The Curious Appeal of the Crime Drama

Sixes and Sevens

I read a lot as a teen. I read young adult fantasy, regular old fantasy, Judy Blume, various smut, Tom Robbins, fucking Camus, Anne Rice… the list goes on. (I’m not really sure why Camus is fucking Camus, but somehow it seems right). Amidst all of that, one of the most atypical reading habits I had was Agatha Christie. I collected old pocket paperbacks with amazing mid-century illustrations on their covers — I still have a box of these under my bed. I’d often start one on a Sunday morning and finish by suppertime. This was the beginning of a lifelong fascination with crime fiction.

Sometimes — halfway through binge watching another British or Swedish crime drama series — I wonder why this genre is so comforting to me. The darker and more psychologically complex the better. I’m also strangely drawn to the figure of the lonely detective who probably drinks…

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