“As winter closes in and
the roads snow over in Dawson City, Yukon, newly arrived journalist Jo Silver
investigates the dubious suicide of a local politician and quickly discovers
that not everything in the sleepy tourist town is what it seems. Before long,
law enforcement begins treating the death as a possible murder and Jo is the
prime suspect.” That’s the summary of Elle Wild’s debut novel, Strange Things Done. I never feel as if I know as much about Canadian crime fiction authors as I should. So, it’s a pleasure to introduce you to Elle.
Elle
Wild grew up in a dark, rambling farmhouse in the wilds of Canada where there
was nothing to do but read Edgar Allan Poe and watch PBS mysteries. She is an
award-winning short filmmaker and the former writer/host of the radio program Wide Awake on CBC Radio One. Her short fiction has
been published in Ellery Queen Magazine and her articles have appeared in The Toronto Star, Georgia Straight, and Westender. Wild’s debut novel, Strange Things Done, won the Arthur Ellis Award 2015 for Best Unpublished First Crime Novel, and was shortlisted in multiple contests internationally. Recently returned from the U.K., Wild currently resides on an island in the Salish Sea
named after the bones of dead whales.
Wild grew up in a dark, rambling farmhouse in the wilds of Canada where there
was nothing to do but read Edgar Allan Poe and watch PBS mysteries. She is an
award-winning short filmmaker and the former writer/host of the radio program Wide Awake on CBC Radio One. Her short fiction has
been published in Ellery Queen Magazine and her articles have appeared in The Toronto Star, Georgia Straight, and Westender. Wild’s debut novel, Strange Things Done, won the Arthur Ellis Award 2015 for Best Unpublished First Crime Novel, and was shortlisted in multiple contests internationally. Recently returned from the U.K., Wild currently resides on an island in the Salish Sea
named after the bones of dead whales.
Today, Elle has a guest post for us. Thank you, Elle.
Setting the Mood: Location
in Storytelling
in Storytelling
“Lights appeared from the opposite side of the clearing, shadow
trees sweeping the snow until two black Volgas appeared.” This is a passage
from the opening of Gorky Park, the Russian thriller by Martin Cruz
Smith that captivated a reading audience around the world in 1981. For me, the
characters faded, but I’m still haunted by those cold opening images that
immediately set the mood for the story: the “shadow trees” created by car
headlights across snow, and the three frozen-but-thawing bodies found near a
skating rink in Moscow, in Gorky Park.
trees sweeping the snow until two black Volgas appeared.” This is a passage
from the opening of Gorky Park, the Russian thriller by Martin Cruz
Smith that captivated a reading audience around the world in 1981. For me, the
characters faded, but I’m still haunted by those cold opening images that
immediately set the mood for the story: the “shadow trees” created by car
headlights across snow, and the three frozen-but-thawing bodies found near a
skating rink in Moscow, in Gorky Park.
Are you working on a new story? Do you create your characters
first, or your location or situation? What would happen if you took your
characters out of their setting – could they still exist in the same way?
Perhaps it’s a chicken and egg question, but if I think about the characters in
Gorky Park – the militia officers wrapped in sheepskin greatcoats
and the trudging-through-snow quality of the main character, investigating
officer Arkady – I really can’t picture them anywhere else. I would assert that
they couldn’t exist outside of Moscow, because they wouldn’t be the same people
if they were not informed by this particular place. I believe this is what
people mean when they say, “location is character.” This, and the fact that
sometimes the location is so prominent in the story that it becomes a character
unto itself. I still remember Cruz’s Moscow as a city of icicles hanging from
gutters, full of dark, half-frozen secrets – with Gorky Park at the very centre
of all the corruption.
first, or your location or situation? What would happen if you took your
characters out of their setting – could they still exist in the same way?
Perhaps it’s a chicken and egg question, but if I think about the characters in
Gorky Park – the militia officers wrapped in sheepskin greatcoats
and the trudging-through-snow quality of the main character, investigating
officer Arkady – I really can’t picture them anywhere else. I would assert that
they couldn’t exist outside of Moscow, because they wouldn’t be the same people
if they were not informed by this particular place. I believe this is what
people mean when they say, “location is character.” This, and the fact that
sometimes the location is so prominent in the story that it becomes a character
unto itself. I still remember Cruz’s Moscow as a city of icicles hanging from
gutters, full of dark, half-frozen secrets – with Gorky Park at the very centre
of all the corruption.
I think it’s intriguing that, more often than not, the first line of a
story will describe the location, setting the tone for what is to follow.
Martin Cruz Smith opens Gorky
Park with a quick brushstroke
of place: “All nights should be so dark, all winters so warm, all headlights so dazzling.” He has me as a reader by the first line because
this is already a world I want to crawl into and shine a light on.
story will describe the location, setting the tone for what is to follow.
Martin Cruz Smith opens Gorky
Park with a quick brushstroke
of place: “All nights should be so dark, all winters so warm, all headlights so dazzling.” He has me as a reader by the first line because
this is already a world I want to crawl into and shine a light on.
When I think of some of my favourite crime novels, I know I’ve
been drawn in by the setting, one in which the reader is invited to warily
descend into a heart of darkness with but a flickering torch that threatens to
extinguish at any moment. I cannot think of Peter Hoeg’s Smilla’s Sense of
Snow without thinking of the icy rooftops of Copenhagen. I associate Donna
Tartt’s The Little Friend with the quiet, insistent mood of decay
established by the locale of Alexandria, Mississippi. When I think of Alan
Bradley’s anti-hero, Flavia de Luce, in The Sweetness at the Bottom of the
Pie, I hear the hiss of a spirit lamp and the steady drip of some nefarious
concoction into a flask. Flavia belongs in her fantastical laboratory in a
decaying manor house in the English countryside.
been drawn in by the setting, one in which the reader is invited to warily
descend into a heart of darkness with but a flickering torch that threatens to
extinguish at any moment. I cannot think of Peter Hoeg’s Smilla’s Sense of
Snow without thinking of the icy rooftops of Copenhagen. I associate Donna
Tartt’s The Little Friend with the quiet, insistent mood of decay
established by the locale of Alexandria, Mississippi. When I think of Alan
Bradley’s anti-hero, Flavia de Luce, in The Sweetness at the Bottom of the
Pie, I hear the hiss of a spirit lamp and the steady drip of some nefarious
concoction into a flask. Flavia belongs in her fantastical laboratory in a
decaying manor house in the English countryside.
A few years ago, I was invited to be the Artist in Residence in
Dawson City, in the Yukon. For those of you reading who are not Canadian,
Dawson (as it is called by the locals) is “near” Alaska, but in Northern
Canada. Dawson was the epicentre of the Gold Rush between 1896-1899 in North
America. When the Rush ended, it happened so quickly that people attempted to
flee en masse, abandoning homes and possessions in the hope of escaping before
“freeze-up”, when the Yukon River freezes, the ferry to is dry-docked, and the
Top of the World Highway to Alaska closes. When this happens, Dawson is all but
cut off from the outside world, as it is surrounded by mountains to the North
and East and the Yukon River to the West. The only route out is the Klondike
Highway to the south, which can snow over in winter months, making it
impassable. So, you can understand why people fled once the promise of gold
dried up, and why Dawson to this day still has the appearance of a ghost town,
with snow drifting through streets instead of tumbleweed. The walkways are
still wooden. You can peer in the windows of turn-of-the-century buildings and
see what was left behind, even if the crooked buildings are now sinking into
the thawing permafrost below. It’s a fascinating place, both charming in its
timelessness and terrifying in its isolation. (In modern Dawson, there is a
small airport that runs old double-propeller Hawker Siddeley 748s in and out,
but the runway is prone to snowing over in winter and flights can be sporadic.)
Dawson City, in the Yukon. For those of you reading who are not Canadian,
Dawson (as it is called by the locals) is “near” Alaska, but in Northern
Canada. Dawson was the epicentre of the Gold Rush between 1896-1899 in North
America. When the Rush ended, it happened so quickly that people attempted to
flee en masse, abandoning homes and possessions in the hope of escaping before
“freeze-up”, when the Yukon River freezes, the ferry to is dry-docked, and the
Top of the World Highway to Alaska closes. When this happens, Dawson is all but
cut off from the outside world, as it is surrounded by mountains to the North
and East and the Yukon River to the West. The only route out is the Klondike
Highway to the south, which can snow over in winter months, making it
impassable. So, you can understand why people fled once the promise of gold
dried up, and why Dawson to this day still has the appearance of a ghost town,
with snow drifting through streets instead of tumbleweed. The walkways are
still wooden. You can peer in the windows of turn-of-the-century buildings and
see what was left behind, even if the crooked buildings are now sinking into
the thawing permafrost below. It’s a fascinating place, both charming in its
timelessness and terrifying in its isolation. (In modern Dawson, there is a
small airport that runs old double-propeller Hawker Siddeley 748s in and out,
but the runway is prone to snowing over in winter and flights can be sporadic.)
I remember thinking when I lived in Dawson, “What if something
terrible happened in Dawson and people needed to leave, or get help? Would they
be able to? What would happen if they couldn’t? How would the relationships of
the villagers be altered if they were forced to stay, cut off from the rest of the
world?” These what if questions formed the nugget of an idea for my
debut novel, Strange Things Done.
terrible happened in Dawson and people needed to leave, or get help? Would they
be able to? What would happen if they couldn’t? How would the relationships of
the villagers be altered if they were forced to stay, cut off from the rest of the
world?” These what if questions formed the nugget of an idea for my
debut novel, Strange Things Done.
I’m still haunted by Dawson
City. Some places are just meant to stay with you.
*****
Thank you, again, Elle.
Thank you Lesa for profiling Elle's debut mystery. Even living in Canada, I had not heard about this title. And I have not yet travelled to the Yukon, so reading about the Dawson setting sounds great.
It's quite an honor, Grace, to win the Arthur Ellis Unhung Award. I hope you enjoy her book!
Lesa, I agree that winning the Ellis Unhung award is a great starting point for new authors to hopefully get published. I find it odd that our national bookstore chain, Chapters/Indigo and the independents booksellers do not highlight/market these books better!
Looks good. Have placed my pre-order on Amazon!
I guess it's "Unhanged". Either way, I agree with Grace. Those books should be highlighted.