Cruelty In Detective Stories

By looking at me you would never know that I write detective stories.

“Why would you write something cruel like this?” My classmate lifted her brow, finishing browsing one of my detective stories. “As a cute girl, you should try what NORMAL school girls write, err…… I don’t know…… Romantic?”

Do I portray the cruelty just for being cruel or its thrillers? What I demonstrate, through the tense plot to pumping veins, is the human nature beneath the seemed stiff surface, the façade that most people merely pay attention to, the fight between the light side and the dark side. Why would the earth one human being attempt to end another human being’s life against the law or even his or her own moral baseline? Where could a man be driven by benefits

regardless the foresee consequences? Are we certified to put on others’ shoes to understand the scenarios other individuals, even murderers, have to face?

I believe a convincing motive is the center of a fabulous detective story because human mind IS science, which is way too complicated as human brain developed. Creating detective stories offer both me and my readers a tunnel to peek through to read human minds in that fascinating process. My fingers fly on the keyboard or run across the notebook lines when I employ tweezers to reveal layers of conflicts inside.

A college girl who has to take care of her little sister after losing their parents in an unfortunate car accident, to protect her sister as well as herself from being harmed by greedy relatives who long to get rid of two girls for monopolizing the property their parents had left behind.

They struggle to keep them safe, to seek for help, but nobody believes them. I felt how forlorn they are. I felt their pain as I carved their story. My own heart splinted apart to make the decision for her to do the immoral things to save her sister.

Surely romantics can be grasping, whereas detective novels withdraw me from the current comforts and enjoyment to try to depict the miserable life someone is bearing in the saddest corners of this imperfect world where I cannot see. I read about Luxun when I was only ten. He wrote to wake Chinese who lived in unrealistic fantasies. His efforts at shaking those who were sleeping or pretending to be sleep were deeply imprinted on my vogue consciousness.

I couldn’t forget what my primary school Chinese teacher told me when I talked to her about writing detective stories. “You write deeply, so your readers think deeply.”

Detective fictions I wrote are mostly tragedy. Not as superficial as Kitsch, yet for a chance to consider seriously about limitless human desire and our society where hides the ugly and darkness.

I write deeply so my readers think deeply.

How more accurate it can

be?