PD James and the silence of God
I am a mystery
junkie. Often I’ve wondered why violent death and the search for whodunit so
fascinates me. It wasn’t until I heard a lecture about my favourite mystery writer
PD James that I found an answer (these lectures were by Wilfrid Laurie professor, Peter Erb). I think my fascination comes from trying to
come to grips with the silence of God in the face of human suffering. This
might sound far fetched, so let me explain.
In an interview nearly twenty years ago, James reflected on the increasing popularity of crime novels and said,
It
seems to me that more and more we live in a society in which we feel our
problems - be they international problems of war and peace, racial problems,
problems of drugs, problems of violence - to be literally beyond our ability to
solve, it seems to me very reassuring to read a popular form of fiction which
itself has a problem at the heart of it. One which the reader knows will be
solved by the end of the book; and not by supernatural means or good luck, but
by human intelligence, human courage and human perseverance.
Interestingly, James has set out to subtly deconstruct the comforting assurance of the crime novel. She remains committed the form of the crime novel, but at the same time undermines the assumption that human intellect and rational inquiry can solve the most perplexing of problems, particularly questions about suffering and evil. Like all great writers she can entertain while also making you grapple with the deep questions of life.
At the bitter end of her latest novel, The Lighthouse, when the murder is solved, her main character, Adam Dalgliesh remarks to his subordinate Kate Miskin that, “It hasn’t been one of our successes, Kate.” What has always been implicit in James’s writing, Dalgliesh now makes explicit. While the murder may be solved, it does nothing to solve the mystery of why evil and suffering exist and continue to exert their terrible hold over humanity.
The Lighthouse, like so many of her novels, successfully highlights the grey ambiguity of our experience of the world. All of her characters carry scars, whether the lingering scars of the death of Dalgliesh’s wife and young son, or Kate Miskin’s scars from being raised by a reluctant grandmother in abject poverty, or the hidden scars beneath the polished exterior of Sergeant Benton-Smith. Her suspects carry similar marks, from an alcoholic disgraced priest, to a crippled editor, to a boatman with a violent past, to a German diplomat seeking answers for his father’s death. Even the murderer is a tragic figure, haunted by his past.
James never attempts to
explain why people carry so much pain. For her the problem of suffering must always
remain a problem. But she has not resigned herself to despair. In the midst of
a vicious murder, Sergeant Benton-Smith finds compassion, Dalgliesh finds the
capacity to love, and Kate finds momentary peace for her restless soul.
James manages to avoid simplistic answers to the problem of suffering. But she doesn’t give herself to hopelessness, either. To me, her approach seems to come out of rich, theological depths. It also seems to mirror my experience of the world as a Christian.
James was once asked if she believes in a personal God. She replied, “What I will say is that I have had in my own life personal experiences of the love of God.”
Her interviewer followed up, “Would that have been in difficult times?”
“Yes. In difficult times.”
-please don't cut and paste, this has been submitted to the MB Herald for print!
