By Leslie Budewitz
When I say I write cozy
mysteries, some readers light up. “My favorite kind,” they say. Others squint
and tilt their heads, asking, “What’s that?”
You all know the
traditional mystery—think Agatha Christie, whose mysteries feature a Belgian
detective, a sharp-eyed spinster, and a dashing couple of spy-catchers. One
modern incarnation is the cozy. It’s the comfort food of the mystery world, the
mac & cheese. And who doesn’t love that now and again? (Or carbonara if
you’re Italian, like my protagonist’s mother.) No graphic sex or violence; lots
of graphic food.
Okay, so they don’t all
involve food. Some involve knitting. Or librarians or booksellers, psychics or
museum directors. Or the owners of haunted houses and hotels.
But no FBI agents or
bomb squads—at least, not as protagonists, unless he or she is retired and
running a fudge shop. (In Sheila Connolly’s Museum Mysteries, her protagonist
dates an FBI agent named James Morrison. Cozy writers love to play with names.)
The setting is typically
a small town—my Jewel Bay, Montana, Janet Bolin’s Elderberry Bay, Pennsylvania,
or Barbara Ross’s Busman’s Harbor, Maine. (Bodies of water are not required,
but they do set a certain tone.) A cozy can also be set in an urban
neighborhood or community: the capital environs in Julie Hyzy’s White House
Chef Mysteries, Greenwich Village in Cleo Coyle’s Coffeehouse Mysteries, or the
museum world Sheila Connolly’s characters inhabit.
Regardless of the rural
or urban setting, the murder is a shock that disturbs the natural order. An
amateur sleuth—typically female—is drawn in by the personal nature of the
crime, and uses her skills and connections to solve it.
Not everyone likes the
term. Carolyn Hart, a goddess in the mystery world (and a past president of
Sisters in Crime, which calls former leaders goddesses), asks, “How cozy is it
to die in agony from poison, knowing your killer is among your intimates, but dying
without knowledge of the culprit?” Not cozy at all—downright terrifying—but in
my opinion, the term is cheekily ironic for exactly that reason.
There is an official
investigation, of course, run by law enforcement. But our amateur sleuth hears
and sees things the police can’t. She knows the community—she and her shop,
café, or gallery are often at its center. As a result, she may be convinced
that the police are focused on the wrong person—maybe her, or someone she’s
close to. She may fear they will act too quickly or fail to take seriously the
clues she uncovers. They may find her helpful—or try to stop her from
interfering.
Ultimately, in the cozy,
both professional and amateur detectives are essential, because they serve
different functions. The professionals’ job is to restore external order,
through the legal system. They can’t succeed without her, despite their initial
reluctance. By giving her help, she demonstrates the triumph of the individual
over evil. Her involvement in righting a wrong restores balance to the
community. She restores social order.
That’s what a cozy is
about: community. How it’s formed, how it’s damaged, how it’s restored.
And of course, how it
eats.
_____________________________________________________________________
Leslie Budewitz is the
national best-selling author of Death al Dente, first in the Food
Lovers' Village Mysteries set in northwest Montana, and winner of the 2013
Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Crime Rib, the second in the
series, was published by Berkley Prime Crime on July 1, 2014. Assault and Pepper, her Seattle
Spice Shop Mysteries will debut in March 2015. Also a lawyer, Leslie won the
2011 Agatha Award for Best Nonfiction for Books, Crooks &Counselors: How to Write Accurately About Criminal Law & Courtroom Procedure (Quill Driver Books), making her the first author to win
Agatha Awards for both fiction and nonfiction. For more tales of life in the
wilds of northwest Montana, and bonus recipes, visit her website and subscribe
to her newsletter. Website: www.LeslieBudewitz.com
Find her on Facebook: LeslieBudewitzAuthor
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