My reading habits have always veered all over the map. I usually have a book of poetry on the go and have just recently finished Kim Hyesoon’s tour de force “Phantom Pain Wings” which seemed to me to be a curious mix of Ted Hughes’ Crow cycle and something altogether odder. The vivid imagery was striking, but by the end of its 160-odd pages it certainly started to feel like a bit of a slog.

As a palate cleanser, of a sort, I came across a collection of Ross MacDonald detective stories, reprinted in a 3 volume set, and ordered it as a summer treat to myself.

I’ve read a good handful of his Lew Archer stories over the years, and they strike an intriguing balance between the classic noir detective fiction that always springs to mind when gumshoe investigators are invoked (prompting images of Humphrey Bogart and dangerous blondes) and something altogether deeper.

The 18 Archer novels were written over the course of nearly three decades and are notable for the way in which MacDonald subtly intertwines psychology and philosophy as underlying themes, without bogging down the pace and snappy prose of his stories. I picked up copies of The Drowning Pool and The Chill in the early noughties and was hooked on the evocative descriptions of southern California that MacDonald uses, sparely, but effectively to backdrop his mysteries. As the series progresses his detective ages, and the backdrop shifts and shimmers with the concerns of each era. In this sense it also brings to mind the Rabbit Angstrom novels by John Updike. 

It was an absolute pleasure breezing through “The way some people die”, which I think can fairly be described as a page turner. The chapters were short and punchy, the supporting cast of characters memorable and distinct. Some of the hardboiled imagery and wordplay was top notch (with just enough veering into the pastiche to remind you that it’s all for fun). It’s been a while since I read a book that I’d have described as being “hard to put down”. That’s not a slur on my recent reading pile, which includes a fair few that have been a pleasure to dip into and then stop and ponder on (see https://coincidentalcoaching.com/2025/06/09/why-the-purpose-of-the-universe-by-philip-goff-book-review/ ). But sometimes it’s just nice to sit back and be told a story and taken along for a ride.  On finishing the book this morning (with an ending I’d started to glean the rough outline of, but still surprised me in the detail) I got to thinking about the prevalence and popularity of detective fiction and series at the moment. 

My partner and parents both like to swap recommendations of what crime dramas have caught their attention in the TV catchup channels, and which ones from the archives have been sadly overlooked. The recent popularity of Ludwig, and Death Valley and the perennial roundabout of Death in Paradise demonstrate that there’s a solid vein of demand for these stories that hasn’t really dulled since the eras of Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle. Richards Osman and Coles have segued into the genre very successfully too.

So what is the underlying appeal of detective fiction? There’s something of the charm of the puzzle about it all, can you take the snippets of information and clues and work out the answer before the big reveal?

There’s also, somewhat paradoxically in view of the murderous basis of these stories, something quite cosy about the package. The narratives slip you seamlessly into the action and the reader or viewer is aware of the rules of the game. There’s also the implicit bargain that at the end of the episode, or the series, or by the final pages of the novel, that the disruption will have been neatly wrapped up and explained, and order restored. Is it hard to see where the appeal of such stories might lie in turbulent times such as our own?

Bringing it back to coaching, as I always try to, I think that this is why I particularly like the Ross MacDonald novels. Each one is a puzzle, but is a highly personal one and the rules, while familiar, need to be reset each time. It’s a thing that comes up in my coaching supervision, particularly when you’re highly experienced. How do you stop yourself from rushing to the conclusion, from unmasking the murderer, from leaping to the conclusion by the end of the first act? Because each coachee is different, and each of their sets of issues and the context they work in is different, it’s hugely important that we enter each coaching conversation as blank as possible, with as few preconceptions as possible. 

How to do that? I think it’s quite key to ensure that you take time before each coaching session to prepare. Some might meditate, some might look over their notes. I tend to listen to a piece of music, or read a couple of pages of whatever book I’m engrossed in. It’s a way to free up the short term memory and focus on the present, rather than jumping to unearned conclusions.

Epilogue

All this talk about crime noir, brought to mind the excellent graphic adventure Grim Fandango by LucasArts. Its superb blend of crime noir, Mexican day of the dead imagery and outstanding film score have left it justly lauded as one of the greatest computer adventures of all time. Here’s a snip from the soundtrack, to leave you with a taste.