Welcome Jeri Westerson!

Why I Write Historical Mystery

By Jeri Westerson


Why do authors write what they write? Is there some hidden meaning in the genre they choose? Is it purely marketing? Or is it something else?

I guess in my case, it might be all three.

Let’s start with the “something else.” When you are raised in a household of rabid Anglophiles as I was you can’t help but get the Middle Ages under your skin. Books aplenty were on our shelves. There was historical fiction from the likes of Thomas B. Costain, Nora Lofts, Anya Seton, Mary
Stewart, and many others. They sported covers with square-jawed knights in sometimes comical clinches with maidens showing far too much décolletage (this was the sixties, after all. Sex, drugs, rock and roll…and jousting?) But even so, it was a fascinating world of manly men and pointy-sleeve gowned women; chivalrous rules and cunning villains. We also had a fully illustrated child’s version of the Canterbury Tales…with some of the more fabliaux stories excised, of course. The strange Bosch-esque illustrations only served to draw in a curious ten-year-old which led to a life-long devotion to calligraphy and illuminated manuscripts…and Chaucer.

La belle dame sans merci  (Waterhouse)

But there were also the non-fiction books about the Middle Ages, the histories, the biographies, the big beautiful tomes with lots of photos of cathedrals and manuscripts and paintings of knights (gotta love the knights!) And if that wasn’t enough, there were dinner table conversations about the British monarchy. Not the present day monarchy, mind you, but of days past. I could name more kings and queens of England than I ever could of American presidents.

So once set on the course of being a novelist, I naturally chose to write about the medieval period. Was there some hidden meaning in it all? A psychological one, perhaps?

rodjulian/123RF Stock Photo

I might have gotten my love for things medieval from my parents, but like many American homes in the seventies, divorce reared its ugly head. We all have an ideal of Camelot, but as Arthur learns, the reality is somewhat different. There is a lot to be said about immersing oneself in the fantasy of a knight in shining armor saving the day. I never lost that desire to see honesty and virtue triumph…with all the pageantry and pomp of another place and time. There is something that calls to us to remove ourselves from the present and take up residence in our imagination. A medieval setting is both exotic and dark in the sense that it is a bit dangerous, that behind the shining armor is the face of intrigue and thrones to be lost and won. And in the gloomy recesses of a London street, there is every expectation of mayhem.

Who wouldn’t like that?

And then finally, there is marketing. Let me emphasize that choosing to write an historical—whether a straight historical novel or a mystery—is not the best choice to make you rich. And choosing a subgenre like a medieval mystery is even more of a niche. But I know that there are folks out there, like me, who have coveted their love of history to the point of obsession (there is a freakin’ suit of armor in my living room for God sake) that they, too, would love to immerse themselves in a fictional account of the Middle Ages. And why not make that a mystery? And why not go an extra step and make it a hard-boiled mystery in a medieval setting? That gets all the pistons pumping as far as I’m concerned. That would be me writing something that I couldn’t find out there to read.



Los Angeles native and award-winning author Jeri Westerson writes the critically acclaimed Crispin Guest Medieval Noir mysteries. Her books have garnered nominations for the Shamus, the Macavity, the Agatha, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice, and the Bruce Alexander Historical Mystery Award.
Jeri is president of the southern California chapter of Mystery Writers of America and is vice president of the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime. When not writing, Jeri dabbles in gourmet cooking, drinks fine wines, eats cheap chocolate, and swoons over anything British.




You  can read more about Jeri’s books on her website, including a book discussion guide on her latest medieval mystery, SHADOW OF THE ALCHEMIST, available October 15, 2013.

I got an idea

I'm this-close to finishing the latest mystery and, as usual, instead of slamming to the finish line, I'm finding things to distract me. My latest shiny toy involves the idea for a new story. It all started with my favorite movie, The Big Sleep.

I wrote about it on my own blog and several people told me they'd never seen the movie. Please don't tell me you've never seen the movie. It is an essential member of the noir movie club, a movie that every mystery lover must see. Honestly, if you haven't seen this movie, I'm taking away your Mystery Lovers License. If there is such a thing.

First of all, look at this trailer.



I mean, they reference the book, AND the author, before they start mentioning the stars. Okay, so the movie veers a little from the book, but as an author, wouldn't you just die if Denzel Washington or (picture your favorite star) pulled your book off the shelves, showed it to the screen and told everyone in the theater what a fine author you were and how happy he was to star in the movie adaptation?

Yeah, I could point my boots skyward after that, too.

So, go watch the movie, then come back. It's probably on Netflix, or Amazon Prime to watch on your Fire. It's from 1946, so it's probably free. I'll wait...

*humming Jeopardy song*

Now that you're back, let's talk about the plot. It's so convoluted, I barely know where to begin. Phillip Marlowe, a P.I. who is never referred to by his first name by anyone, is hired by a wealthy old man to pay off someone who is blackmailing his youngest daughter, Carmen. Immediately, everyone around Marlowe, including Carmen's older sister Vivian, starts trying to find out if he's being paid to find Sean Regan. Sean is the old man's former bodyguard and has gone missing.




With me so far? Good, because the plot goes a million directions from there. By the time it's all over, there are five murders, six if you count Sean Regan, whose body is never found. Carmen's been sent to rehab and Marlowe ends up with Vivian.

I happen to love this movie, despite the plot holes, because the dialogue is insanely smart and I'm a sucker for Los Angeles in the rain. And, apart from the body count and Carmen's little stint at Betty Ford, it has a happy ending.



I got to thinking about Sean Regan. He was a bodyguard for General Sternwood and used to be a mercenary for the Irish Republican Army. He's already missing when the movie starts, and the implication is that the villain (Eddie Mars) had him murdered and dumped somewhere because he was messing around with Mrs. Mars. (BTW, I'd have loved for Mrs. Mars to have a first name like Venus, but alas, she's Mona. Mona Mars. Meh.)

What if... Sean wasn't dead? What if he was a smart mercenary/bodyguard who evaded Eddie Mars and had to re-invent himself to escape detection?

If I thought I would be the least bit good at historical mysteries, I'd write this story. It's set in the Forties, so I'd have to do actual research. I may bite the bullet and try it eventually. In the meantime, I'd love to open the door to your imagination.

Whatever happened to Sean Regan?

I went to the animal fair*

By Gayle Carline
Mystery Gal (and so much more)

No, I'm not talking about writer's conferences today.

I'm talking about the Renaissance Fair. Or Faire. Whatever. I used to go to Ren Fairs, as we called them (apparently we could speak in proper Shakespearean English but were too lazy to say renaissance). The local one was held for a while in Agoura, then moved to the San Bernadino area and is now in Irwindale. These are all cities in southern California and all you need to know is that for each one, you drive two miles past Hell and turn left. The fair is held around May and is usually supercalifreakin-hot, especially to be wandering around in several long skirts and a corset.

This is a picture of my friends, DeAnna and Austin Cameron, who are big into playing dress-up and going to Ren Fairs and Steampunk shindigs, etc. I didn't think they'd mind if I used their picture, since DeAnna is an author (historical fiction - really good books). Check her out.

Anyway, I do have a point about murder and mystery here... somewhere... it may be at the bottom of my brain... ah, here it is.

I was recently wondering about what was so special about the Renaissance Period that makes people throw on massive amounts of unusual clothes and trot out words like "dost" and "speaketh". It can't just be for the giant turkey legs and the mead. And then I thought...

Why doesn't anyone have a Noir Fair? Okay, maybe it wouldn't be a fair, maybe it would be a Noir Night, but wouldn't you just love to dress up in 30s-40s attire and lurk around in shadows having cynical yet witty conversations?

I wouldn't want to meet this guy, of course.

And being a dame, I'd have to practice making these kinds of faces.

But all the guys would be in suits, with hats. Ties, too. A man without a tie is an absolute ruffian.

I'd get to wear a hat, too, and stockings with seams up the back,

and sparkling evening dresses with (faux) furs, 

and killer shoes and...

Sorry, I got a little distracted by the fashion.

We'd all talk like dames and joes and we'd banter. God, it's been forever since I've bantered.




Instead of being held in a park, it'd have to be an indoor event, where there'd be plenty of gin joints and dark alleys to cast the proper shadows. In this age of health-consciousness, we'd have to do something else for the cigarettes - maybe those fake cigarettes they advertise on late-night TV.

And there'd be so much booze, we'd need a taxi service to get us to and from the event. Food? What food? They never ate. Except for this.

But wouldn't it be worth it for this?

Would you be tempted to come out for a Noir Night? How would you imagine it?



*BTW, I went looking for a video of the song, "I Went to the Animal Fair." Would you believe all the versions out now have white-washed the lyrics? They no longer sing, "The monkey he got drunk/ And climbed up the elephant's trunk/ The elephant sneezed and fell to his knees/ And that was the end of the monk." The monkey no longer gets drunk, or flattened. Instead, he falls off his bunk and gets a boo-boo. The elephant is gone. The nerve.