Mindful Living: Pretending to be Kay Scarpetta

One vacation evening about ten years ago I was roaming around with nothing to read, a sign of imminent vacation deterioration. I spied a mystery novel, curled up on the couch, and never looked back.

Before that I'd been reading all kinds of stuff: romance, suspense, whatever. Romance novels were the first to get hacked off the list, primarily because the formula plots were so unvaried that the only possible ending was love-conquers-all, which it doesn't. So, for ten years now mysteries have been my significant other. Of late I'm enamored with Kay Scarpetta, the tart tongued no-nonsense star of the popular Patricia Cornwell mystery series.

On my last vacation I found myself again wandering about, but this time I picked up an Anne Tyler novel. Although her writing skill was apparent, the meandering plot made my eyes twitch. When was something going to happen? What was the point of this story? Where was all this going?

The thing is, novels don't necessarily have a point, they can just wander about aimlessly and no one complains. Mysteries, on the other hand, have clear plots (so-and-so gets knocked off), with the protagonist (Chief Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta), meandering through a labyrinth of red herrings (computer problems, romance problems, family problems), to figure out what happened (the butler did it). When the book ends, both Kay and I have closure. I want life to be this way. I want answers to my big questions. I want answers to my little questions. Right.

I figured that as I got older, more of the answers would be apparent. Although I have periods of clarity when I know what the plot is, other times when I haven't a clue what to do, as Dr. Seuss would say. Regardless, mysteries continue to be my main course because they are one of the few things in life with clearly delineated answers. The better ones have complex characters (Kay's personal life is about as confusing as mine) and complex plots (pretty much like mine too). At least I know that Kay will solve the mystery, while I'm not sure I can identify my own life's mysteries, much less solve them.

With another vacation coming up, there’s always the chance that real life will creep through the brush and intrude rudely. I’m prepared though. My suitcase might appear to be filled with flannel and fripperies, but underneath the practical stuff are sufficient mysteries to keep any reality at bay.

Copyright August, 1999

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