The Baroness of Holland Park

One of my early heroes of detective fiction has died. P.D. James was 94 and had amassed multiple honors for her highly successful novels, most featuring policeman-poet Adam Dalgliesh.

I didn’t find her stories entirely comfortable; they were heavily laced with psychopathology, and so many of the characters were so disagreeable that I really wanted to throttle most of them and toss them in roadside ditches. But I admired James’s ability to craft a story and provide a compelling atmosphere, whether it be in a hospital, a publishing house, a nuclear power plant or a monastery.

James did not start publishing until she was in her forties, after a career as a civil servant, and raising her family. I really like that notion, of the second act being writing.

I confess that I thought she jumped the shark a bit when she wrote Death Comes to Pemberley in 2011. It tosses characters from Pride and Prejudice into a murder mystery, which I didn’t find as carefully plotted or as cohesive as James’s other works. But I respect the hell out of her trying something so different at age 91.

Something to aspire to, perhaps.