During my podcast interview with The Christian Manifesto, Calvin Moore asked about "missing white woman syndrome" and whether I think it's a legit phenomenon. I do, which is why Back on Murder features just such a case at its core. I've written before about the distorting effect of media attention. Paradoxical as it sounds, sometimes intense scrutiny seems to be a hindrance to the quest for truth. The question is, why do some stories excite the popular imagination while other, very similar ones don't?
Roland March, my detective protagonist, ponders the question:
You can’t call yourself a jaded cop if you’re not cynical about the different treatment an attractive white suburban blonde gets when she runs into trouble. Her story makes the front page, beams out into millions of living rooms, and strangers everywhere look upon her as their own. They worry, they agonize — and above all they love, projecting all their frustrated hopes onto this inscrutably attractive teen. By losing track of their daughter, her parents have donated her to the public at large, and now she’s everybody’s missing kid.
Of course, he's not immune to the adoption process himself. It's no accident that it takes a case like this to galvanize the formerly apathetic March. As a novelist, I naturally spend a lot of time wondering what makes some books bestsellers. Insiders know that it isn't the quality of the prose per se. There are plenty of beautifully-written books that never reach the point of apotheosis. The boilerplate answer is that certain stories resonate, strike a nerve, and so on. They succeed not on the sentence level but on the story level, achieving some kind of mythopoeic transmutation not easily quantified. After all, books that seem to possess the exact same characteristics don't get the same attention.
Maybe it's helpful to think of such books as media events, just like the story of a beautiful missing girl or the latest summer blockbuster. The event includes a story, but it isn't the story that makes the event. Certain event types (or genres) have a built-in appeal; others are unexpectedly popular. Perhaps there's some kind of formula involved -- but the formula doesn't create the widespread interest. There's more to it than that.
What I'm suggesting is that the force that makes people tune in for a nightly dose of Nancy Grace is the same that makes them line up for the midnight release of the latest vampire romance, or the latest iPhone, or whatever. If I could bottle it, I probably would. Like March, we may be cynical about these phenomena, and at the same time caught up in them. Media phenomena aren't just about the object of interest; they're about the interested subject. Trying to unpack one such phenomenon in fiction is, I think, a way to better understand them all.