True Crime, or Fact Stranger Than Fiction

We're in an era when the lines between fact and fiction, truth and falsehood (alternative facts for some), seem more blurred than usual. When it comes to murder, the fictional tale is certainly easier to swallow, with mysteries solved, with good and evil clearly delineated, and with resolution cathartic and triumphant. On the other hand, the best of the true crime genre, going beyond prurient and sensational tabloid fare, exposes disturbing realities and forces readers to consider tough questions involving family, society and justice--often without clear answers. Consider Kate Summerscale's The Wicked Boy: The Mystery of a Victorian Child Murderer, winner of the 2017 Edgar Award for Best Fact Crime Book. In 1895, Robert Coombes (age 13) and his brother Nattie (age 12) kill their mother and go on a 10-day spree--eating at coffee houses, visiting the seaside and attending the theater. When their mother's decomposed body is finally discovered in an upstairs bedroom, Robert coolly confesses to stabbing her, while Nattie takes a plea and gives evidence against his brother. In his insanity defense, the court hears testimony about Robert's severe headaches, his fascination with violent criminals, and his passion for "penny dreadful" pulp fiction violence. He seems to feel no remorse, his laughing courtroom demeanor chills, and neither the prosecution nor the defense can find a motive. He is sentenced to Broadmoor, the infamous criminal lunatic asylum. Released as an adult, he moves to Australia and joins the army during World War I, becoming a band leader and stretcher-bearer, and earning medals for his courage under fire. He also later informally adopts a neighbor’s child when he sees the child abused. The journey from child killer to wartime hero is one of the tale's great mysteries, certainly unimaginable by Victorian theories about the "Wicked Boy." Another impressive fact crime book about the same time period is The Devil in the White City by Eric Larson, intertwining the story of the architect of Chicago's 1893 World’s Fair with one of the earliest serial killers, contrasting harbingers of our "modern" age. I also loved Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt, a Southern Gothic murder set in Savannah, GA, high society. And of course, there's In Cold Blood by Truman Capote, the 1966 classic that launched the genre with an exploration of a family massacred in a small Kansas town and the dark hearts of two killers, a great read even if later criticized for sacrificing factual truth to storytelling truth. For more examples of top true crime writing, see https://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/73638-the-10-best-true-crime-books.html

Great Travel Writing Offers an Inner Journey

I am currently traveling in India. As I sat in a rocking train, reading Indian author Rohinton Mistry's Such a Long Journey, I began to think about how talented writers have informed my appreciation and understanding of foreign places, or helped me to rediscover domestic places. Now travel literature is an old genre, including the travel journals of ancient Greek tourists, medieval Arab raconteurs, Song Dynasty Chinese classics, and Captain James Cook's best-selling diaries. Among more contemporary U.S. writers, William Least Heat-Moon's Blue Highways, John Steinbeck's Travels With Charlie, Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, and Cheryl Strayed's recent Wild stand out for me. Travel writing can also be fictional, although based on real journeys, such as Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness or Jack Kerouac's The Dharma Bums. Personally, John Berendt's City of Falling Angels was fascinating preparation for a visit to Venice, Italy, and Peter Hessler's River Town: Two Years on the Yangtze provided great insight during a recent trip to China. What makes great travel literature stand out? It is not just about the physical journey, although vivid descriptions of natural and man-made sights are important. A really good tale reveals the culture and history of a place on a living, human scale in a way monuments and vistas cannot. It also reveals the inner journey of the writer and takes us along to our own insights about leaving home, about being a stranger in strange lands, about confronting new experiences, ideas and lifestyles. At the end of travels together, author and reader will share some truths about the variety and universality of the human adventure. So, if you are planning a trip, don't just get the maps and guidebooks, look for insights from authors who've blazed the trail. You can start with a Condé Nast Traveler selection of the best travel fiction at http://www.cntraveler.com/features/2008/11/The-69-Greatest-Fiction-Travel-Books-of-All-Time