Blah blah, humorous excuse for not having posted in nine months, blah blah, passive aggressive comment to my friends who don't bother to read this, blah blah declaration that I will now do this more regularly. And now the post.
I do not like gore. I also seldom like psychotic mysteries that suggest at least one of my acquaintances is likely to murder me with a ladle. That is how much I dislike gore; the best murder weapon I could consider for this hypothetical scenario is a ladle. I like to trust people. Trusting people has sometimes backfired but to nothing life-threatening as of now. This is the reason I have not managed to indulge in the ever-growing genre of true crime. Not much of fake crime either. But I have recently come across a lovely symbiote, an accompanying genre that manages to take a lot of the negativity out of the equation. Even though murder mysteries solved by elder people sounds quite niche and specific, I somehow found myself both reading such novels and watching such a series at the same time. Richard Osman's 'Thursday Murder Club' book series and 'Murders in the building' series series came to me at the same time, as if to provide a gateway to the current zeitgeist and an odd feeling of comfort when the rest of the world is disgusting.
Is it because elderly heroes further allow me to distance myself? I am certainly not elderly, even though my habits might suggest otherwise. But I think it is that these characters are allowed to show compassion in a non-turbulent manner. For example, the Thursday Murder Club books show a group of four people that might not have crossed paths otherwise enjoy themselves and focus on their companionship rather than their differences. There is also plenty of room for dad-joke comedy for this dad-joke enthusiast. These characters have less to lose, as if reaching that old age is an opportunity to revert themselves to beautifully childlike reactions. They are also the most inconspicuous detectives, an undetected threat. And the greatest of opportunities to laugh with boomers. Martin Short, for example, is a joy to watch, a comedic genius ready to poke fun at himself at all times and enjoying the hell out of it. So is Steve Martin and Ron, Abraham, Elizabeth and Joyce, but Martin Short has the boyish enthusiasm that perfectly explains this sentiment that I got from the subcategory of this otherwise gruesome genre.
This is a plea; join me in a cosiness provided by this unlikely pairing. It is almost Christmas, a time most fitting for a sweet novel about four misfits in a retirement village or two grandparents who enter the world of podcasting. And Selena Gomez.
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