Detective Fiction and Social Spheres: Sherlock Holmes and “A Jury of Her Peers”

Detective Fiction has an interesting social potential, something I alluded to in the posts about Sherlock Holmes, but is more pertinent with Glaspell's “A Jury of Her Peers.” Detective Fiction gives us a way to look at the different fears, concerns, and anxieties not just in general, but of specific social groups, and even how different social groups are anxious about one another. The juxtaposition of “A Jury of Her Peers” and Sherlock Holmes gives an interesting comparison.

Sherlock Holmes stories typically deal with a range of nationalities, racial issues, gender, and social classes. It has been strongly argued Holmes himself relies on these different social spheres to make his deductions, and it's his dependence on these that lets Irene Adler get away. Sherlock Holmes is almost always working to get people back where they belong, ultimately reinforcing Victorian standards.

“A Jury of Her Peers” works similarly: relying on social norms and expectations to identify where there's deviance, but to a different end than Sherlock Holmes. Rather than reinforce the social norms, “A Jury of Her Peers” works to criticize the social norms in the way it presents gender, marriage, and household dynamics. The gender dynamic is the main one here because gender determines social roles: men are farmers, attorneys, and sheriffs. Women are housewives. Men work outside the home in the serious business world. Women work in the home and kitchen, surrounded by, to use the men's term, “trifles.”

Bad men in Sherlock Holmes stories fail in their prescribed social roles: they are bad husbands, brothers, and lovers, and Holmes comes to remove the bad masculinity and replace it with Victorian normativity. “A Jury of Her Peers” features a bad husband but the other male characters make no suggestion they see him as a bad husband. If anything, they criticize the way Minnie has run her house, where Martha and Mrs. Peters are able to see how Mr. Wright made Minnie’s life miserable by being a bad husband. “A Jury of Her Peers” doesn't say “Here's an example of a man failing at his social role” but rather, “Here's a woman who suffered because she was caught in a bad situation with a bad husband.”

When we read “A Jury of Her Peers” as not about a murder but about the way women are treated and the bad situations women have, we stop looking just at Minnie Foster and look at how the other women in the story are represented. Martha Hale and Mrs. Peters may not suffer to the same extent Minnie Foster did, but they are more victims of social normativity than benefactors: Martha Hale is clearly more mature and rational than her husband, but she does as he says because he's her husband, and Mrs. Peters, “married to the law” is tacit and nervous, overshadowed by her husband. Martha Hale and Mrs. peters situation is most exemplified by the silence: rather than defend Minnie Foster, they hide the incriminating bird. To a modern reader, this can seem odd, but women in 1917 wouldn't have been listened to.

“A Jury of Her Peers” gives us a unique look of a woman's perspective on social situations from a century ago. Fiction’s ability to transport us to different lives is hardly a secret. Detective Fiction, though, does interesting things with this social dynamic. Specifically, by placing the detective in new, often unfamiliar situations. Doing so requires the detective have an outsider's perspective while still having to understand the culture if they're to solve the mystery. In doing so a detective may have to go from social sphere to social sphere getting a better understanding of customs and anxieties as they see how people behave appropriately and inappropriately in these various subcultures to solve the mystery.

Detecting Sympathy in “A Jury of Her Peers”

Not all fictional detectives are the distant, objective Sherlock Holmes; not all detective stories end with clear, clean solutions like Holmes' does; and not every mystery is rooted in the overtly threatening scandal and conspiracy, bringing to light the evil machinations of villainous figures. Some detectives are sympathetic, amateurs, and their adventures offer more criticism than resolution.

For this, turn to Susan Glaspell's “A Jury of Her Peers,” a 1917 short story that uses a crime and elements of detective fiction in an early feminist critique of the expectation that a woman stays in the home and supports her husband. If that seems like a tall order, it's a major plot point in "A Scandal in Bohemia" and "The Speckled Band". However, instead of the conservative British Doyle and his Holmes who preserve the social order, we're looking at the fiction of an early American feminist critiquing the social order.

Ostensibly, the story is a murder investigation: Mr. John Wright has been killed and his wife, Minnie Foster, claims to have been asleep while he was strangled. She has since been taken away, held for the murder, while Sheriff Peters and County Attorney George Henderson investigate. To help, they bring along Mr. Hale, who discovered the murder, and his wife, Martha Hale, was brought to help the Sheriff's wife gather a few items for Mrs. Wright while the men check out the bedroom – the scene of the murder – and the barn. Martha Hale and Mrs. Peters therefore spend the story in the kitchen, analyzing and commenting on the state of Minnie Foster’s life once she was married.

A traditional detective story would follow those investigating the murder and look for clues about the murder weapon and motive, to prove whether or not Mrs. Wright did or did not kill her husband. Most detective stories make this easy by bringing in outside detectives, like Holmes, or following the police force, like Sheriff Peters, to investigate. Doing so allows for an objective, almost scientific perspective. “A Jury of Her Peers,” however, chooses to go the sympathetic route. Martha Hale was once Minnie Foster's friend, and laments never visiting her old friend, and it's Martha's role as a friend and fellow country housewife that allows her and Mrs. Peters to read the clues that amount to a life and not just to an event.

It becomes clear to the women that Minnie Foster killed her husband, but that she isn't the villain. The story juxtaposes Martha Hale's memory of Minnie Foster, a happy, friendly person who loved to sing, with the dark, hollow, unkempt house filled with half-completed housekeeping tasks, she has occupied for 20 years as Mrs. Wright. The name “Wright” becomes ironic: Mr. Wright is hardly “Mr. Right,” and even suggesting that Minnie Foster, Mrs. Wright, was right to do what she did. This becomes clearest with the death of the canary, a songbird, whose body Minnie kept in a box. Martha reflects on how Minnie used to sing, a comment that symbolically brings the two together: both sang, and singing is a public act. One can certainly sing in private, but singing is often done for the enjoyment of others. Just as Mr. Wright broke the bird's neck, Minnie Foster, literally, crushed his neck and windpipe. A retaliation for twenty years of marriage wherein she was silenced and kept at the house in the hollow.

It can be easy to look at this story and simply say it's interesting because of its use of detective fiction and how it uses personal relationships and connections in ways more traditional detective fiction doesn't. There is still, however, the social perspective: how the characters and events become critiques of larger, real world social issues and concerns.

More on that in the next post.

Too Much Information: Charles Augustus Milverton

“The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton” is a popular story. I think it's popular because it's fun to read about the heroes having to outright break the law. I'm not talking about bending the law or keeping something back from the police on behalf of someone innocent or repentant: I'm talking about burglary, theft, and arson. Oh, and there's a murder.

Milverton deals in information, specifically, scandalous information that he can use to blackmail people. In the story, Holmes is hired by an heiress to negotiate with Milverton on her behalf. Milverton has secured some scandalous letters and he threatens to reveal them just before her wedding. After their interview with Milverton ends without success, Holmes straight up decides to use his own mastery of disguise and people to burgle Milverton's estate and steal only the articles that will be used for criminal purposes. Things don't go quite as planned though, hence the murder and arson.

When people discuss “Milverton,” it's usually about how entertaining it is to see Holmes and Watson on the wrong side of the law, even if they have noble intentions. In this regard, it's a story about how far good people will go to stop evil. Though Holmes and Watson may take the legal system upon themselves on more than one occasion, they are never quite as in the wrong as they are here. 

This, following the spirit rather than the letter of the law, tells us more about the good guys, not the social anxiety the heroes fight against. So what threat does Milverton pose? He threatens personal and private lives with exposure. Accidents or poor decisions, serious or minor, can suddenly be paraded before the world, much to our horror. We like our private lives to remain private and Milverton publicizes all.

So, is Milverton the same as fellow blackmailer Irene Adler, just without the sex?

Hardly.

Adler blackmails, but she is, by profession, an opera singer. Milverton's a professional blackmailer. His position and wealth rely on his ability to blackmail, whereas Adler's was a combination of talent and cunning. Where Adler blackmailed because it was in her interest and typical for her tendency to cross boundaries, Milverton just outright blackmails for his own benefit.

So what kind of a crime and anxiety stem from blackmail itself? As addressed above, it's the threat of the scandal that comes from our secret lives being made public. But there's something more to Milverton, and the fact that he is able to move freely despite his crimes and Holmes and Watson must turn to crime to defeat him only brings the detective and blackmailer closer together, because their work relies on the same commodity: information.

Holmes is a successful detective because of his wealth of knowledge and information and his ability to make significant conclusions from mere trifles. At a glance he can tell significant things about who someone is and where they've been. For the sake of his detective work, this proves useful (especially because it is the gimmick on which the stories hinge). Holmes uses this to discover what remains unknown to everyone else. He deals in hidden secrets: the lives and actions of criminals so he can unravel their schemes and bring their secrets to light for retribution.

Milverton also deals in information and brings secrets to light, but rather than criminals, Milverton punishes the wealthy for their social transgressions. If the victim pays, Milverton returns the evidence. If the victim refuses or can’t, the information is made public and the victim is scandalized. Holmes surprises people with his deductions, but he never uses them to scandalize someone or for personal gain. Both represent the careful use of information but in different spheres and to different ends. Milverton not only shows the power of blackmail, but he shows us the kind of villain Holmes himself could be.

Playing with the rules, not by them: Irene Adler

Where Moriarty's interesting trait was his absence, Irene Adler is interesting because she’s too present. She’s on Serpentine avenue, turning men's heads; singing on the operatic stage; haunting Ormstein's past, present, and future; in the church getting married; in a young man's ulster coat; and, finally, in the infamous photographs (one as a tool for blackmail, the other as a memento). By being present in so many ways and so many places, Adler strains against and breaks the social codes that governed Victorian society.

In “A Scandal in Bohemia,”Adler has a photograph, evidence of an affair between Adler and King Ormstein of Bohemia, which she threatens to reveal shortly before his wedding to a Scandanavian princess. Ormstein gives no details of the tryst, but his association with someone who isn't nobility like himself is scandalous enough. This is more than an illicit love affair. It crosses social class and nationality as well. The social anxieties introduced in “Bohemia” deal with sexual, social, and international borders. If there's a line to be crossed, Adler crosses it.

This was, of course, at a simpler (and I say that with sarcasm, not nostalgia) time, when women were seen in one of two lights: the housewife or the harlot. It's easy to classify Adler as the harlot because of her illicit relationship with a king, whether or not it was sexual. However, there's more to it than that. The housewife, also called the “angel in the home”, was supposed to stay and keep the house in order while men went out into the world. The border-crossing Adler leaves the domestic sphere for the professional one, putting her femininity on display, “turning the heads” of the men on Serpentine Avenue and in the opera house as a professional contralto. Adler's threat is to social structure and hierarchy. Rather than adhere to the rules that maintain order, she toys with and passes right over them, just as she crosses the Atlantic Ocean from New Jersey to Europe or social boundaries by romancing a king.

So why not cross even more boundaries? While Holmes is trailing her, he witnesses Adler's church marriage to Mr. Norton, a lawyer. In doing so, Adler, technically, goes from the scandalous harlot to the domesticated housewife in the eyes of civil law, divine law, and, much to his chagrin, Holmes himself. Holmes changes the way he reads her and judges her behavior. Holmes relies on people to fit in rigid social codes and uses these codes to deduce where people came from and how they'll behave.

While most of the people Holmes encounters adhere to these expectations, Adler doesn’t. So, because she was married in a church, Holmes expects her to be a dutiful Victorian bride and so uses maternal instincts to justify his conclusion for where the photograph is. What Holmes does not anticipate is her crossing the gender barrier to confirm her suspicions she's being tailed by Holmes, Adler disguises herself as a young man by donning an ulster coat to follow Holmes and Watson to Baker Street, and, even though she wishes Holmes good evening, he doesn’t recognize her, allowing Adler and her husband to escape with the photograph.

Adler is pervasive. She appears on many different layers, crossing the finely defined social borders that governed Victorian society (and we're still dealing with today). She's like Moriarty in that people can be more, and even something quite contrary, to what they appear to be, but where we can take Moriarty and decide conclusively that he is a villain, Adler is harder to identify. Her pervasiveness makes her elusive because it is difficult, even impossible to assign labels to her, labels she is perfectly comfortable switching around to suit her needs.

Lurking in Respectability: Professor Moriarty

It's hard to talk about Moriarty or “The Final Problem” without mentioning that Doyle really wanted to retire Sherlock Holmes. Doyle had grown tired of the character: it was all he was associated with. A popular magazine at the time, Punch, actually printed a picture of Doyle fettered to Holmes (pictured below). But Doyle knew merely retiring Holmes wouldn't be enough: he needed to kill Holmes by pitting him against a villain so nefarious, that Holmes would give own life to beat him. The result is both men, locked in mortal combat, plummet to their deaths.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fettered to Sherlock Holmes, from Punch.

From this, you'd expect there to be a wealth of possibilities for study and interpretation, but the stories are a little sparse. Professor Moriarty isn't all that interesting. He plays a role in three stories: “The Final Problem”, “The Empty House”, and The Valley of Fear (he is mentioned in “The Illustrious Client” and “His Last Bow”, but has no bearing on these stories), but in each, his appearances are minimal. In The Valley of Fear, the fourth Holmes Novel, Moriarty is a topic of discussion in the opening chapters and is mentioned at the end, but never appears in the main narrative even though Holmes claims Moriarty was behind the crimes he investigates. In “The Empty House”, which is Holmes' return, Moriarty's dead and the story is about capturing Moriarty's lieutenant, Sebastian Moran. Moran actually has more influence on the narrative than Moriarty did in House, Valley, and even his own story, “The Final Problem”, where Moriarty is, at most, spotted from a distance or unrecognized. Moriarty's primary characteristic is not his resemblance to Holmes, but rather his absence.

By being absent, Moriarty represents what we don't see or understand, and while Moriarty's appearances may be brief, this idea of unseen evil is common in Holmes stories.

In “The Bruce Partington Plans”, Holmes mentions “the thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, ” and in “A Case of Identity”, he states,

If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generations, and leading to the most outr ́e results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable.

And, of course, it's Holmes' job to seek out these chains of events and bring the crimes and evils of his society to light as he preserves Victorian respectability. Or as he says in “Copper Beeches” after Watson remarks on the beauty of country homes,

You [Watson] look at these scattered houses and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them, and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed there...It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.

And it's here Moriarty becomes interesting. He doesn’t threaten our property or our bodies, but our very sense of having a secure society, like the picturesque houses that by their beauty hide the evils lurking within. He’s an educated and deeply intelligent man who turned to crime while still maintaining a positive image. Moriarty doesn't correlate with a specific kind of social anxiety, but all social anxieties and crime. Rather than outright committing crimes, he facilitates whatever crime is necessary or requested of him. He represents the idea that crime and evil could be anywhere, especially where it is least expected.