Novelist Patricia Abbott, whose debut novel Concrete Angel is a nominee for the 2016 Macavity Award for Best First Mystery, discusses some of the thorny issues facing writers of crime fiction.
The Difficult Centerpiece of SHOT IN
DETROIT
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I set SHOT
IN DETROIT almost totally within Detroit. It's a city often accused of
exemplifying transgression: the murder capital of the world plunged into
bankruptcy, suffering the lowest rate of high school graduation in the country,
imprisoning the most black males, enduring the most extreme poverty. The art
and literature coming out of Detroit was edgy, bleak, transgressive. How could it not be? To find a Detroit prompting a
different story, I'd have to have set it much earlier. Even in Joyce Carol
Oates' brilliant THEM, set in the fifties and sixties in Detroit, the plunge is
well underway.
Early
readers of SHOT found Violet a difficult sell. An agent gave me this advice:
change her name, make her younger, give her girlfriends, find her a best friend
who isn't a gay Filipino who sells drugs. Make her more appealing to women:
they buy the books. I took some of his advice. But each time I stepped farther
away from the Violet in my head, the story felt off-beam. If the central
premise of the novel was going to work, Violet could not be the sort of woman
who sat on PTA boards or lunched with former sorority sisters.
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If Violet is
at first is cavalier about her project, time whittles away at her conviction.
Does the art she's making let her off the hook? She initially thinks so. But the
accretion of dead men makes her more aware of what's happening around her. A
project such as this can't be only about art. And the faces she repeatedly views
in extreme close-up haunt her, silently accusing her of exploiting them. Her
work also poisons her relationship with Bill, the mortician allowing her access
to the bodies. She pays a high price for her folly, for her art.
Every
question Violet asks herself in the book, I asked myself too. Were we both exploiting
the deaths in Detroit? A loner by nature, Violet inhabits a small world. Initially
I prepared biographies of the men who died in the novel. They were fictitious
characters but closely resembled men who died between 2008-2010. You only have
to google the words SHOT IN DETROIT and you will find horrifying stories like
"Two Shot in Argument Over Kool-Ade." I eventually omitted the back stories, using
only brief headlines in most cases. Like Violet, I had limits
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