Remembering Peter Robinson

 I first discovered Peter back in the mists of time, a quarter century ago, when the Ladies Killing Circle was in its infancy and looking for a professional writer to critique a chapter of the debut novels we were all struggling to write. A group of us invited him up for a day workshop. He was informal, insightful, at times funny, and often blunt in his assessments, teaching us the first rule of writing; develop a thick skin and take the punches. 

He was, however, very encouraging about the first chapter of my first Inspector Green novel, and once I sold it to a publisher a couple of years later, I met him again at the inaugural Bloody Words Mystery Conference in Toronto, where I waylaid him in the bar (having a drink with Ian Rankin) and he agreed to write a cover blurb. By that time I had become a fan of his Inspector Banks series and have read almost all of them. He is the kind of writer I aspire to be, tackling human stories with intensity, compassion, and hope, creating intelligent, nuanced characters and making insightful commentaries on the human condition using one of the most powerful media I know - the crime novel.

Over the years, I met him frequently at Bloody Words conferences, Arthur Ellis banquets (now called Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence), and at various festivals and book signings that often ended up in a pub. That's a favourite writer pastime - the post-party in the pub to share insider war stories. Peter, like his protagonist, loved a good Scotch but also knew his way around beers. 

He was always friendly, talkative, funny, with a sardonic wit. I also knew he gave tirelessly to the Canadian and international crime writing community, supporting the efforts of writers both experienced and rookie, teaching creative writing at the University of Toronto, and giving workshops. He was a tremendous voice for the Canadian crime writing community, and indeed for the crime genre in general. In between he wrote an astonishing number of books while still managing to keep the Inspector Banks series fresh and intriguing, and over the years has garnered too many awards to mention here. I will just say that his Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence, won for both short stories and novels, probably fill not just a bookshelf but a whole book case. In 2020 CWC awarded him the Grand Master Award, given "to recognize a Canadian crime writer with a substantial body of work who has garnered national and international recognition."

Through all of this I've always known him to be humble, and maybe like most of us writers, to view his gift with a touch of disbelieving awe. One of my favourite memories of him was at a interview some years ago when he was asked how he plotted his books. Like myself, he was a "pantser" who made things up as he went along, and at a certain point in every novel, he'd say to himself "What am I doing? This is crap, I'm not a writer, what makes me think I can be a writer?" And his wife would say "Oh, you're on Page 280, aren't you?" Thus capturing the sentiment of every pantser I know.

His twenty-seventh Banks book, STANDING IN THE SHADOWS, will be published in March 2023. Peter Robinson died on October 4, 2022 at the age of 72. Far too soon. We've lost a great talent and a great friend to the writing community. But his soul lives on in his wonderful work.

A grand idea?

by Rick Blechta

Sitting out in our backyard yesterday evening with my wife, discussing our weekend with our grandkids who were over for the first time since the last week of February, there was a lull in conversation when an idea popped into my head. I must have been thinking about what I need to do today and of course Type M was near the top of the list — and I needed a topic for this week’s post. With the harsh reality of our daily lives, I wanted a topic that would provide some fun for everyone.

I have a vague memory of this sort of thing being tried before, but not enough to give out names or authors, so sorry for that. (Perhaps someone can help.) My brain storm was this: what if you could put two favourite characters from some of the great crime fiction series.

So let’s have some fun. Here’s my choice for a mash-up.

How about Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch with Peter Robinson’s DCI Banks? Both detectives are exceptionally experienced and good at what they do, both have a tendency to do their own thing, but more importantly, both are quintessential products of their respective cultures. Bosch just breaks rules, damn the torpedoes, while Banks operates more discretely while being equally subversive in his own way. Bosch and Banks also are not afraid to rely on hunches.

I also think this combination would work best if the characters were operating in a “neutral” third country where they’re both out of their element — although I have to admit it would be interesting to see Bosch navigate the British policing system. Since Peter and Michael are good friends, it might even happen some day (are you two listening?).

So that’s my choice. How about you? And don’t forget the why part because that’s what makes this idea interesting!

End of book depression

by Rick Blechta

First, let me set you straight what I’m referring to here. This post is not about being depressed when you’ve finished writing a book, but finished reading a particularly good book.

Obviously there is some connection between the two things. One point of conjunction is the fact that you won’t be hanging around with these very interesting people any longer. If you’re a writer, of course you can begin to craft a new story for your characters and just carrying on being with them. If you’re a reader, you’re at the whim of the author (or publisher), plus if you’re reading a current series, you know there’s going to be a wait of most likely a year of more.

And that’s depressing if the novel and characters you’ve just finished enjoying is particularly good.

Fortunately, the depression doesn’t last long. In my case, it’s generally just a few hours, but it is actual depression.

I’ve been down with a particularly bad cold the past week, with the result that I’ve been staying indoors and allowing myself to just relax and focus on getting better —Christmas season being what it is for musicians (lots of gigs) and get-togethers with friends and such.

So I went over to my favourite bookstore, the excellent Sleuth of Baker Street, and bought some novels by my favourite authors who thoughtfully released books in time for the Christmas season.

I finished a Peter Robinson novel yesterday, and as always, he didn’t disappoint. It was excellent. As I lay the book down for the last time, a strong wave of sadness filled me. I couldn’t hang out with Peter’s invisible friends until the next book is published. Bummer that!

My question is this: am I weird or are there others out there who get depressed when they have just enjoyed a particularly good book?