The Use of Mysteries in the Classroom

By Amy Denton

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In the public school or college classroom, multiple issues face the teacher, one being what to cover and how much to cover in the subject the class is about. Should the class be about history or English? A ready-made assignment is analyzing fiction for the subject. This practice teaches your students that not everything they read is dull, dry, academic text. Analyzation also uses those all-important critical thinking skills. If you're looking for a text that is a good fit for this assignment look no further than the Joe Leaphorn and Walt Longmire novels, written by Tony Hillerman and Craig Johnson, respectively.

In the history and English survey courses, what the student perceives to be the truth can greatly affect how they understand and process the information they are given. It is one of the jobs of the teacher to find out what those perceptions are and find a way to work with them. The easiest way to discover those preconceived notions is to ask. Don’t be surprised by the answers. Make a list. This list of questions is vital for opening the students’ minds to understanding something they may or may not have thought about---what people are like in other parts of the world and/or their own country. 

Ask them where their information about Native Americans comes from. Do not be surprised if the main answer is the internet, TV, or movies. Students today live in a highly digital society. Having easy access to vast amounts of knowledge is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing in that they can find whatever they need for a class, quickly and easily. But it can be a curse if the information is wrong. It’s a conundrum that has perplexed both college professors and high school teachers since the rise of the internet---how to get the needed information to the students without losing their attention but without turning the subject into a three-ring circus in an attempt to keep the students’ attention.

The answer? Use the media they are used to, video, in the form of tv episodes or movies as well as print media. Use an author who has won awards ranging from the Mystery Writers of America and the Agatha Malice Domestic Award for Lifetime Achievement to the Navajo Tribe’s Special Friends of the Dineh Award. Use Tony Hillerman.

The novels themselves will be a throwback in time for students who know no other world than computers, iPods, and cell phones. The first novel in the Joe Leaphorn series was printed in 1970, long before either they—and in some cases, their parents—were born. The first books in the series have no technology and give students a look at what life was like before technology took over. In that brief look, so much can be discovered: about the Four Corners area, the relationships between the characters, and, most importantly, the culture of multiple Indian tribes. It is through the stories that the students will learn about the different tribes, their traditions, and their differences. 

A good place to start the analysis is to look at the background of the writer and where his inspiration came from. The answer is in this case is simple. Hillerman wrote about what he knew. He lived among the people he wrote about. He started writing in the late 1960s, before computers. Research was done the old-fashioned way, living in the setting and among the people in the books. 

His inspiration, Hillerman claims, came from an Australian mystery writer Arthur Upfield. Upfield wrote a series of novels set in the Australian outback featuring Detective Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte, “Bony,” of the Queensland Police Force, a half white, half Aborigine. That Hillerman was inspired by a native Australian to write mysteries staring Native Americans make his stories all the more compelling.

The landscape of the Southwest is as much a character as Joe Leaphorn or Jim Chee. From Window Rock in Arizona to Shiprock in New Mexico to Tuba City back in Arizona, the depth and the breadth of the Southwest is on full display in all of the books. An interesting avenue to take in class would be to assign specific regions from the books to students and have them research the area and the people that live in it. In this way, the students not only learn about places they have probably never heard of, but they also learn about the people who live there and why they live there. 

All of Hillerman’s novels are steeped in Native American culture; usually Navajo but sometimes Hopi and sometimes Zuni. In the first book in the series, The Blessing Way, the reader is introduced to half of one of the major Navajo song ceremonies, the Enemy Way. The ceremony is done to counter the harmful effects of the “chindi,” a ghost left behind after the death of a Navajo or to kill off a troublemaker. Joe Leaphorn attends an Enemy Way ceremony at the beginning of the book because of a body he finds. In the course of the story, the reader learns that the trouble maker, responsible for the body, is a Navajo named George Jackson, who was hired by Jimmy Hall, to keep people away from an Anasazi pueblo. Hall was collecting radar data from missiles being tested on federal land near the reservation. He had hoped to sell the information for a million dollars, a lot of money in 1970. In the end, Hall fails, shooting himself as Leaphorn approaches. 

In The Blessing Way, the reader discovers the Navajo philosophy of keeping peace in one’s life versus the desire for money. The book can be seen as a morality tale--- this is what can happen when the desire for money overwhelms everything else--- but it is first and foremost an excellent mystery. Seventeen novels continue Leaphorn’s story, each a study in Native American culture. 

Craig Johnson, author of the Walt Longmire mysteries, is another author prime for this assignment type. The series are alike in that they use Native Americans and the life on Native American reservations in their stories. The difference is that the main character in the Longmire series is white. However, his best friend , Henry Standing Bear, is Cheyenne. Longmire doesn’t work for the Tribal Police (Leaphorn does). He is the sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming. And he often has to deal with Native Americans from the reservation located in his county. 

The Cold Dish, the first book in the series, deals with a young Cheyenne girl suffering from fetal alcohol syndrome. She is sexually assaulted by four members of the local high school football team. Two years after nominal sentences are handed out to the boys, the least repentant one is found shot to death. The Cheyenne Nation is considered a sovereign nation within the borders of the United States, meaning Longmire, as an outside law enforcement officer, is not allowed to walk onto the reservation whenever he wants. The conclusion of the story will have students talking long after they have finished the book. 

Like Hillerman, Johnson lives in and among the people he writes about, near both the Crow and Cheyenne reservations in Wyoming. He has used people living on the reservations in the creation of some of the characters. Unlike Hillerman, Johnson came to writing after a career in law enforcement. He grew up in a rural part of the U.S. and comes from a long line of storytellers. Johnson claims he is just the first one in his family to write stories down. Among his many awards is the Tony Hillerman Mystery Short Story Award in 2006 for his short story “Old Indian Trick.”

Johnson has also had the internet and social media at his disposal since he began to write. The use of both in the classroom can make the learning of such complex concepts as “sovereign nations within a nation” or the status of federally recognized tribes in the U.S easier. After reading his books, students can go to Craig Johnson’s  website, download discussion questions and bring them to use in class. The questions are not easily answered. This makes for ready-made class discussions. 

Another media available for Johnson’s work is television. Hillerman had three of his novels turned into movies. Dark Winds is a recent television adaptation of his work. A&E aired the first episode of Longmire in June of 2012, followed by two more seasons. Netflix produced three additional seasons after that. 

One activity suggestion, from the storytelling perspective, is to have students choose a Native American character from the television show and explain why he is the way he is. Two possible examples are Acting Police Chief Mathias, the head of the Cheyenne Tribal Police, or Jacob Nighthorse, a Cheyenne businessman building a casino to benefit the Cheyenne with jobs and the proceeds of the casino. Students might also compare the Walt Longmire depicted in the books with the Walt Longmire seen in the television show to see what the differences are between the two and why.

The episodes of Longmire cover a variety of topics from the modern-day such as the treatment of Native American women. One of the best episodes is from the third season,“Miss Cheyenne.” At its heart, the entry deals with one of the many depredations visited upon Native American women, disguised as “help,” forced sterilization. At the end of the episode, a former Miss Cheyenne is discovered to have murdered the sons of a doctor who sterilized her many years ago without her consent or knowledge during a minor operation. A simple question to ask the students is: Why did the doctor decide to sterilize the woman? To look at it from another angle, why did the woman kill the sons of the doctor? Why not kill the doctor himself? These questions can lead the students to think of Native Americans and their lives in new ways.

Another part of the same episode deals with the Miss Cheyenne pageant, a real event that takes place every year and was “borrowed” by the television show. Contestants in their exquisitely beaded costumes are shown doing ceremonial dances that are part of the pageant. When the students see the costumes and the dancing, they see the real thing. This opens another avenue of questions. What exactly is the Miss Cheyenne pageant? Asking that question and more like it can be answered and discussed in the classroom as an extension of the Native American-White relations or Indian cultures. 

It may have never occurred to either man that their mysteries would be used to broaden high school students’ knowledge of Native Americans. The gift of using the Joe Leaphorn/Jim Chee novels and the Walt Longmire series in history, English composition or Literature, is that it makes the class come alive.  

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Amy Denton been writing since high school and has been making up stories to amuse herself since she was a small child. Currently, she is a lecturer at University of Houston in the English Department. Denton also teaches history online at Southern New Hampshire University and Lone Star College. She is working on a paranormal mystery about a vampire mystery writer who is being stalked, titled Ink and Ashes. It was a finalist in the 2022 Claymore Awards. 

Motifs for Murder

By Delphine Boswell

No, the title is not a typo, and motifs was not meant to be motives.

If you had asked me, “What is a motif?” twenty-five years ago, I would have had no idea. After earning a master’s degree in Rhetoric and Composition, teaching college and university students, and receiving a Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing, I shout out not only the definition but also the importance of motifs in mysteries.

Of course, the definition of a motif, or at least mine, is: a literary device that uses repetition of a key word, phrase, symbol, color, or image to emphasize a subtle meaning. A motif also helps to develop the overall theme of the written work.

In my work in progress, one of my motifs is dead black crows. Some see crows—more than two are called a murder—as a message or prediction of sadness, danger, and even death to come. Further employing crows as a motif also helps to emphasize my overall theme of good versus evil and, more specifically, that even the most righteous can fall from a pedestal of grace into the darkness of sin.

But what exactly is the etymology of the word motif? Interestingly, the origin of the word dates back to the 14th century when the word in Old French meant to “drive,” and in Medieval Latin meant “to move.” Similarly, today, motifs are used to drive or move the theme along.

The use of motifs in mystery novels serve this very purpose, and in fact, Edgar Allan Poe, considered to be the father of detective fiction, used such common motifs as death, fear or terror, and madness in several of his short stories.

In the Sherlock Holmes canon, written by Arthur Conan Doyle, he creates such themes as cunning and cleverness, justice and judgment, and society and class, to name a few. He uses such symbols as Toby the dog to represent devotedness and faithfulness, a coronet as a tool to represent greed and hidden worth, and exotic animals to represent the dark, threatening, and poisonous nature of Dr. Roylott in “The Adventure of the Speckled Band.”

Agatha Christie used a rhyming verse of then there were none, well as dreams and hallucinations, as motifs in her novel “And Then There Were None.”

Motifs can be used in character development. If a character is depressed, the description of her clothes as being heavy and black can convey her mood. If a character is arrogant and haughty, the writer might choose to use the motif of mirrors or the repeated phrase mirror, mirror on the wall. The continual wailing of a baby can foster grief, suffering, and pain. 

Motifs can also be implemented to create a mood. A foreboding tone might use motifs such as heavy drapery, dusty furniture, or squeaky floors. On the other hand, a joyous mood could be represented by gnomes appearing in a sitting room or in a garden. A threatening mood might be depicted by thunderstorms, lightening, and thunder.

Another place to incorporate motif is in setting. Rain might imply treacherous conditions or uncontrollable circumstances. Some motifs to describe an isolated setting are weeds, dead flowers, or a howling coyote. A hospital’s motifs are squeaky oxfords, medicinal smells, or overhead public announcements.

In the above examples of characterization, mood development, or setting creation, you probably noticed that motifs are often examples of sensory language, such as sight, sound, and smell. What categorizes them as motifs is the frequent use of them in a written work.

Another literary term known as a tag also becomes a motif if used often. An example of this is a tapping cane, a pipe’s scent, or a twitching eye. Not only are these words used to describe or to set apart one character from another, but they also could imply nervous habits, anxious traits, or restlessness if used as motifs.

In my opinion, this literary device is often neglected in mystery novels. The importance of red herrings, misdirection, and cliffhangers, for example, are a must, but don’t discount the use of motif to reinforce your theme, add depth and meaning for the reader, and contribute a subtle ambiance to the plot.

You Want Me to Spend Time with You?

By Paula Messina

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We all have different measures for what keep us reading. One of mine is characters I’m willing to live with all the way to the end. The gift of a mystery got me thinking about this. Why do some characters meet my requirement and others fail?

The novel looked promising. The author had won a prestigious award. The main character is an archaeologist. I enjoy books that involve an expertise, especially one I’m not schooled in. Alas, my interest dwindled quickly.

The story is told through the main character’s viewpoint. She is miserable and self-loathing because of her weight. This was not a good sign, but I read on. Soon enough a detective needs her help on a murder case. He comes not with hat in hand. Rather, he’s downright nasty. Not only is the detective as off-putting as the main character, his approach is irrational. The characters have no history together. His unprofessional behavior is inexplicable, even cause for termination. Didn’t he learn at his mother’s knee you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?

Actually, he was terminated. I stopped reading the book.

For me to sustain interest, I don’t demand that the characters be Mother Teresa incarnate or a Nobel Peace Prize winner or even a Boy Scout rescuing abandoned dogs. It’s those one-note grumpy characters I can live without. 

I’m not alone in this. After I closed that book, I read the online reviews. I have plenty of company. The negative reviews essentially said the same thing: I don’t want to waste my time on these characters.

It’s next to impossible to imagine anyone more dislikable than Ebenezer Scrooge. Dickens is emphatic that absolutely everyone avoids him. “Even the blind men’s dogs appeared to know him; and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, ‘No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!’”

And yet Scrooge is one of the most enduring and, dare I say, beloved characters in English literature. Ebenezer is proof that flaws are fine. It’s how flaws are presented that makes all the difference. Characters need not be perfect. Indeed, they shouldn’t be.

Dickens pulls the reader into A Christmas Carol by raising questions. Who is Marley and why should we care that he died? Why was Scrooge “his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner.”?

Dickens quickly establishes Scrooge’s wretched personality. No reader would invite Ebenezer over to watch the Super Bowl, at least not until the three Ghosts of Christmas get through with him. Dicken’s delicious descriptions keep us curious about how one being could be so miserable and disliked, but delicious descriptions only satisfy for so long. Dickens could have easily pushed Scrooge into an unbearable, unreadable character.

Yet Ebenezer Scrooge endures. Why?

The answer is simple. Scrooge doesn’t tell the story. An intimate, chatty, gossipy narrator does. If Scrooge told A Christmas Carol, it is highly doubtful even the inestimable Dickens could keep readers turning the pages for one hundred eighty years.

Arthur Conan Doyle and Rex Stout used the same technique for the odd genius Sherlock Holmes and the often belligerent but brilliant Nero Wolfe. We see Holmes and Wolfe through the eyes of their friends, and because Watson and Goodwin find redeeming social value in Sherlock and Wolfe, the reader does as well.

It’s no accident that Dr. John Watson is a cheerful, friendly character, or that Archie Goodwin is only a few IQ points short of Wolfe’s genius. Archie is wittier than Wolfe, likes women, and is a great dancer. Our view of Sherlock and Nero is filtered through these immensely enjoyable narrators, and we’re willing to stick around until the end.

A narrator isn’t the only technique to make an unpleasant character palatable. We often describe our lives in absolute terms. I’ll never be anything than an utter failure. My husband never compliments me. My mother never has a kind word for anyone. There’s a name for this kind of thinking: cognitive distortion.

We humans are not a never-ending one note, miserable or ecstatic. Even in the worst of times, we laugh at a good joke, make goo-goo eyes at an infant, and enjoy the warm sun on our skin. It’s impossible to be miserable all the time, just as it’s impossible to be endlessly upbeat.

Humans experience ups and downs throughout a day, a year, a lifetime. Characters do as well. Good characters are complex. They enjoy life one minute and complain in the next. They lament about their weight, then promise to diet tomorrow.

In the mystery mentioned, a little levity, for example, would have made the character’s self-loathing tolerable. An explanation and an apology would have made the detective’s initial bad impression understandable and relatable. In other words, mitigating circumstances make an unpleasant character more lifelike, but even mitigating circumstances only carry a reader so far. 

Sherlock’s genius makes him impatient with lesser mortals. Wolfe has a dark past that is never explained. It possibly involves a bitter betrayal by a woman. Dickens shows us Scrooge’s descent into a spiritual wasteland through a series of flashbacks while also showing Scrooge’s journey to reclaim his soul. It is those flashbacks that make his redemption on Christmas Eve believable. His goodness was always there to be brought to life. We know in our hearts that Ebenezer Scrooge does become “as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good old world.”

It’s not flaws that are off-putting. A character without a flaw is malformed. It’s how those flaws and foibles are presented that makes the difference. A main character can be stubborn and uncooperative. Supporting characters can goad the protagonist into a better disposition. Archie Goodwin is a master at this. Introduce a humorless character to a cutup. Dr. Watson on the page isn’t the bumbling Nigel Bruce, but he does lighten Holmes’ intensity. A dour woman populating pages needs to meet a ray of sunshine. Conversely, that main character who insists on imitating Pollyanna is just waiting for someone to burst her bubble.

Contrasts work wonders. Characters bring out different aspects of the main character. Best-selling author Barbara A. Shapiro says different friends bring out different aspects of our personalities.

Think about it. You discuss politics and solve the world’s problems with one friend. You’re a veritable joke machine with another, and a third has you discussing how to grow mushrooms and make kimchi and sauerkraut. Scrooge interacts differently with Bob Cratchit than he does with his nephew Fred. Scrooge moves from disbelief, to insolence, fear, and finally to submission as he travels with each ghost.

This works both ways. No human is always bubbly and positive. Characters aren’t either. What my friend Marilyn says of life is also true of fiction. “If you don’t have a problem now, wait two weeks.”

In the novel I’m writing, Donatello, my main character, is essentially a good guy, but he vents his fury on his parish priest. The priest deserves the drubbing, but Donatello believes it’s a sin to scream at a priest. He screams anyway. Donatello would be a weak character if he ignored the priest’s nastiness.

Donatello’s anger serves another purpose. It displays Donatello’s determination to reclaim his life after an accident robs him of his dream to pitch pro ball. Donatello’s anger says he’s not giving up. No one’s pushing him around, not even his parish priest. This anger intensifies Donatello’s commitment to find his sister’s murderer.

When I pick up something to read, I want to be carried along in a story filled with characters I’d invite to share my life for a while. They can be a pompous Sherlock, a ton of immovable flesh a la Wolfe, or a Scrooge so nasty even dogs avoid him. But I only keep reading if those negative traits are balanced by positive ones. In short, for this reader, how a writer presents his characters is vitally important. 

As for the kvetchers, the malcontents, the one-note nasties, I’d rather not even open the book.

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Paula Messina lives near America’s first public beach. When she isn’t sloshing barefoot through the Atlantic, she’s writing short stories and essays. Her humorous caper, “Which Way New England?” appears in Wolfsbane, Best New England Crime Stories 2023. “Science for the Senses,” an essay, is in issue 7 of Indelible Literary and Arts Journal. You can listen to her reading works in the public domain at librivox.org.