Aidan Kessler

Aidan Kessler

Christina Black

ENGL 1147 The Mystery in the Story

12/16/2013

 The Hazards of Spying

            Over the duration of the course, we examined many aspects of the mystery genre. We looked at what defined the genre at its inception, as well as what rules and regulations changed over time. One of these rules, the immunity of the detective, is critically important in marking the shift from whodunits to thrillers and spy fiction. In "The Hazards of Spying" I explore this idea, as well as what defines a detective, as opposed to a spy.

            "The Hazards of Spying" is a diptych, displaying one image of a detective on the left, and one of a spy on the right. This reads left to right, reflective of the chronology of the shift, beginning with a detective, and ending with a spy. This interpretation stems from definitions by Tzvetan Todorov, in his "Typology of Detective Fiction".

            Todorov says of the detective, "Nothing can happen to them; a rule of the genre postulates the detective's immunity," (44). For this reason, the detective in the left image is very alive, standing one foot forward in a posture of strength and certainty. It is not that the detective is currently unharmed, but that he has no fear of harm. His character dwells only on the details of the case at hand, never stopping to worry about whether or not he is in any danger.

            But of the spy, Todorov says "we do not even know if he will reach the end of the story alive," and "in the thriller, anything is possible," (47). Indeed, in the case of Alec Leamas, we never really find out who the bad guys were. All we know is that Leamas, who spent the whole story trying to figure things out, was simply a pawn in a larger game, which resulted in his life and his love's ending with a few rounds ripping through their bodies (le Carré 225). In "The Hazards of Spying" the spy on the right shows the worst possible outcome for his kind. Like Leamas, he has paid the ultimate price for his actions. Where the detective on the left is standing tall entering a doorway, the spy on the right is slumped, lifeless and broken, against the outside of a building.

            In addition to their posture, each figure has a few telling details that help identify them as a traditional detective and a spy, respectively. Possibly most importantly is their attire. The detective on the left is wearing a very stereotypical Sherlock Holmes outfit. He's got the detective hat, the cloak-like outerwear, all over a suit, revealed by his fitted pants and pointed, formal shoes. The spy is wearing a much more modern suit and tie, though evidently disheveled by (presumably) whatever led to his untimely demise. In addition to their attire, the detective can be more easily identified by his magnifying glass and pipe - two items that bring to mind a Holmes or Poirot, but are much better left behind by a typical spy. The spy has his own telling addition though, which is a Glock lying on the ground beside him. This is important because those who live by the sword often die by it, and though modern spies generally use firearms in lieu of swords, the principle remains.

            Another important distinction between the two images is the location of the figure. The detective is entering a room from the outside. Inside he is safe, within an enclosed space. To be inside is to be in a much less vulnerable position. One can keep tabs on doors and windows, immensely limiting ways by which one may be taken unawares. And where the detective is safer, inside, the spy is lying outside a building. While he may conceivable have come from inside the building behind him, he had to go outside, into the unknown, where he met his end. This makes even more sense in the context of le Carré's novel The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, in which the characters refer to being in the field, in a far more dangerous position, as being "in the cold". Spies do not often meet their death once they've come inside. It is being "outside" where they do their work, and where their lives are most at risk.

            Possibly the most important parts of each image are the locations where there is color. Since the entire piece is black and white, with the exceptions of these four small locations (two in each image) they stand out strongly against everything else. Additionally, primary red, though muted in these instances, is perceived more harshly  than almost any other color by the human eye, making these locations particularly noticeable. This is important because these bloodstains, the only instances of color, are reflective of the "immunity" or lack thereof, which the detective may or may not enjoy. The detective on the left, in a whodunit, is an observer of the bloodstains. His role is to use the bloody handprint on his right and the spatter on his left to help him determine what transpired, and ultimately who the culprit is. This blood is symbolic of the murder victim necessary to kick off the investigation, and thus allow for  the story we readers enjoy. The spy on the right however, has a very different relationship to the bloodstains. In his case, the blood is seeping through the front of his jacket, and spilling down the wall behind his head. For the spy, there wasn't necessarily a murder to instigate his story. Whatever mystery he was trying to get to the bottom of, he was not safe, and it cost him his life. The blood in his image is his own, and represents his own mortality.

            Put simply, blood, in the context of a detective mystery, allows the story to begin; blood, in the context of a spy thriller, causes the story to end.

Works Cited

Le Carré, John. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. London: Penguin Books, 2012.

Todorov, Tzvetan. The Poetics of Prose. Ithaca, New York:     Cornell University Press,   1971.