, from Rob’s characterisation of Cassie, one already gets quite a clear picture of her, one that is developed in the following novel.

3.3.5. Cassie Maddox – The Likeness

When the reader encounters Cassie again, it is only a few weeks after the events of In the Woods, and it becomes quite clear early on that she has changed a lot compared to the first book. Some of the information that Rob has offered about her in the first novel is, however, confirmed by Cassie herself. She still has the same old Vespa that goes on strike when the weather is bad. “I drive an ancient, bockety Vespa, which is like totally uncool in a town where you are what you spend (…) and it provides a handy social shortcut, in that anyone who gives it a snotty look is probably not going to be my new best friend.” (French, The Likeness, 18). In this quote, the ‘old’ Cassie, the one who was untouched by Operation Vestal, still shows, in her ironic description of her Vespa as a social marker, as well as in her describing herself as totally uncool. This quote also offers a first impression

of Cassie as a narrator, who is both ironic and realistic, yet at the same time tends to romanticise scenes almost as much as Rob does. “(…) all I could feel was every muscle loosening like I was eight years old and cartwheeling myself dizzy on some green hillside, like I could dive a thousand miles through cool blue water without once needing to breathe. I had been right: freedom smelled like ozone and thunderstorms and gunpowder all at once, like snow and bonfires and cut grass, it tasted like seawater and oranges.” (ibid, 427).

Descriptions like these depict Cassie as a narrator who uses imagery a lot, and like Rob, she tends to sugarcoat the picture when recollecting it afterwards. “Ribs of sunlight flashing across my eyes, Daniel leaning against the wall and smiling with a crumple of sandpaper forgotten in his hand, my skirt whirling up like a bell as Justin swung me away from him and then in again. (…) Smell of polish, and the sawdust spinning lazy curls through the long columns of light.” (ibid, 261).

The scene in this quote is described like a painting, a cut-out moment of a happy life, with the people in it enjoying themselves, and Cassie as a part of it. Cassie as a narrator also talks to the reader, yet she only does so a couple of times throughout the whole novel, not addressing the reader too often, and only sparsely justifying herself or her actions: “Give me more credit than that. Someone else may have dealt the hand, but I picked it off the table, I played every card, and I had my reasons.” (ibid, 3). Also, Cassie, when remembering this case and re-telling it, tends to think of her time as an undercover in the house as something positive, as a place where she belongs. This may also be related to her childhood, which although described as a happy one by her, was also lonely to a certain extent, as with her parents gone she seemed to belong nowhere. My mother’s father was French, and somehow the French and the Irish combined into something specific and distinctive. I don’t have brothers and sisters; what I mainly have is aunts, uncles and large cheerful gangs of second cousins, and none of them look anything like me. My parents died when I was five. (ibid,47)

In a state like Ireland, where according to Cassie, everyone is related to everyone (cf. ibid, 50), she missed a family, someone who looked exactly like her. “What I wanted was someone I belonged with, beyond any doubt or denial; someone where every glance was a guarantee, solid proof that we were stuck to each other for life.” (ibid). When she encounters Lexie, her almost perfect lookalike, and takes her place in her circle of friends, she finally seems to belong somewhere, which may be the reason why in her memories, she romanticises these moments.

It took my breath away that evening. If you’ve ever dreamed that you walked into your best-loved book or film or TV programme, then maybe you’ve got some idea how it felt: things coming alive around you, strange and new and utterly familiar at the same time; the catch in your heartbeat as you move through the rooms that had such a vivid untouchable life in your mind (…). (ibid, 163)

However, it would be wrong to conceive Cassie as a character with strong romantic tendencies, as she is actually a pragmatic and realistic person, who, does not give in to weakness and fights her way out of every problem. Even when describing the death of her parents and people feeling sorry for her for losing them, all she can think of is the fact that she cannot remember them properly. Also, during the case, when events get uncomfortable for her, she remains calm and keeps her head and fights through. “I am not the fainting type. I bit down, hard and fast, on the inside of my lip; the jolt of pain cleared my head.” (ibid, 27). “I was terrified, blue blazing terrified, fear dropping straight through me like a jagged black stone falling fast. I’d felt this before (…): Those instants when the irrevocable thing you wanted so much suddenly turns real and solid, inches away and speeding at you, (…). All you can do with that moment is bite down and wait for it to be over.” (157).

These descriptions show that Cassie does not tend to panic easily and that even when she knows things can get tough for her, she endures them without complaining. Also, Cassie describes herself as a brave person, someone who is not easily frightened by the things that most people are scared of: “I was never afraid of getting killed and I was never afraid of losing my nerve. My kind of courage holds up best under fire; it’s different dangers, more refined and insidious ones, that shake me.” (ibid, 78). These ‘insidious’ events refer to psychological tolls that murder and detective work take, things that cannot be easily dealt with, i.e. convicting a psychopath when Cassie already had bad experiences with one. This shows that Cassie is not easily rattled by minor events, but only by cases that affect her personally and make her afraid. As does this case, when she finally breaks and gives in: “Then I startled the living hell out of myself by bursting into tears. I hadn’t cried in months, not for Rob, not for my lost life in Murder, not for any of the terrible fallout of Operation Vestal, but I cried then.” (ibid, 578). Although Operation Vestal was already hard for Cassie in the end, this case seems to have affected her differently, as she is more involved in it and sympathises with the afflicted persons more than in her last case.

The impact of Operation Vestal can still be detected in Cassie, as she herself states, she used not to freak out easily, not even when she was stabbed as an undercover, but in her present state, she seems to be in a kind of trauma: I came out with a variety of symptoms that would have made the shrink bounce up and down in his little leather sandals (…). It was your standard-issue trauma stuff – shaking, not eating, sticking to the ceiling every time the doorbell or the phone rang – with a few ornamentations of my own. My coordination went funny; for the first time in my life I was tripping on my own feet, bumping into doorjambs, bonking my head off cupboards. And I stopped dreaming. (ibid, 13)

This picture does accord with the description that Rob gives of Cassie in the final stages of Operation Vestal, yet it starkly deviates from the one the reader has previously come to know, where Cassie is depicted as a more positive and strong character. At the beginning of the present case, Cassie seems to have lost her sense of humour and she is not happy neither in her job nor in her personal life. However, as she starts getting involved in the case, returning to her roots as an undercover and as a Murder detective, she seems to liven up, which also shows that she is passionate about her job and that losing her place at Murder was hard for her: “It felt good, getting stuck into the case like this, like I was just a Murder detective again and she was just another victim; it spread through me strong and sweet and soothing as hot whiskey after a long day in wind and rain.” (ibid,102). This feeling also shows when Cassie returns to the Murder squad building for the first time after Operation Vestal and remembers quite fondly all the things she experienced in it: (…) me running down those stairs with a bunch of files in each hand and an apple caught between my teeth, my partner and me high-fiving each other outside that door after getting our first confession in that interview room; the two of us double- teaming the superintendent down that hallway, one in each ear, trying to hassle him into giving us more time. (ibid, 80)

However, later on, when she is invited back to the same building to witness the interrogation of a suspect in the present case, she is too afraid to go into the building all by herself. (cf. ibid, 401). This is also due to the fact that she still feels a strong connection to the Murder squad and does not want to be seen as an outsider only visiting. Later in the novel, this connection also shows when she is again invited to the building, this time however in her role as Lexie, and has to wait in an interview room, like a true suspect: “I felt like yelling at the camera, I used to work here, dickhead, this is my turf, don’t try that shit on me.” (ibid, 561).

Generally, Cassie is depicted as having a strong connection to her work, which she is not only passionate about, but also good at. This is true for her work as a murder detective: I had one, at least, of the things that make a great detective: the instinct for truth, the inner magnet whose pull tells you beyond any doubt what’s dross, what’s alloy and what’s the pure uncut metal. (…) until I found out – Operation Vestal again – how slippery they were, how easily they crumbled, how deep they sliced and, in the end, how very little they were worth. (ibid, 116)

It seems, however, that her strong conviction to always tell the truth, which is also described by Rob in the first novel, has started to crumble. This may also be due to the fact that undercover is a department where it is quite common to lie: “(…) I had managed to miss the most obvious thing about it: you spend your day lying. I don’t like lying, don’t like doing it, don’t like people who do it, and to me it seemed deeply fucked-up to go after the truth by turning yourself into a liar.” (ibid, 117). Still, even in undercover, Cassie is quite good at what she does, which is both reflected in the way she talks about her work, but also confirmed by other characters. For instance, Frank seems to be really shocked when he hears that Cassie is working a desk job now and seems to think it a waste of talent (cf. ibid, 42). When Cassie was first employed by Frank, he made the decision based on one interview with her, which always remains a riddle to her: “I still don’t know where, along the way, he made the decision. For a long time, I waited for the right moment to ask him. Now I’m not sure, any more, whether I want to know what he saw in me; what it was that told him I would be good at this.” (ibid, 8). Yet it seems to have come naturally to her, and when she later on tells Sam about undercover, she also describes herself as quite a good detective. (cf. 77). This may also stem from the fascination that Cassie has about undercover work right from the beginning. “I walked back to the bus station dazzled, wrapped in magic, floating in the middle of a secret and brand-new world, with the timeline making little crackling noises in the pocket of my uniform jacket. It was that quick, and it felt that simple.” (ibid,10). In this quote as well as in the ones used above for the description of undercover work, Cassie describes undercover as something shiny and thrilling, but also an area of work that makes one addicted and never lets one go. This shows that work, for Cassie, is not only important, but something she is really passionate about, a fact that is also revealed at the

end of the novel, when she talks to Sam about wanting to transfer back to Murder (cf. ibid 654) and missing her work as a murder detective. It also becomes more obvious that Cassie, although not described so by Rob, is a person who needs people, friends and family, especially as she lost her parents early on in her life. Even other characters describe her as an open person, someone who easily makes friends: “You don’t strike me as a person who’s ever had difficulty making friends;” (ibid, 528). Rob described her as a private person who would rather be with him than with a big crowd, yet Cassie herself says: I realised that, whether I wanted to or not, I was enjoying having Frank there. I used to have people over all the time – friends, my old partner, sprawled on the sofa and staying up too late, music in the background and everyone a little tipsy – but it had been a long time since anyone but Sam had been to my flat, a longer time since I had laughed like this, and it felt good. (ibid, 63)

Cassie not only enjoys having people around, but she is also fed up with her state of unhappiness, which she only realises when she begins to enjoy herself again. From this point on, she slowly but surely becomes her old self again, a more positive and self- conscious character. In this novel, Cassie also has a relationship with a character that already appeared in the first book, Sam, another Murder detective who worked on Operation Vestal with Cassie. “Sam – my boyfriend, although that idea still startled me sometimes – (…)” (ibid,13), who is a calm, down-to-earth type accepting Cassie the way she is, and helps her through the rough patch she encounters after the murder case (cf. ibid, 660). However, as can be seen from the quote, Cassie is not quite used to the idea of having a relationship, and throughout the novel, she becomes more and more estranged from him, on the one hand as a result of the undercover work, but on the other also because she identifies strongly with her role as Lexie, who would not be tied down by anybody. Cassie, of course, has already been described by Rob as an independent, strong woman, yet in this novel, she even more becomes someone who does not want to be tied too closely to someone and stripped of her freedom by a relationship. “The possessiveness of him, standing in the middle of my floor with his feet planted and his fists jammed furiously in his pockets: my case, my woman.” (ibid, 71). Here, Cassie is annoyed by Sam as he is too protective and too possessive already before the case even starts, and although he is only

worried that something might happen to her in the undercover mission, it is still too much for Cassie. He was like this enormous feather duvet wrapped all around my life, smothering me to nothing with holidays and protective questions and gentle, inexorable warmth. I wanted to fling him off with one violent buck and take a huge breath of cold air, all my own again. (ibid, 483)

The longer Cassie stays in her role as Lexie, the more she feels threatened by Sam’s presence, although he does not do anything to provoke this reaction. In the end, however, when the case is closed and Cassie is finally herself again, she longs for Sam and is afraid that he will leave her: “I wanted to ring Sam so badly it was like being dehydrated, but I didn’t have anything left inside me to handle it, not that night, if he didn’t answer.” (ibid 649). “I couldn’t say to him, When I was sure I was about to be shot, you were what I thought in my last second. I couldn’t even say Please. All I could do was sit there on the futon with my hand stretched out, not breathing, and hope to God that I hadn’t left it too late.” (ibid, 653).

This shows that in the end, even Cassie has a breaking point and that she does not want to be alone, especially when she is exhausted at the end of the case. And when Sam stays, and also proposes to her, she accepts him and finally settles. Her depiction as an independent woman again emphasises the gender aspect, as she is not represented in a traditional role, but as a strong woman with a job, again in a domain where most of her colleagues and supervisors are men. Cassie’s striving for independence is a character trait that links her strongly to Lexie, whom they believe to have been fiercely independent, as she ran away every time somebody tried to tie her down, but she feels that link to her also as Frank and Cassie first invented her that way: “We made her a restless one, Lexie: bright and educated, a good girl all her life, but brought up without the habit of settling and never learned the knack.” (ibid, 9). Cassie feels akin to Lexie, not only because she invented her and thus of course added some characteristics that she values herself, but also as she identifies with her more and more the longer she plays her role. “But that was the thing: for me, it had always been [easy]. Both times, being Lexie Madison had come as natural to me as breathing. I had slid into her like sliding into comfy old jeans, and this was what had scared me, all along.” (ibid, 365). Throughout the case, Cassie settles into her role as Lexie, on the one hand, as has been indicated above, because she likes to belong somewhere and has a place in the

house, but also because she realises that Lexie had a similar mind and that some of Cassie’s ideas are the same as Lexie’s (cf. ibid, 459). Even other characters describe her as strikingly similar: “‘You’re very like Lexie, you know,’ he said. ‘Not only physically, but temperamentally as well. (…) She was like an ice skater balanced effortlessly on the edge of her own speed, throwing in joyous, elaborate twirls and leaps just for the hell of it.’” (ibid, 492). This comparison is even more striking, as Rob describes Cassie as an ice skater in the first novel as well, as does Daniel in this quote about Lexie. Interestingly, Cassie at the beginning of the case even seems to despise this strange girl who looks like her and states: “What I wanted from her in exchange – I really believed this, at the time – was simple: I wanted her the fuck out of my life.” (ibid, 116). However, when the case develops, Lexie’s character gets more interesting to Cassie and she finally even sees her as a way to achieve freedom: “Lexie in dim gold light on the screen was a dark lake I could high-dive into, she was a thin-ice river I could skate away on, she was a long-distance flight leaving now.” (ibid, 115). This fascination with her is dangerous for Cassie as she gets too involved in the case, and over time she sometimes loses touch with reality and imagines herself staying forever. She avoids giving Frank clues in order to delay her departure and even becomes estranged from Sam (cf. ibid 394, 354). Also, when she returns to her housemates as Lexie after interviewing a suspect, Cassie states: “Rafe’s hair was standing up in cowlicks and Abby had pen smudged on one cheekbone and they had no idea how beautiful they looked to me, how close we’d come to losing each other.” (428). Here she does not admit it directly, but one can see already that she cares too much about the others and that in her role as Lexie, she has become too close to them and does not want to leave her place among them. Right at the beginning of the novel, she explains to the reader that “This is Lexie Madison’s story, not mine.” (ibid, 3), thus making it clear that Cassie is not the main character in her own story. Yet in the end, even Cassie realises that the person she thought Lexie to be, may have never existed, and that she was just the undercover character she and Frank had invented: “(…) she had let me make her into what I was longing to see. A master key to open every slamming door, a neverending freeway to a million clean starts. There’s no such thing.” (ibid, 472). This realisation makes it easier for Cassie to finally separate herself from Lexie for good. “All I knew was that I needed the end of that story, that I needed to be the one who brought it home, and that I was frightened. I don’t scare

easy, but just like Daniel, I’ve always known that there’s a price to pay.” (ibid, 543). Here, Cassie has already disassociated herself from Lexie, and she has already been discovered by Daniel to be a fake. She also admits that one reason for her to stay so long, longer even than Frank wanted her to, was that she had to find the solution herself, be it because of her personal involvement in the case or because she still feels that Lexie is her responsibility. Also, she admits her fear, which shows that for Cassie, this case again affects her personally and drives her very close to her breaking point. Finally, one aspect of Cassie’s characterisation that has to be discussed is her relation to Rob, which has already been analysed from Rob’s perspective, but also recurs frequently in Cassie’s narrative in this novel. As indicated above, Cassie life was strongly affected by Operation Vestal, which she herself admits. Somewhere in there, I never knew the exact moment, my life had slipped through my hands and smashed to smithereens. Everything I had – my job, my friends, my flat, my clothes, my reflection in the mirror – felt like it belonged to someone else, some clear-eyed straight-backed girl I could never find again. I was a wrecked thing smeared over with dark finger-marks and stuck with shards of nightmare, and I had no right to be there any more. (ibid, 210)

This change of life is of course not only due to the case, but also due to what happened between her and Rob. In the beginning of the novel, Cassie never mentions Rob’s name, but only refers to him as ‘her partner’ or ‘ex-partner’, which already shows that she is not only trying to forget him, but also suppress any specific memory concerning him. Only when she returns to the Murder Squad building at the beginning of the new case, and her old chief O’Kelly asks about him, she starts to use his name again (cf. ibid 81). This is also the first time that Cassie allows herself to think about Rob consciously: I wanted Rob, dammit. I had never let myself think that before, not one time in all the months since we stopped talking, no matter how tired I got or how late at night it was. At first I wanted to kick his ass so badly it was doing my head in, I was throwing things at my wall on a regular basis. So I stopped thinking about him altogether. But the squad room around me, and the four of them peering intently as if I were some exotic forensic exhibit, and those photos so close to my cheek I could feel them; (…) I would have sold a limb to have Rob there for just an instant, raising a sardonic eyebrow at me behind O’Kelly’s back (…). (ibid, 85)

Cassie admits not only to missing Rob, but also to having been really angry about him, but her return to her old workplace makes her miss him all the same. Later on, when Cassie is already involved in the new case and working as an undercover, the closeness the housemates share among themselves reminds her of her

intimacy with Rob, which may also be the reason why she feels so good among them herself. “Something fast and needle-fine darted through me, a shot of pure distilled pain. Rob and I used to sit like that on my sofa, through long late nights.” (ibid, 310). Her comparison between these friends and her and Rob is a dangerous one, primarily because it makes her miss Rob again, something that she has tried to fend off for a long time, but also because it increases her involvement in the new case. In one of the final scenes before the case collapses, Cassie even admits to Daniel that she has compared the housemates’ friendship to herself and Rob: ‘I used to have a partner,’ I said. ‘at work. Nobody you’ve met; he’s not working this case. We were like you guys: we matched. People talked about us the way you do about twins, like we were one person – “That’s MaddoxandRyan’s case, get MaddoxandRyan to do it…” If anyone had asked me, I’d have said this was it: the two of us, for the rest of our careers, we’d retire on the same day so neither of us would ever have to work with anyone else and the squad would give us one gold watch between us.’ (ibid, 505)

Her description her relationship to Rob shows how close they really were, not only from Rob’s perspective but also from Cassie’s, and that they both seemed to have believed for a long time, that they could go on like this forever. Even before she starts her work as an undercover, in her week of preparation with Frank, Cassie is reminded of her last case, when she, Rob and Sam used to have late nights at her flat: For a second I felt like the air in the room had gone dark with pure sadness, bitter and ineradicable as smoke. (…) here in my flat: late nights, whiskey, Rob stretched out on the sofa cat’s-cradling an elastic band and testing everything I came up with for holes. On Operation Vestal, we’d brought Sam along (…) and all I could think was how happy the three of us had been, in spite of everything, and how fatally, devastatingly innocent. (…) this wasn’t the same thing, it was like a mocking reflection in some creepy distorting mirror, and all I could think was, ludicrously, I want to go home. (ibid, 127)

Her description of these evenings is almost as melancholy as Rob’s, both of them longing to go back to this time, when they were happy and oblivious of what might happen. Again, in her memories, Cassie seems to romanticise these scenes slightly, especially when comparing them to her present situation. When Cassie feels pressured and the case is about to be closed, forcing her to leave her new friends and return to a life that she perceives as lonely, Cassie almost contacts Rob again:

Before I understood that I was doing it, I set my phone number to Private and dialled Rob’s mobile. (…) I knew this was very possibly the stupidest thing I’d done in my life, but I didn’t know how not to do it. ‘Ryan,’ he said on the second ring, wide awake; Rob always had trouble sleeping. When I couldn’t answer he said, with a sudden new alertness in his voice, ‘Hello?’ I hung up. In the second before my thumb hit the button I thought I heard him say, fast and urgent, ‘Cassie?’ but my hand was already moving (…). (ibid, 545)

It can be seen here that Cassie still misses Rob, even if she hardly ever admits it, and that in a moment of crisis, her subconscious turns towards the person she used to trust the most. At the same time, however, she knows it is a bad idea and decides to hang up before any damage is done. It is the only time throughout the whole novel that Cassie tries to contact Rob, and this incident proves that she is in a desperate situation which forces her to turn to the only other person not involved in the case to whom she would have liked to talk. Also, from her description of the call, it seems that Rob also still thinks about her, as she is the first person he comes up with who might have called him. In the end, however, Cassie finally closes the matter, when she realises that in her opinion, it was mainly Rob’s fault: “Rob, my partner, my shieldmate, my closest friend, ripped me out of his life and threw me away because he wanted me to sleep with him and I did it.” (ibid, 658). In a way, by doing what he wanted from her, she ruined this friendship, but the way she formulates this sentence shows quite clearly that for her, it was a betrayal that he left her afterwards when they were so close before. In those final scenes of the novel, Cassie realises that what happened to her and Rob was inevitable, and that for her, it is over (cf. ibid 661) and she can have a new start with Sam, which is not only the situation the reader leaves her in, but also the one in which Rob remembers her in his final descriptions in In the Woods, thus merging both portrayals of Cassie in one common ending.

3.3.6. Comparison of Cassie in the Two Versions

As the two characterisations of Cassie have been analysed, it is now possible to draw a brief conclusion of her character when comparing both Rob’s other-characterisation and Cassie’s self-characterisation. To start with the correspondent character traits of Cassie, it can be said that Cassie is in both novels represented as a non-stereotypical woman, who makes fun of the gender conventions, e.g. in her workplace dominated by men where she is a mate to her

colleagues and mocks the ones who treat her differently because she is a woman. These incidents happen in both novels, and Cassie not only defies them but takes them on humorously. Also, she is not described as dressing specifically female or wearing makeup in either novel, and Cassie does not think of herself as pretty, but having distinctive features. Her past haunts her in both novels, although it is different events that influence her, i.e. in the first novel it is the psychopath from university, while in the second it is Operation Vestal. Both incidents, however, have left a trace on Cassie, and make her more vulnerable in her present case. However, she also uses her past, i.e. her background knowledge on psychology, in both novels to profile the murderer, thus eluding the past that haunts her and instead using it as an advantage. This also depicts her strong character and her capability to use her weaknesses as strengths, a trait that is described by both Rob and herself. Her focus on work can also be seen in both novels and her determination and passion for what she does is evident in her descriptions of Rob and in her self-portrayal. Also, Cassie’s family situation is given attention in both novels, as it is first mentioned by Rob, but then more information is added by Cassie about her parents and her family. And finally, a character trait that is described in both novels is Cassie’s truthfulness, her belief that the truth will come out in the end and her distress about having to lie in undercover. Fewer of Cassie’s character traits are contrasted in the novels, an only two of them really strike out. Firstly, Rob describes Cassie as a private person, someone who can talk to everybody but likes to be close with only few people, especially Rob. This is refuted by Cassie, who claims that before Operation Vestal she liked to invite friends over to her flat, not only Rob, and obviously enjoys having the four housemates around. This may be due to the fact that Rob himself is not sociable and that by imposing his own affliction on Cassie, the tie between them became stronger. However, it is also possible that he did not want Cassie to be sociable and liked the idea of having her for himself. What it does show is that Rob may have imposed character traits on Cassie in order to make her more fitting as a friend and as a partner for him, while in the second novel, Cassie gives her own impressions, and reflects on her character before Operation Vestal. Secondly, an aspect of Cassie’s personality that is depicted only in the first novel is her child-like unconsciousness and her lightness that seems to be missing in the second novel. This may be due to the fact that the outcome of Operation Vestal left Cassie less light-hearted and

carefree in the second novel, where she seems to have become more mature and grown- up. However, some of her light-heartedness seems to return during her time at Whitethorn House, which also shows how welcome she feels in this environment. Though Cassie seems more serious in the second novel, the events from the first case are remembered not only negatively but fondly as well. What has changed her, however, is her realisation that events have left a mark on her and that she is in a mental state of distress. Also, when Cassie reflects back on her relationship to Rob, it becomes clear that both of them did not expect to split up, but that she as well as Rob wanted their friendship to last forever. Her recollection of the evenings with Rob are as romanticised and fond as are his, yet for Cassie, it was Rob’s fault in the end, and it is this realisation that makes it easier for Cassie to finally come to terms with this incident. What can be seen from this brief conclusion is that Cassie’s character has been set up well by Rob in the first novel, and many character traits are still valid for Cassie’s self- portrayal in the second novel. The few differences between the two depictions are not only due to the changed narrator, but also the first-person perspective and the temporal distance between the novels. However, it can be said that Cassie as a character is elaborated in the second novel by taking on many of her original quirks and letting her grow as a character rather than redesigning her completely.

3.3.7. Frank Mackey – The Likeness

In the second novel, the reader is also introduced to Frank Mackey, an old acquaintance of Cassie and her former chief at work. When Cassie encounters Frank for the first time, she is a rookie from college and has not really worked as a detective for long. Frank on the other hand, is described by her as a successful detective in undercover: He was a legend: Frank Mackey, still in his thirties and already running undercover operations; the best Undercover agent Ireland’s ever had, people said, reckless and fearless, a tightrope artist with no net, ever. He walked into IRA cells and criminal gags like he was walking into his local pub. (ibid, 4)

This shows that Frank is not only successful, but also that he has a talent for undercover work and is passionate about it. This aspect is emphasized by Cassie throughout the novel, and it also becomes clear that he is ready to do a lot for his work. “ ‘Jesus, Cassie! Because we can. Because nobody in the history of police work has ever had a chance like this. Because it would be bloody amazing. What, you’re not seeing that? What the fuck is

wrong with you? Have you gone desk on me?’” (ibid, 42). According to Frank, Cassie once shared his passion which may be a reason why both were good in undercover and also why they work together quite well (cf. ibid, 571). However, Frank is also depicted as mischievous at work, and he uses other people and manipulates them to get exactly what he wants, and Cassie, even though she has realised this, plays along all the same. “I knew how Frank works: a series of little tiny steps, each one looking perfectly safe and innocuous until suddenly, bam, you’re smack in the middle of something you really did not want to deal with.” (ibid, 41). In this description, Frank is depicted as slightly sneaky, influencing people as he needs them and caring more for the outcome of his case than for the people involved. However, Cassie frequently also emphasizes that Frank knows what he does and that he is good at it, even when he is using you for his own purposes. It is also interesting that not only Cassie, but other characters as well describe Frank like this: “‘He’s an interesting man, Detective Mackey,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s like one of those charming murderers in Jacobean plays, the ones who get all the best monologues: Bosola, or DeFlores.’” (ibid, 493). Here, another of Frank’s character traits is already implied as well, i.e. he uses his charm to get what he wants, yet is dangerous at the same time, like a true murderer. This character trait is also described by Cassie, though she rather uses the mischievous child as a metaphor: “I’d seen that gleam in his eyes before. It always meant he was about to come out, spectacularly casually, with something totally outrageous.” (ibid, 35). At the same time, Frank has a deeply-rooted sense of fairness and honour and is offended if you accuse him of manipulating people and not playing fair. “‘I play fair. You know that.’ ‘Don’t we all,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got different ideas about what counts fair.’ (ibid, 408). This dialogue between Cassie and Frank shows that he does not consider his methods of work as unfair, but as making ends meet to get a solution. Cassie and Sam, on the other hand, use different methods and judge Frank by how he operates. Especially in the joint investigation with Sam, Frank’s character is displayed quite well as he consciously manipulates Cassie and Sam and plays them off against each other for his own purposes. For instance, he uses Sam’s protectiveness and Cassie’s struggle for independence to convince Cassie to accept the undercover job. Also, when he has provoked someone, he leans back and just watches: “He had arranged himself comfortably against the wall, hands in pockets, to watch the action. ‘We’re all on one side

here.’ ‘Back off, Frank,’ I said sharply, before Sam could punch his lights out.” (ibid,423). In this scene, Frank has provoked a fight between Sam and Cassie, and now leans back and watches the show. This displays one of Frank’s more unpleasant character traits, surfacing frequently when he encounters Sam. It seems that Frank also purposefully manipulates Sam when emphasizing that he has known Cassie longer than him thus marking his territory. For instance, when he and Cassie work on her undercover training for the new case at the beginning of the novel and Sam drops by, Frank ironically invites him to stay: “‘Yeah, stick around,’ Frank said, spreading his arms and grinning up at him. ‘We can make it a pyjama party. Toast marshmallows. Play Truth or Dare.’” (ibid, 140). This streak may of course also be due to the fact that Frank has misjudged Sam as the slow-witted country character who he seems to be at first impression, a fact which also shows later on in the investigation, when Frank behaves derisively towards people from the rural society. “‘Yowza,’ Frank said. ‘It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.’ He was shaking with half-suppressed laughter. I wanted to kick him.” (ibid, 413). In this scene, when Sam is interviewing a suspect from Glenskehy, who tells stories of fairies, Frank clearly displays his superiority as a more intelligent city dweller and makes fun of both Sam and the suspect. The reader also gets to know that Frank has a well set-up network in Dublin helping him out in any matter: “Frank has always had a spectacular array of mates in unlikely places: my mate down at the docks, my mate on the County Council, my mate who runs the S&M shop.” (ibid, 451). This already hints at Frank’s background in Dublin and at the fact that he grew up in the city, thus allowing him to set up a proper network with people owing him a favour. His background is also hinted at by Cassie when she is first introduced to him: “‘Frank. “Sir” is for desk jockeys.’ His accent was old inner-city Dublin, subtle but deliberate, like a challenge.” (ibid, 5). Here, first details of Frank’s past are already revealed, yet nothing particular so far. However, one of Frank’s network people is his sister, Jackie, who is introduced in this novel (cf. ibid, 144), and who is one of the few people from Frank’s background that appear. An information that is revealed about Frank’s social situation is the fact that he used to have a wife and a child, who were casualties to his work in undercover. “Olivia copped on and dumped me last year. I get Holly one weekend a month and two weeks in summer.” (ibid, 124). This is something

that happens quite often to undercovers, according to Cassie, and it seems that Frank is no exception. In terms of looks, Cassie paints a clear picture of Frank the first time they meet. “This guy had rough, blunt features and wide blue eyes, and the kind of presence that leaves heat streaks on the air where he’s been. He wasn’t my type, but I was pretty sure he got a lot of female attention.” (ibid, 5). (…) he was sitting on the edge of his desk, wearing jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, flipping through my file. The office was small and had a dishevelled look, like he used it mainly for storage. The desk was empty, not even a family photo; (…) I decided I liked this guy. (ibid, 4f.)

This description of Frank’s looks accords with his character description by Cassie, i.e. the cool guy going to work in T-shirt instead of a suit who has connections in the police force, but who also knows how to manipulate people and get what he wants. Both character and appearance of Frank imply this information. Cassie’s descriptions of Frank’s personality also imply that he is a dangerous character, one who seems easy-going and joking, yet whose temper changes quickly. “All the laughter and façade had gone out of his voice, and I knew Frank well enough to know that this was when he was most dangerous.” (ibid, 60). Frank is depicted here as one of those characters, who seem quiet and almost friendly, when underneath, they are raging and just waiting for the right moment to explode. Those wide blue eyes, amiable and mildly interested; that impeccable, disarming combo of openness and just a hint of steel. The edginess was building into a full-on danger signal, the electric warning animals get before thunder. Frank was questioning me the way he would question a suspect. (392)

Here, Cassie has already realised that Frank is really angry with her and it can be seen how calm Frank seems to be when he is actually not. It is one of the character traits that make him more human, yet also less appealing to the reader, as it is not a likeable feature. “ ‘What,’ he inquired pleasantly, ‘were you thinking?’ For a second I actually took it for a straight question about my thought process, instead of the opening for a major bollocking.” (ibid, 389). Even Cassie is sometimes fooled by the pleasantness that comes before the storm, although she has known him and his working methods for some time. Yet when Frank finally explodes, he is not only dangerous, but it is also not clear whether he will become physically abusive or not: “He wasn’t faking. His face thrust hard up to mine, the hot blue sizzle in his eyes: he was raging and he meant every word, to me, to

Lexie, probably even he didn’t know which.” (ibid, 575). This character trait makes it even more difficult to anticipate his reaction, and even Cassie in the end is afraid of him, although she does not admit it to him. However, Cassie also reckons that from a psychological point of view Frank is not completely sane: I’ve always thought one of the reasons for Frank’s legendary fearlessness is that, way deep down, he’s never quite managed to connect with reality. To him every operation is one of those war games the Pentagon plays, only even cooler, because the stakes are higher and the results are tangible and long-lasting. The fracture is small enough and he’s smart enough that it never shows in obvious ways; but, while he’s keeping every angle covered and every situation beautifully, icily under control, some part of him truly believes he’s being played by Sean Connery. (ibid, 76)

This description already hints at Frank’s problematic background and the fact that he sacrifices a lot for his work without consciously realising that he does. This aspect is also taken on in the follow-up novel to The Likeness, which features Frank Mackey as the main character and which provides an in-depth look into his character. However, Cassie’s descriptions already offer insights into Frank’s working methods, and Faithful Place will add information not only about Frank at work, but a far more personal background.

3.3.8. Frank Mackey – Faithful Place

When the reader encounters Frank Mackey again, it is not quite clear how much time has passed between the events of the second novel and third, or whether the events of this novel take place before or after the second novel. The only indication for the connection between these narrations is the comment that Frank makes about his family, i.e. that he is divorced and has a kid that he only sees on weekends, which is the situation in which he still finds himself at the beginning of this novel. Thus, it can be assumed that the present events take place after the ones in The Likeness. The character of Frank is again encountered via his past, as the first thing he narrates about himself in the Prologue is an event from long ago. For Frank this first scene sums up the whole novel in a way, as it describes his situation, the events that influenced him to become the man he is today, and functions as a summary and introduction at the same time. Also, he states right at the beginning: All the same, at any moment of my life since that day, I could have told straight off the bat exactly what I would die for. At first it was easy: my family, my girl my

home. (…) These days they hold steady, and I like that; it feels like something a man can be proud of. I would die for, in no particular order, my city, my job, and my kid. The kid is well behaved so far, the city is Dublin, and the job is on the Undercover Squad (…) (French, Faithful Place, 3)

This establishes three things right at the beginning: his strong connection to his hometown, the area of work he operates in, and the fact that he does have a family. In terms of character, Frank confirms Cassie’s description of him as someone who likes to manipulate people to get what he wants. “People routinely underestimate me and it’s one of my favorite things (…)” (French, ibid 286). Frank seems to have a very good knowledge of human nature, as he knows exactly which buttons he has to push for which character and which role he has to take on in a conversation to trigger certain reactions. For instance, when he needs to get some information from Scorcher Kennedy, the lead detective in the murder case, Frank takes on the role of the naïve, male lover manipulated by a woman, a character that triggers both Scorcher’s sympathies and his spitefulness: “‘God,’ I said. I shook my head, did a shamefaced half laugh, let Scorcher inflate with satisfaction. ‘Right. She… wow. Now that I did not see coming.’” (ibid, 283). Also, he uses his little brother Kevin, who has always been the nice kid no one dislikes, in order to get into a house, where he would otherwise not be welcome (cf. ibid, 50). Throughout the novel, Frank easily takes on the roles that appeal to people in order to get information, be it hurt lover, old friend or detective among his mates. This shows, as Cassie has already stated, that he does not shy away from deception to reach his goals, yet it also shows that Frank understands quite well how the human mind works and how he can manipulate it. Even at the end of the novel, when Frank already knows the solution of the murder, he keeps it under wraps for long enough so that he can use this knowledge for his own ends: All I wanted for now was to plant the tiny seed of realization, somewhere deep in his mind: this was just the beginning. Stephen was out of my hair and Scorcher was getting there fast. Once they moved on to the next case on their list, it would be just me and Shay, forever and ever. I could spend a year bouncing him like a yo-yo before I let him be sure that I knew, another year hinting at my various interesting options. I had all the time in the world. (ibid, 32)

Here, Frank almost acts like a predator, who has his prey already in his claws and now plays with it. This description accords with the one that Frank offers of how undercovers work, when they solve a case.

However, Frank’s manipulation of people goes so far that in the end, he even uses his own daughter for his purposes: I almost went straight through that door without bothering to open it. Two things kept me outside. The first one was that Holly was nine years old (…). The second thing was that there was no point, not now, in bursting in there with all guns blazing to save my little girl from the big bad man. I stared at the bright crack of light around the door and listened, like I was a million miles away or a million years too late. I knew exactly what Olivia would think, what any sane human being would think, and I stood still and left Holly to do my dirtiest work for me. I’ve done plenty of dodgy things in my time and none of them kept me awake at night, but that one is special. If there’s a hell, that moment in the dark hallway is what will take me there. (ibid, 337)

Although he realises that this is something terrible even for his own standards, he carries on and exposes Holly to a dangerous situation. This shows that somehow, Frank seems to know no bounds, and there are no limitations to what he is willing to do to get justice. This, on the one hand, may of course be due to the fact that this case is very personal to him, but on the other hand, it also shows that he cannot distinguish anymore between his job and his real life, as he has lost the sense of where to draw the line. In general, Frank uses his abilities and his character in his job for his advantage. Especially his manipulative streak often helps him to get information that he needs. Scorcher’s overdeveloped sense of hierarchy was, in fact, about to come in useful all round. In his personal world, uniforms are scut-monkeys, floaters are droids, only squad detectives and up get respect. That attitude is always a very bad idea, not only because of how much you might be wasting, but because of how many weak spots you’re creating for yourself. Like I said before, I’ve always had a lovely eye for a weak spot. (ibid, 175)

Here again, Frank uses others for his own ends. He does, however also admit that he likes to bend the rule book and play by his own rules, a fact which has already been mentioned by Cassie before. “This was about to work for me. Scorch was used to fighting by the rules. He took it for granted that, with the odd minor bad-little-boy breach, I fought the same way. It would take a while to occur to him that my rules had sweet fuck-all in common with his.” (ibid, 173). Of course, this attitude also makes it easy for Frank to use people as he needs them. However, he has already established a reputation, and other detectives do already know how he works: “‘You’ve got a good rep on the job, Frank, a great rep, except for one little thing: the word on the street is that you’ve got a tendency to fly solo. To – how will I put this? – to prioritize the rule book a tiny bit less than you

should.’” (ibid, 99). In the end, this character trait shows that although Frank of course enjoys manipulating people, he also cares about his job, which is why he is so successful. Even Holly already knows that his work supersedes almost everything and that even she has already suffered from this, when Frank has not kept his promise to show up or had to take her back to her mother instead of keeping her for the whole weekend, which shows the priority Frank gives to his work above everything else (cf. ibid, 15). It is also true, that as Cassie already realises, Frank seems to have people getting information or owing him favours everywhere: “My mate in the electric company pulled up an electricity bill for an Imelda Tierney at 10 Hallows Lane, Flat 3.” (ibid, 223). This is one of Frank’s quirks at work, his networks and connections, which may also stem from the fact that he already grew up in the city, and thus has an advantage compared to the detectives from the country. Finally, a characteristic that has to be mentioned in connection with Frank’s work is his famous intuition, something which was already hinted at by Cassie, and is also displayed in Frank’s descriptions of himself. Frank’s reputation in the squad also stems from the fact that he can feel a good case coming and seems to know the solution right from the start. He also has an intuitive sense of foreboding when Rosie’s body is found: “That was when I felt the shiver in the air, the electric charge starting deep down in the guts of Number 16 and rippling outwards: the tech’s voices rising and then falling away, the uniforms turning to stare, the people swaying forwards, the clouds tightening over the rooftops.” (ibid, 79). Frank describes the discovery of the body as if it was in the air for people to feel it, as if like animals, humans can feel the change when something dangerous happens. The fact that Frank loses control in the course of the case is shown in his rising acceptance of physical violence. He has already been described by Cassie as a guy who can be very dangerous when he loses his temper, yet in the previous novel, he was never physically abusive of anybody. In this novel, however, his temper seems to be more high- strung, and thus the inhibition to use violence is lowered every minute he spends on the case. This already starts when the body of Rosie is found: “The only thing I wanted in the world was for one of them, I didn’t care which one, to try and hit me. ‘You couldn’t take charge of your dick with both hands,’ I told the uniform, inches from his soft pudding of a face (…).” (ibid, 82). Here, Frank consciously tries to provoke somebody to hit him, as

he is losing touch with reality fast, and physical pain seems to be his last resort, as it would also offer him the chance to hit somebody back. This is how Frank often reacts, when he sees no other way out than violence, as for example when he does not know how to cope with his father, he instead consciously provokes him in order to get hit (cf. ibid, 199) This abuse of physical pain to induce emotions is later on also applied by Frank, when Rosie’s identity is confirmed: “Then I went around the corner and punched the wall. I turned my knuckles into hamburger, but the pain was brilliant enough that just for a few seconds, while I was doubled over clutching my hand, it seared my mind white and empty.” (ibid, 143). Thus, Frank is not only prone to aggressions against others, but also against himself, as pain seems to be his only way to keep a grip on reality. At the same time, however, his desire to hit other people also rises with every minute he is involved in the case. “I shoved him harder than I meant to. For a split second I thought I wasn’t going to be able to pull him back inside. Deep down, a sliver of me was fucking delighted.” (ibid, 167). Here, he works off his aggression on Scorcher, who falsely believes that Kevin killed Rosie and then himself. Frank not only easily loses his temper, but also his inhibition to actually hurt someone has been dangerously lowered. This also shows when Frank confronts first Olivia, and later on Imelda, the woman who is partly responsible for Rosie’s death, and almost hits them. “I’ve never hit a woman. I didn’t realize I was thinking about it till I felt my hand squeezing the edge of the poofy little bar stool, hard.” (ibid, 207). I knew the look on her face, the slack jaw, the blind black eyes stretched too wide to blink. I had seen it on my ma a hundred times, in the second when she knew she was about to get hit. I didn’t care. The thought of the back of my hand cracking across Imelda’s mouth almost choked me with how badly I wanted it. (ibid, 289)

Hitting a woman is one of the taboos that Frank always claims he would never break, but in these scenes, he comes dangerously close to it. However, it has to be kept in mind that Frank has a long history of violence and physical abuse in his family, a fact which has kept him from hitting anybody up until this moment. Thus, the case has damaged him so badly that he keeps overstepping his boundaries, both in terms of his use of other people for his own ends, and in his inhibition against violence. The case already starts to haunt him in the first few moments, when Frank sums up his current life situation: “The second time my life geared up for the sucker punch, it

was a Friday afternoon at the beginning of December. I had spent the day doing maintenance work on some of my current mirages (…) and I was heading over to my ex- wife’s place to pick up my kid for the weekend.” (French, ibid 4). Here, he depicts himself as an undercover detective and at the same time describes his current personal situation in a quick summary. Also, in the first few pages, Frank offers a description of his home, where he has lived since Olivia left him a few years ago: I live on the quays, in a massive apartment block built in the nineties by, apparently, David Lynch. The carpets are so deep that I’ve never heard a footstep, but even at four in the morning you can fell the hum of five hundred minds buzzing on every side of you (…). I grew up in a tenement house, so you would think I’d be good with the factory-farm lifestyle, but this is different. (…) The décor in my personal corner of Twin Peaks is divorcé chic, by which I mean that, four years on, it still looks like the moving van hasn’t arrived yet. The exception is Holly’s room, which is loaded with every fluffy pastel object known to man. (ibid, 7)

This description gives a first impression of the Dublin society, in which Frank lives now, but it also offers a first insight on Frank’s past, as he offers information on the milieu in which he grew up. However, this quote also shows that his daughter Holly is very important to him, and that for her, he would do anything, i.e. like decorating her room. Holly is nine and fine-boned, easy-bruised spit of her mother’s family – us Mackeys are sturdy and thick-skinned and thick-haired, built for hard work in Dublin weather – all except for her eyes. The first time I saw her she looked up at me with my own eyes, great wide bright-blue eyes that hit me like a Taser zap (…). (ibid, 6).

His relationship to Holly is also one of the more striking features in Frank’s character, as in general, he depicts himself not in the most flattering light, as a lonely, unfriendly guy, yet when he is with Holly, he is a completely different man. I’m trying to bring up a kid, Jackie. That alone is enough to scare the living daylights out of any sane human being. Throw in the fact that I’m trying to bring her up in a setting where she’s constantly being told to think about nothing except fashion, fame and body fat, ignore the man behind the curtain and go buy yourself something pretty… I’m petrified all the time. (ibid, 153)

Here, Frank displays one of the more stereotypical character traits of a father, the one of the overprotective father who would do anything for his daughter. Also, there is already a first hint of Frank’s criticism of modern day society, as he thinks the globalisation and infiltration of culture is too far developed and that the generation of Holly will grow up without getting to know any other way of life. This criticism is based on Frank’s growing

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up in a rather poor environment, whereas Holly has been influenced too much by the middle-class society. However, at the same time, Frank wants to protect Holly from any harm: “I want Holly to be the one in millions. I want her to be everything that bores me stupid in a woman, soft as dandelions and fragile as spun glass. No one is turning my kid into steel. When she was born I wanted to go out and kill someone for her, so she would know for sure, all her life, that I was ready to do it if it needed doing.” (ibid, 214). Here again, Frank displays his protective side as a father, but at the same time, he tries to be the cool dad with whom Holly is allowed to do things she is not allowed with her mother, for example eat unhealthy food or use the computer (ibid, 14). This is also a coping mechanism for Frank, who seems to be unsure how to come to terms with his guilt caused by the divorce. Also, for Frank, Holly is the one constant thing in his life that helps him cope with everything else: “Watching Holly swing is one of the best therapies I know. The kid is strong, for such a little snip of a thing; she can keep going for hours without getting tired, and I can keep watching, happily getting hypnotized by the rhythm of it.” (ibid,148). When Frank talks about his relationship to the women in his life, he describes all of them as strong, independent women: I’ve always loved strong women, which is lucky for me because once you’re over twenty-five there is no other kind. Women blow my mind. The stuff that routinely gets done to them would make most men curl up and die, but women turn to steel and keep on coming. Any men who claims he’s not into strong women is fooling himself mindless: he’s into strong women who know how to pout prettily and put on baby’s voices, and who will end up keeping his balls in their makeup bags. (ibid, 215)

This confession of Frank fits the description of the two most important women in his life, Rosie and Olivia, who are both described as having a strong will. Later in the novel, the reader even gets a brief glimpse of Frank’s life when he was still married: Olivia used to leave me stuff on the breakfast bar: imaginative sandwiches and little notes, and whatever Holly had drawn that day. I would eat the sandwiches sitting at the bar, looking at drawings by the light through the kitchen window and listening for the sounds of the house under the thick layer of silence: the hum of the refrigerator, the wind in the eaves, the soft tides of my girls’ breathing. Then I would write Holly a note to help her with her reading. (ibid, 201)

The more involved Frank gets into this case connected to his past, the more he regrets being responsible for the marital breakdown, and by the end of the novel, he even wants

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to have a second chance with Olivia and says he never regretted the time with her (ibid, 211). However, it is also the fact that Rosie never left him, which may help Frank finally overcome his problematic relationship with women, as it robs him of his self-pity for having been left twenty years ago. All my signposts had gone up in one blinding, dizzying explosion: my second chances, my revenge, my nice thick anti-family Maginot line. Rosie Daly dumping my sorry ass had been my landmark, huge and solid as a mountain. Now it was flickering like a mirage and the landscape kept shifting around it, turning itself inside out and backwards; none of the scenery looked familiar any more. (ibid, 109)

When Frank realises that Rosie never intended to leave him, but that he was robbed of his future with her by someone else, it changes not only his past, but also his present, as everything he built his life on has changed as well. “She had been coming to me, she had almost made it. There had been about ten yards between us and our hand-in-hand brave new world. It felt like freefalling, like being shoved out of a plane with the ground rushing up hard towards me and no parachute cord to pull.” (ibid, 170). At the beginning of the novel, Frank only mentions Olivia and Holly as his family, and does not want any connection with the rest of his family, i.e. his parents and his siblings. The only relative who he talks to is his sister Jackie, who has already been mentioned in the previous novel. When Rosie’s suitcase turns up in Faithful Place and Frank has to return home after twenty years, he still hopes that this will be a quick visit. These hopes are, however, quickly destroyed: “So that was that: no quick out, no waving bye-bye to my family and erasing yesterday evening from my mind and going back to my personal approximation of normal, no chance of getting Nora langered and coaxing Rosie’s phone number out of her.” (ibid, 50). Instead, he has to meet his whole family again, a fact which makes him nervous right from the beginning. Throughout the novel, the more time he spends around his family, the more toll it takes on his psyche, until finally, he admits that he cannot spend another minute with them without going crazy. Right at the beginning, however, when the first shock of having to return has diminished, Frank is almost happy to be back. In that light they looked like themselves again. It erased the wrinkles and the gray [sic] streaks, fined the heaviness off Kevin’s jaw and wiped the makeup off Jackie, till it was the five of us, fresh and cat-eyed and restless in the dark, spinning our different dreams. If Sallie Hearne looked out her window she’d see us: The Mackey kids, sitting on their steps. For one lunatic second I was glad to be there. (ibid, 26).

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This shows that family ties, no matter how horrible one believes his family to be, are always strong, and even Frank learns in this novel, that he is always drawn back to his own family. “ ‘Francis,’ Jackie said tentatively. ‘Are we all right?’ I had a first-class rant all planned out, but the thought of belonging here again had dissolved the momentum right out of me. First Olivia, and now this: I was getting soft in my old age. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘We’re ok’.” (ibid, 318). Especially with Jackie, who has always been in contact with him, there is a special connection. Even though he claims that she gets on his nerves quite easily, Frank meets up with her and calls her on a regular basis, and when the whole family collapses at the end of the novel, it is Jackie that Frank still wants to see: “I wanted to smack myself across the back of the head for asking, but it came out anyway. ‘Tell me something, while we’re on the subject. Am I going to be hearing from you again, too? Or is it just Holly?’” (ibid, 389). When Frank first describes his family and his siblings, it can already be seen that he does not have especially friendly feelings for his parents. Carmel and Shay and I came along straight after my parents got married, one a year, just like you’d expect in the land of the contraband condom. Kevin was almost five years later, once my parents got their breath back, and Jackie was five years after that, presumably in one brief moment when they didn’t hate each other’s guts. (ibid, 18).

Throughout the novel, his despise for both his alcoholic father and his terribly unappealing mother becomes quite clear as he does not attempt to hide these feelings. This gets more obvious when Frank openly accuses his family of robbing him of his future with Rosie, a fact that has helped him despise them for years. Even in the scenes where his siblings try to comfort him and be nice to him, events turn out badly in the end, as their relationship is too strained to be repaired. They gave me a couple of hours on my own, with a kind of delicacy I hadn’t expected, before they came looking for me. Kevin showed up first: sticking his head around the door like a kid on a hide-and-seek mission, sending a quick sly text while the barman pulled his pint, hovering and shuffling beside my table till I put him out of his misery and gestured for him to sit down. We didn’t talk. It took the girls about three minutes to join us, shaking rain off their coats and giggling and shooting sideways glances around the pub – (…). (ibid,111)

In this scene, Frank almost describes his siblings in a loving way, their characteristics and their quirks appealing to him, and he seems glad to see them. Yet, by the end of that

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evening, he practically flees from them, as even gestures meant nicely seem to annoy him. This shows that Frank’s relationship to his family is deeply strained, and the grudge that he bears is even deepened when he finds out what really happened to Rosie. His contempt for his family is, at the same time, a deep-lying fear, something that he admits only very late to himself: I don’t have much of a knack for fear. I’ve walked into meetings with men who had every intention of chopping me into convenient sections and arranging me artistically under the nearest patch of concrete, and never broken a sweat. This, though, had me shitting an entire brickworks. I told myself what I had told young Stephen: count this as an undercover op, Frankie the Intrepid Detective on his most daring mission yet, into the jaws of doom. (ibid, 182)

On the one hand, Frank seems to be afraid of returning to Faithful Place again, but on the other hand, he also seems to dread the return because it will inexorably lead him back to his past and his roots, which he has tried to repress for twenty years. This admission to the fear shows that his contempt for Faithful Place is also a deep-set contempt for his own roots, something that is also emphasized by the fact he never intended to introduce his daughter to this place. When he is confronted by Olivia about this, he even tries to put the blame on her, claiming that she felt she was too good for these people, when actually, it was his fear that kept him away for so long. In the end, Frank realises that he will never be able to completely shake off his past, however: “I was right to enjoy the normal world while I had it. Deep down, even while I was shaking my fist at the sky and vowing never to darken the cobbles of that hellhole again, I must have known the Place was going to take that as a challenge. It hadn’t given me permission to leave the building, and it was going to come for me.” (ibid,159). The more time Frank spends in Faithful Place, there more he also seems to lose his connection to reality, he starts imagining things and hearing voices (ibid, 81). Also, he starts remembering Rosie, the way she looked and felt to him, until he finally cannot distinguish anymore between reality and dream and sees Rosie in her sister: In that light, she looked like a girl, like a ghost, she looked like a breath-taking black-and-white Rosie escaped from one thin slice of time from a flickering old film or a dream. I knew if I touched her she would vanish, turn back into Nora in the blink of an eye and begone for good. The smile on her lips could have pulled my heart out of my chest. (…) We clutched at each other like wild lost kids, on fire and desperate. (ibid, 261)

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It already becomes clear that the case takes its toll on Frank’s mind, and that he has difficulty processing everything that has happened, especially when he finds out that Rosie never intended to leave him. The world felt lethal, that night. Normally, I enjoy danger, there’s nothing like it to focus the mind, but this was different. This was the earth rippling and flexing underneath me like a great muscle, sending us all flying, showing me all over again who was boss and who was a million miles out of his depths in this game. (ibid, 247)

Here, Frank refers to the world as a living thing that controls the events, as if he believed that in the end, he could not have changed his fate even if he wanted to. This character analysis shows that Frank is a very complex character, whose many layers are built up with the development of the narrative, yet he is also deeply flawed and almost as emotionally challenged as Rob, with his dark past also haunting him until he faces it. However, in contrast to Rob, it seems that Frank in the end is granted a second chance, one where he can finally lay Rosie to rest and start anew. This is also reflected in the last scene of the book, in which Frank describes his first kiss with Rosie in a flashback before revisiting all the ‘lasting parts’ in the city, the parts that have not changed for him and that he can find peace in.

3.3.9. Comparison of Frank in the Two Versions

Having presented these two different versions of Frank’s personality, a conclusion and comparison can again be drawn when comparing Cassie’s other-characterisation of Frank in The Likeness to Frank’s self-characterisation in Faithful Place. What is most striking in these two versions is that they both depict a character who is passionate about work and who sacrifices a lot for it. In both novels, Frank is the workaholic who has already lost his wife and only sees his daughter at weekends, and although he treasures those weekends very much, they often have to give way to work. Frank is depicted as being very good at undercover work by Cassie, and his reputation within the squad is not only described as famous, but also infamous by other characters as well. In both his self-description as well as in his depiction by Cassie, Frank is displayed as somebody who bends the rules if he needs to, and although he claims to play fair, it is very often quite clear that fairness is a very relative concept to Frank. He also has a widespread network of people owing him favours, a fact that comes in handy in

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both novels and is noticed by Cassie, who is amazed by his connections, and described by Frank as a practical tool at work. In addition to this, Cassie depicts Frank as a manipulative character, somebody who uses and influences people as he sees fit and needs them. This character trait is confirmed by Frank, in his own words and through his actions, and is also a quality of which he is very proud and which he uses to manipulate Cassie and Sam in the second novel. Yet in the third novel, when he uses his own daughter for his purposes, even Frank admits to going too far sometimes and not knowing his limits. In terms of looks, Frank is also depicted similarly in both novels, as his appearance is already described by Cassie, and Frank’s depiction confirms this slightly shabby, leather-jacket and jeans-wearing image of him. His most striking feature, however, his clear blue eyes, are mentioned in both novels, and are described by Frank as a typical feature of the Mackey family, which his daughter Holly also has inherited. Otherwise, the information offered by Cassie about Frank is limited to a small fraction of his personality, as for instance, his accent allows her to make guesses about his heritage, and she knows about his ex-wife and family, yet most of her knowledge of Frank is limited to a workplace environment. However, one aspect featuring prominently in both novels is Frank’s quick-flash temper and his dangerously quiet side just before he gets really angry. This is both described by Cassie, who underestimates Frank’s anger several times in the second novel, and by Frank himself, especially when he deals with his family or his ex-wife. This level of aggression is even raised in Frank’s narration, as throughout the novel, his rising tendency towards violent thoughts and actions is reflected in his own descriptions. Apart from this information, very little is known about Frank in the second novel, yet all the more is added in his own depiction in the third novel. Right at the beginning, when Frank summarises his life, he describes everything that has already been known from the second novel: his work, his place of living, and his family. This last piece of information is enhanced in the third novel, and Frank’s family situation becomes the central part of both the narration, and of his character depiction, as most of his own descriptions are somehow related back to his family. This also shows a character trait that wasn’t depicted by Cassie, namely his loyalty to family which stands in contrast to his disrupted relationship towards his siblings and his background. This connection to his

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past is an issue only hinted at in the second novel, and Cassie is never even close in anticipating how torn Frank’s mind is about it. In contrast to this family stands Frank’s relationship to his daughter Holly, whom he loves very much. This information is also already hinted in the second novel, when Frank complains that prolonging the case will rob him of his weekend with Holly. The depth of their relationship is however, only treated in the third novel. His love for Holly is reflected strongly in his narration and in his desire to protect her, which is a character trait that cannot be found in the second novel. In summary, the contrast of these two versions shows that the discrepant level of information between the second and the third novel concerning information about Frank’s character is more apparent than in Cassie’s case. The amount of information offered in the second novel about Frank is less numerous and thus, the characterisation of Frank in the third novel is more independent from the second novel. The only major area in which there is an overlap concerns Frank at work, as this is the place where Cassie encounters him most of the time.

3.4. Final Comparison of All Three Novels

In conclusion, all three major areas of analysis, i.e. genre, narrative analysis and characterisation, can be summed up to present a final result to the close reading of the novels. When comparing all three novels in terms of their genre features, it can be seen that there are apparent similarities between them, yet each novel is distinguished by an individual execution of specific characteristics which allows them to be compared to, yet also contrasted with one another. Starting out again with the hard-boiled aspect of the novels, all three of them feature typical characteristics of this genre, i.e. the clash of rural vs. urban setting, yet only the first two novels feature rural settings, while the third one is exclusively focused on the city. Thus, the contrast between the detectives as representatives of an urban setting and the society where the murder took place as representatives of a rural setting only applies to the first two novels. However, in contrast to this, the third novel emphasises the contrast between middle-class and working-class society, which is only a minor issue in the first two novels. Moreover, although all three novels display characteristics of the

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hard-boiled detective living in a world of lies and deceit, only Frank is depicted as a truly hard-boiled policeman, and it is also in his world that the ‘mean streets’ and tough environment of the hard-boiled genre are depicted. Thus, all three novels feature hard- boiled characteristics, but the third can be seen as most representative of the genre. As regards the police novel, there are two different departments representing the apparatus of the police force, the Murder and the Undercover squad. The first novel only depicts the Murder squad, while the second novel merges Murder and Undercover, and the third finally turns away from both and mainly depicts Frank as a rogue detective. Thus, a good insight into the working methods of the departments is given in all three novels, yet in the first two, police work is featured more prominently, while in the third, it has only a secondary role. The competition between the departments is also an issue in the second and third novel and contrasts the procedural methods of both departments and the detectives themselves. Also, all three detectives are displayed as individual characters within a society, and all three of them use methods of work that are not quite legal to solve the cases. In terms of Crime thriller, the focus on the crime and the crime as a starting point is the most typical feature in all three novels. However, all three also disrupt the traditional triangle relationship of detective, victim and murder. While the first one is the most classical one, where Rob is the victim of the old case, which affect his ability as a detective in the actual case, the second and third change this relation completely, as Cassie takes on the role of the victim and detective, and Frank is basically a victim of the old and new murder but takes on the role of detective and avenger. However, all three novels have a strong emphasis on setting, although as has been stated above, there is a difference between the novels as regards the use of urban and rural setting. And finally, all three novels use motifs to emphasize character connections and developments and relate characters to crime scenes. In terms of mystery fiction, all three novels feature the murder as the main mystery that has to be solved, and also offer clues and signs that are discovered throughout the novels to help find a solution. However, in the first novel, there is a second, past mystery that is never solved, although many clues are offered for its solution. In the second novel, the second mystery concerns the identity of the murdered girl that has to revealed additionally to the murder case. And in the third novel, a second murder is introduced as

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well as a second mystery, i.e. the real events in the past before Rosie was murdered. Thus, all three novels feature not only a murder case, but an additional mystery to be uncovered. In the second and third novel, this is also achieved, while in the first, the additional mystery case remains unsolved. In the end, all three novels do not offer resolution and redemption to their characters, even though the murder cases are solved, as justice is not achieved at all, or it is only partially satisfying for the detectives. In terms of gender depiction in crime, the most striking characteristic in all three novels is that the victims are all female, with the exception of the second murder victim in Faithful Place, who can however be regarded as a collateral damage, i.e. not a primary crime victim. Also, Cassie as a gender representative is featured in the first two novels as the strong woman asserting herself in a male dominated workplace and as a non- stereotypical female character. In the third novel, Cassie is not featured anymore, yet gender is also discussed via the role of working-class women, and their depiction in stereotypical roles, i.e. housewives staying at home and raising the kids, which is contrasted with modern, middle-class women who work and have family at the same time. Finally, in terms of Irish Crime Fiction, a common factor of all three novels is the clash of past and present, which is omnipresent, yet is depicted through different aspects. In the first novel, it is the archaeological heritage of the country against a modern highway imposed by the government, which represents the clash, while in the second novel it is the history and colonisation of the Irish. In the third novel, the clash is more personal and only concerns Frank’s past and the situation of the Irish working class in the 80ies. However, in all three novels, the characters are affected and haunted by their past and only by facing it, can they hope to find closure at all. Furthermore, the themes of identity and family are an important aspect in all three novels. Especially families are depicted as twisted and disrupted in all three novels. In the first one, Rob and Cassie both have no family and instead turn towards friendship as a replacement, while the family of the murder victim is also represented as broken and afflicted. In the second novel, families are seen as a taboo in the murder victim’s living community, as all members come from disrupted families. And finally, in the third novel, family is depicted in its worst extent including intrafamilial violence, alcoholism and

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abuse. Also, it is quite striking that Frank, in the third novel, is the only one who still has a family, both his old and his new one. What can be seen from this comparison is that the first two novels seem to share more common features than with the third one, both in terms of its genre characteristics and in terms of gender discussion. However, all three novels feature similar characteristics of Irish Crime Fiction. In terms of their narrative structure, some striking differences as well as similarities appear. Firstly, in terms of timeline, all three novels are set in modern times, only a few years ago, yet also feature flashbacks and descriptions to the past. In the first novel, these flashbacks describe the situation back in the 80ies in the mainly idyllic countryside. The second novel does not feature flashbacks, but includes descriptions of events that lie in the past as well, i.e. the historical events surrounding Glenskehy. The third novel, on the other hand, again incorporates flashbacks to the 80ies, yet this time there are no romanticised childhood memories, but more realistic descriptions of the of Dublin’s working-class society in the 80ies. Thus, all three novels have a strong connection to the past, yet the extent to which this past influences the narrative differ, as the first and third novels’ flashbacks disrupt the narration, while history in the second novel is embedded in the narrative. However, all three narratives feature subsequent narration, and all three include one long climactic scene at the end of the novel, in which the murder is solved and the confession is coaxed from the suspect. Still, the first novel is more focused on the temporal aspect of narration, i.e. the flashbacks and memory loss of Rob which influence the narrative timeline, while the second and third novel are more focused on the setting and its influence on the narration. In terms of setting, however, the first and the second novel can be seen as similarly constructed, as they both feature Dublin as the modern city where the detectives work and live, as contrasted to the countryside, i.e. Knocknaree and Glenskehy, where the murders take place, while the third novel is only set in the city of Dublin, where the contrast is achieved via the different social classes and therefore social settings in Dublin. Again, in the setting, the past and present are reflected, as Dublin is always represented as the modern city, while the countryside is often more backward. This is true for the first and second novel, while in the third, the different social settings are opposed to each other,

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i.e. middle-class modern Dublin vs. the more conservative working-class Faithful Place. Also, in all three novels, there seems to be one significant place, where the life-changing events happen to the protagonists. In the first novel, this place is the woods in Knocknaree, which changed Rob forever, but which also drove him to sleep with Cassie. In the second novel, it is Whitethorn House, which influences Cassie so much, but finally also helps her find her peace with Lexie. And in the third novel, it is Faithful Place, which is so crucial to how Frank’s life turned out and which will finally lead him back to discover his real past. This constellation shows that setting is also used as a motif connected to characters in all three novels. The woods, Whitethorn House, and Faithful Place all function as settings as well as motifs, which are also closely related to the main characters. They do not only stand for the significant changes in the characters’ lives, but they also represent the clash of past and present again, as all three motifs feature in the past and present narratives and play a crucial part throughout time. This relation of setting to history is also represented in all three novels by the police force, whose departments are set in historical buildings around Dublin. The Murder Squad, for instance, is stationed in Dublin Castle, while the City Morgue is also located in a historic brickhouse building. This connection between history and the police force also represents the connection between Irish identity and Irish history in all three novels. Finally, the type of focalisation used is the same in all three novels, i.e. an internal, first-person autodiegetic narrator, who is fixed throughout the novel. However, in the first and second novel, the narrating and experiencing I are separated through time and seem to be reflecting upon or reliving the events of the murder cases in a later period of their lives. The third novel, however, does not apply this kind of differentiation, and the narrator seems to be experiencing and narrating I at the same time. This is a clear difference between the first two and third novel. In summary, it can be stated that the first and second novel appear to have more common traits in terms of narrative analysis, while the third novel differs in various aspects. In terms of time, all three novels feature individual structures, while in setting, the first and second novel are more similar. As regards motif, all three novels use motifs related to setting, which are also related to the past. This is one feature that all three novels share – the strong connection to the past. The focalisation is again similar in all three, yet

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the third novel deviates from the structure of the other two novels by lacking the differentiation between narrating and experiencing I. This shows that the first and second novel seem to share more characteristics, while the third novel offers new and different features. In terms of character, all three novels offer an in-depth study of their main characters including the development and maturing process of each one. This is also reflected in their genre and narrative characteristics, which are all connected to characters. They also offer insights on the characters that are protagonists in the follow-up novels, thus introducing them already and foreshadowing the characterisation in the next novel. The first and second novel are more closely related not only in terms of genre and narrative, but also in terms of character relation and interfigurality. As Rob and Cassie are partners at work and close friends, Cassie is characterised in detail already in the first novel. A lot of information about her is offered by Rob, because he knows her quite well, but also because he cares about her and concerns himself with her. Frank, on the other hand, is depicted by Cassie mainly in terms of work, thus his characterisation in the second novel is also limited to work-related issues. This means that in the third novel, Frank is encountered almost as a new character, as he has not been defined clearly yet and his character traits can be developed anew. This leads to the conclusion that Frank’s characterisation is less limited in the third novel than Cassie’s in the second novel. This limitation is of course also due to the fact that Rob and Cassie have a different relationship than Frank and Cassie. However, it also means that Frank can only be judged by the information he himself offers, and that there is no second opinion. This situation is similar to the first novel, concerning the characterisation of Rob, who is mainly characterised through explicit self-characterisation. Thus, interfigurality in the three novels is achieved by using the device of re-used figure in an autographic series, which connects the novels via their characters. In the case of Cassie, her presentation is more evolved and developed than the other two characters, as more details are known about her. Frank and Rob, on the other hand, are mainly characterised through self-characterisation. Finally, it can be argued that these novels offer a special type of multiperspectivity, as the characters offer different perspectives on both events and other characters. As stated above, all novels are narrated in an intradiegetic mode with

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intradiegetic focalizers, and can be defined as either bi- or multiperspective. As there is a direct connection between the first and second, and second and third novel, but not between the first and third, they are rather biperspective than multiperspective. Also, each of the two related perspectives are told one after the other, and can be defined as homomorphic, as the text genres are similar. Concerning the paradigmatic and syntagmatic axes of perspective, several things can be stated. Firstly, in terms of the paradigmatic axis, there are three different perspectives that offer a wide variety of society and gender, i.e. different ages, working and middle-class perspectives and male and female characters. In terms of the qualitative aspect, Rob’s narration is the only unreliable one, while Cassie and Frank are highly emotionally involved in the narration, but offer a reliable source of information. All three protagonists are explicit narrating instances, i.e. they are conscious of themselves as narrators, although Frank is the least explicit one. Also, all three perspectives are highly individualised and their emotional involvement in the narration influences their narration. In terms of the syntagmatic axis, all three narrations are equal to one another, yet Rob’s and Cassie’s narrative has the primacy effect on the following narration and characters. Also, the narrations are successive and diachronic, as the cases happen one after the other. However, the narration can be defined as multilocal, as even though they share one common setting – Dublin – the other settings differ. The information status of the three perspectives is divergent, as with each novel, it changes for the characters, who knows more than in the previous one. In terms of content, the perspectives are also divergent, although the basic outcome of the murder always stays the same. On the emotional level, however, the content between the first and the second novel is divergent, as Cassie and Rob have different views on their relationship. As these relations occur across the novels, the type of multiperspectivity can be defined as dialogic, as different views and comments are offered on the same event. This again only concerns the personal level, not the murder case. Finally, in terms of the regulation of perspective, on a character level the perspective can be defined as restrictive, as there are many different perspectives on the events and divergent positions on them. On a narrative level, however, the perspective is integrative, as there is explicit control of the perception, a high degree of explicitness in the narration and the reader is triggered to sympathize with the narrator.

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This discussion shows that the novels can be defined as multiperspective, although it can be argued that the first and second novel are related more strongly with each other than the second and third are. In the end, considering all the abovementioned aspects, it can be seen that the novels are mainly interconnected with one another via characters, which is emphasised also via the genre and narrative characteristics. Characterisation, perspective and interfigurality offer different literary devices to connect these novels with one another, and although the connection is mainly bifold, i.e. between the first and second, and the second and third, it can definitely be stated that they are linked.

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Conclusion

Characters form the basis for every novel. This is true for both protagonists and side characters, neither of which can be taken out of a story without losing a vital part of it. However, when creating a new story, it is quite possible to use a side-character as the new protagonist, which does not change the whole process of characterisation, but rather adds new material to already existing information. As has been stated in the research question, the use of side characters as protagonists changes how characters are perceived, as well as how they are developed and presented. Although the reader is already acquainted with the character, several new aspects can be presented to establish a more in-depth presentation and add new layers to character and background story. As the narrative instance adds an important part of information, character development and perception does change when first-person narrators are used. Also, narrative situation as well as genre traits change character perception. Thus, the interrelation of characters between different novels can be achieved via genre, narrative situation and characterisation. In French’s novels, both genre and narrative situation clearly influence and change how characters are developed in the novels. Firstly, genre characteristics presuppose certain character traits, and as different subgenre characteristics apply to all three novels, different character traits are realised in all of them. Thus, literary aspects of crime fiction can be found both in the narrative situation as well as in the character representation and development of all three novels. Secondly, in terms of narrative situation, setting and temporal set-up of the novels is not only influenced by genre definitions, but also adds a layer to characterisation and interrelation between the novels. Both setting and temporal layout are used to connect the novels with one another, yet at the same time contrast the character interrelations and the character’s relation to places and time. Finally, the analysis of the characterisation shows that the characters in the novels are not only represented similarly by different narrating instances, but that the representation of characters across two novels is not contrasted, but enhanced. Thus, it can be stated that the interrelation between the three novels is clearly achieved in these novels via characters, and that this relationship is emphasised through different narrative and genre aspects. The use of a first-person narrator can influence

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characterisation, as it only offers an objective view on others, but in these novels, it does not change character perception, but enhance it. Instead, the use of an unreliable narrator renders it more difficult to process information and form a clear picture of a character. Also, multiperspectivity is applied in the novels to emphasise the use of different perspectives and thus again, show how characters are interrelated yet contrasted via these diverging points of view. However, it has also become clear that the relationship between the three novels is not similar, as the first and second novel are more closely related to one another than the second and third, thus creating a different type of interrelation. This aspect shows that character interrelation is dependent on the close relationship between novels and that if there is a gap, character perception and relation is not achieved as thoroughly. In the end, it has been shown that the relationship between characters across novels can link novels with one another and that this link can be achieved via several different literary devices. Also, the different degrees to which novels can be interrelated have been shown, as well as the extent to which narrative perspective and unreliable narration influence this interrelation. Of course, this thesis is limited to only three novels of this series, and the analysis of character interrelations can be continued for the whole series. Also, different authors will apply these interrelational devices in different ways, thus offering a whole new field of study for future analysis. This thesis has offered a brief insight into how character interrelations can be analysed, and hopefully, this will trigger new advancement into this field of study.

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Table of Figures

Figure 1: Types of Multiperspectivity …………………………………………………28 Figure 2: Paradigmatic Axis of Perspective…………………………………………….29 Figure 3: Syntagmatic Axis of Perspective……………………………………………..30 Figure 4: Regulation of Perspective…………………………………………………….31