3 Fictional Women

"[...] 'Why is it that respectable English women are so good at murder?' In an article about Dorothy L. Sayers, P.D. James, herself a respectable English woman who is extremely good at murder, said that this enquiry is one to which every female writer is accustomed."^[1]

As suggested in the chapter above, the classic detective story is, in itself, a very conservative type of literature. Regularity and order both in the form and in the content are the cornerstones of what I would term the 'ideological structure' of the text. Detective novels are, in their very essence, conservative; the attitude of the text, in turn, reflects the mind of the creator. The stories

"[...] not only create an idea (or a hope, or a dream) about controlling crime, but both realise and validate a whole view of the world, one shared by the people who become the central audience to buy, read and find comfort in a particular variety of crime fiction."^[2]

I find it easy to equate the term 'world view' with the expression 'value system' as I have used it above. The system was one approved by both Christie and Sayers, whose fiction forms the basis of this treatise. This, however, is not only a similarity in their biographical background; I also suggest that the conservative value system endorsed by authors and the form itself is one factor that opened the genre to women writers.

Knight^[3] maintains that one of the reasons for Agatha Christie's success was her appeal to people of her own social and intellectual background, which were essentially women in an upper middle class situation with little formal education. For reasons elaborated in chapter II, these became an exploding reading public, with financial means to afford the novels and/or with access to an increasing number of public libraries. Middle class working women, shop assistants, clerks, secretaries, but also upper middle class women of leisure maintained the sales and lending figures. To these, any classic detective novel might appeal in its conservativism, but they may have "[...] no interest in the active male narcissism common to much crime fiction."^[4] Hercule Poirot (and, for that matter, Lord Peter Wimsey) was a different hero; in fact, he was no hero at all, but a vain little man with a ridiculous moustache and an egg-shaped head, or a rather short man with a parrot face and a clipped speech pattern respectively. 'Effeminate' was one description frequently tacked to both detectives.

Besides the sex of the author, this attraction to the female reading public raises not only the question why respectable English women are so good at writing murder stories, but also why equally respectable English women enjoy reading about murder so much. I suggest that the most important reason is the way in which the hero on the one and the women on the other hand are depicted in the novel. The heroes, obviously, are positive figure; they may be vain, like Poirot, or a 'silly ass' like Lord Peter Wimsey, but they are, in essence, someone to be admired and liked, albeit for different reasons. Sayers has been accused of being actually in love with her protagonist, a notion supported by the introduction of an obvious alter ego in the form of Harriet Vane; if she was, the adoration is transmitted onto the page and similar emotions could be procured in the reader. I doubt that Christie was in love with Hercule Poirot, but he is described as a trustworthy kind of father figure, which in turn provides the emotional closeness to the audience.

Yet it is not only the heroes that inspire confidence and emotional attachment; it is probably fairly difficult for a female reader to fully identify with a male protagonist. Rather, similarities and a sense of being represented arise from the characterisation of women in the novels. Even though most women do not achieve serial rights like the male detective and usually remain in supportive roles or as suspects, they form an important part in each narrative as well as in the overall work of the authors. They are, depending on the plot, positive or negative, and according to that distinction, to be identified with or to be distanced from.

The relationship between the women in the novel and women within the society that perused the novel is the theme of this paragraph. Plenty has been said about the detectives, but the secondary and sometimes insignificant women in the fiction remain largely neglected or are regarded only in their relation to the detective. Yet if detective fiction "[...] reflects [...] the society in which and for which it was written"^[5], the characterisation of fictional women must bear some likeness to real women. Mann maintains that the crime novel does not try to alter society, and this is certainly true to some extent. However, I suggest that women's role within the novel in comparison to women's role within society is both a reflection of common attitudes and an endeavour to create utopia. This is, again, an instance of the seeming paradox that interlaces the entire treatise.

Since Christie and Sayers cannot be easily cast in the same mould, I will treat their women separately, and combine the findings in a short comparative section. As a matter of fact, another important distinction between the two authors has to be pointed out in this context. Christie, much more than Sayers, still adhered to a tradition of detective fiction based in the mechanisms of Arthur Conan Doyle. In her early detective novels at least, there are still traces of the omnipotent master criminal, of disguises and crime organisations that later became obsolete in classic detective fiction. This has some impact on the character types as they tend to fall short of realistic portrays. I have tried to alleviate the problem by concentrating on those layers that remain when the stereotypes of the genre are removed. I maintain that this does not falsify the analysis by transporting one sub-genre into a different time, but rather reveals a change, an interim state between two forms. Thus it is noticeable that towards the end of the 1920s, her characterisations become less slight.

Additionally, while selecting only five of Christie's novels which I consider representative of her entire early production^[6], I have chosen to treat Sayers's work as a body, taking eight full-length novels irrespective of the time of their first publication. I have decided on this for two reasons: On the one hand, an important part of a categorisation of Sayers's women will be those who appear more than once, such as Harriet Vane, to illuminate development or constancy respectively. Apart from Miss Marple, Christie has no recurring female characters; her novels' women therefore do not evolve over a continuity of years and books, but occur only once and remain relatively static. On the other hand, Sayers's detective novels end in 1937, a year not too remote from the First World War to blur the important influences, while Christie continued writing far into the 1970s.

Obviously, a catalogue of character types falls prey to a tendency to over-generalise. In typification, I have undoubtedly dismissed nuances for the sake of clarity, and in naming the categories and deciding on its boundaries, simplification moved in. There is also a limit to the depth of the description; emphasising the salient points seemed to me more meaningful than covering the entire range of possible aspects. The need to exemplify types rather than individuals largely excludes the subtler shades of characterisation. Additionally, I have tried to be as brief as possible without omitting significant aspects, thus again distilling the information at the cost of detailed differentiation.

3.1 Agatha Christie

Due to the nature of her stories, the technique of her plots, the most obvious characteristic of women in Agatha Christie's novels is their mysteriousness. There is always the aura of a secret, of an enigma surrounding them. On first sight, this seems to be the fundamental similarity between all the female characters in the novels. However, it has to be borne in mind that the pattern of Christie's detective fiction requires, for one, a strictly limited number of persons, thus also a very limited number of women for each story. Secondly, the mechanism of her plots demands that there is suspicion cast about everyone. With the obvious exception of the detective and his helpers, every single character must at least seem to have something to hide. Thus no woman, on first sight, is who she appears to be, and in the course of the novel, various twists and turns further cloud the true nature of her character. It is only towards or at the end that she is fully explained, her actions put into perspective and her motives disclosed. While being essential to the structure of the plot, this device necessarily diminishes the likelihood of in-depth character study. The focus is so absolutely concentrated on creating the mystery that makes her a possible suspect that little energy remains for a detailed portray of the woman as she really is (as opposed to who she appears to be). However, in the course of the novels selected for this study, seven categories present themselves. These are, in no particular order, the 'adventurous young heroine', the 'loyal', the 'sacrificing lover', the 'gold-digger', the 'disguised', and the 'benefactor'. Another group of people hardly ever missing are the servants, but they are rarely subjected to the same attention as the other categories, which is why, without omitting them entirely, they do not actually merit a category of their own.

One more superficial layer that has to be stripped away to reach the underlying types is one of attractiveness; most women, indeed most persons in Christie's novels are handsome, beautiful or at least stunningly good-looking. However similar in their outward aspects, however, the manner of attraction, in combination with the mysteriousness, indicates the attitude of the author. Women can be dangerously attractive, sweetly attractive, blindingly attractive or exuberantly attractive. In the following compilation, the differences between the kinds of attraction and the inherent statement about their roles will be analysed.

A frequent figure in Christie's novels^[7] is the 'adventurous young heroine'^[8]. Both in the detective stories and in thrillers, but particularly in the latter, she is a central female character. Usually, she is not stunningly attractive, but rather unthreateningly pleasing and pretty. She is described as having "particularly good legs"^[9] or "beautiful eyes"^[10], but rarely as exceptionally beautiful. She is plucky,  self-confident, intelligent and independent. Her position in life varies, but normally her financial situation is indifferent, at least on the outset of the novel. When she features as a heroine, her life is described as useful but rather boring until an extraordinary event changes her situation completely; she is released from her confinement as companion, dutiful daughter or the like and sets out to seek excitement. Sometimes she actively searches for the thrill of the mystery, but in the detective novels, it is more likely that the excitement she wants consists of travelling or a change of circumstances which in turn entails her involvement with the crime. Whatever the way in which she meets her adventure, however, she faces it courageously and either solves the mystery herself (in the thrillers) or ably assists the detective. In this position, she is invariably above suspicion.

In a supporting role, her situation is slightly different. Then, she is not crucial to the solution of the mystery but rather a part of the overall riddle, and thus, sooner or later, one of the suspects, though rarely the perpetrator. In both cases, however, she carries a very positive connotation and is a readily available identification figure. Since almost every man around her is bound to fall in love with her, she more often than not marries at the end of the novel. It is a common feature of the 'adventurous young heroine' that she will find the perfect husband in the course of the novel, and he will find her. Though this terminates her independence, she cheerfully relinquishes it for the sake of true, romantic, passionate love. Again, this motif is more pronounced in the thrillers than in the detective novels, but the love interest and its assumed perfection is never missing. Christie takes care, however, to suit the man to the 'adventurous young heroine', and he is normally an excellent match.

Another completely positive figure in Christie's early novels is the 'loyal'^[11]. She is loyal either to her husband, her son (though he is undesirable)^[12], her fiancé (though she loves another)^[13]. Usually, however, she is a loyal spouse; though she may appear indifferent to her husband, seemingly believing rumours about his infidelity or any other misbehaviour of his, she is, in fact, ardently devoted to him and would go to any length to clear his name or save his life. The two representatives of this category, Mary Cavendish and Mrs. Renauld, are indeed model specimen of the type. One's husband is suspected of having murdered his step-mother, and she rushes to his defence; the other's husband is a reformed criminal, and she helps him stage his own death and disappearance, at the cost of being herself suspected. These women possess a steely self-control which is put entirely at the disposal of their husbands, and their portray summons the reader's admiration. Even the detective exerts himself in protecting them and abetting their task - provided that the respective husband is not the perpetrator, which he invariably fails to be.

Similar to the 'loyal' though not as unequivocally positive is the 'sacrificing lover'^[14]. She is usually younger than the women of the former category, and more idealistic. Thus her sacrifice is more romantic, and sometimes less altruistic. Depending on her own attitude towards the sacrifice, her character is consequently more or less saintly. The most negative example of the 'sacrificing lover' is Ruth Kettering, whose self-abnegation serves her own end as much as her lover's purposes; he, in turn, is a thief and a villain, which furthermore stains her character. On the other end of the spectrum, women like Bella Duveen, who are prepared to be guillotined for her lover (as with the 'loyal's' husband, he must be innocent to deserve the sacrifice), call for unlimited approval.

A rather more ambivalent attitude is adopted towards what I have termed the 'benefactor'^[15]. She can be either interfering (Mrs. Fleming), gossipy (Carolinne Sheppard), authoritarian (Emily Inglethorpe), motherly (Suzanne Blair) or positively helpful (Jane Harfield); whatever shape her assistance may take, however, she holds a firm hand over those dependent on her and can be easily accused of tyranny. Typically, she is wealthy and bestows both her financial and her spiritual aid upon those she favours while those she dislikes are slanted. She is independent and intelligent, though neither quality is depicted as unequivocally positive, since all her actions are determined by something akin to nepotism. Particularly the interfering and the authoritarian type do not receive the author's, and by interference the reader's, approval. In some cases, however, the 'benefactor' is impersonated by a formidable old woman, such as Amelia Viner, and then the author's esteem and respect is unrestrained.

Since one of the possible motives for murder in Agatha Christie's novels is money, a character type rarely missing is the 'gold-digger'^[16]. In its female shape, the 'gold-digger' is a greedy woman who is described as being capable of anything to bolster her finances. She is by no means poor which would render her greed understandable, but comfortably off or even wealthy, so that her goals are purely gluttonous. In the case of an inheritance to be gained from the murder victim, however, she might as well be after the male person who stands to profit, or might be in league with the murderer. 'Gold-diggers' are characterised as morally degenerate, sly and cunning, but, due to their beauty, successful in their chase of wealthy men. A typical profession for a 'gold-digger' is acting or dancing, which is rather too much of a cliché, but they also occur as multiply married and widowed (or divorced) middle-aged women with comfortable social status. Sometimes they are secretly associated with other immoral, male characters such as thieves or swindlers. In the structure of the novel, however, where evil is conquered and the good prevail, the 'gold-digger' is bound to fail in her ambitions.

At the lowest level of sympathy ranks the category of the 'disguised'^[17]. While many female character types in Christie's novels are not what they appear to be, the 'disguised' hides her true nature or true motives for entirely immoral reasons. Her disguises are not necessarily physical ones, though costumes, false beards or similar camouflaging features can be part of her mendacity. Usually, however, her devices are subtler than that. She deceives the reader and her surroundings by being the hearty friend (Evelyn Howard), the saintly beauty (Marthe Daubreuil) or the loyal and dutiful servant (Ada Mason). Very often, she is in a position of trust, and the height of her perceived goodness makes her fall from grace at the hands of the detective even more despicable. Infallibly, she is either in close league with the murderer, or is herself the perpetrator. She is intelligent, audacious and perceptive, otherwise her disguise would fail, but there is absolutely nothing positive about her mental capacities. Though she may be a worthy foe for the detective, who is the only one to see behind her mask, she is, take her for all in all, rabble.

Last and least, there is certain to be a servant hovering in the background, a fairly nondescript person who comes in two different shades: the elderly, old-fashioned, stiff, correct and loyal domestic^[18], and the young, fluttering, modern, irresponsible maid^[19]. She features frequently in either form, but her role is purely auxiliary. Unless she is a 'disguised', her main task is to carry internal information to the detective, as she is invariably aware of almost anything that happens in the household. She is often eavesdropping on the suspects' conversations, and her familiarity with the routine of the house provide the detective with significant clues to the disturbances of that routine. Depending on her make-up, she is either haughtily superior to the detective or asininely excited by his investigation; he, in turn, always treats her either reverently or firmly authoritarian in order to endear or subject her to his purpose. Then, she eagerly provides all the necessary background information. Although her help is gratefully acknowledged, and her position in the household, at least for the old-fashioned domestic, assured and honoured, her portray is sketchy, and the prevailing attitude indifferent. As a servant, she is not really important.

3.2 Dorothy L. Sayers

Female characters in Dorothy L. Sayers's novels can also be divided into different categories. First there are those that recur frequently and perform, secondary to Lord Peter Wimsey, in leading roles; among these, Harriet Vane, Wimsey's love and later wife and the literary echo of Dorothy L. Sayers, takes first rank. But long before she was introduced, there were Wimsey's mother, the Dowager Duchess of Denver, his sister, Lady Mary Parker, and his amateur detective assistant, Miss Katherine Climpson. These are fully developed characters who escape, through their individuality and three-dimensionality, the stereotypical analysis I attempt to unfold here. Harriet Vane and the Dowager Duchess as the most prominent of these will be treated in a separate paragraph, together with the dons, students and scouts of Gaudy Night. Secondy, they are character moulds.

In the next two paragraphs, I will first examine the character moulds that can be summarised from eight full-lengths novels. I have arranged those into nine sub-categories, which I suggest cover the entire range of women in the novels, from any parlour-maid up to and including Harriet Vane. In the second section, I will then explore two of the recurring characters, along with the women of Gaudy Night. I have chosen to treat these separately becauseGaudy Night is the one novel where men have practically no significance. Even Lord Peter Wimsey fails to appear properly before more than half the novel has unfolded itself. Thus it is Sayers' closest look at women, and offers the richest harvest in different characters. The rationale behind the separation into two parts lies in the difference between the moulds mentioned above and the individual characters: whereas the stereotypical women fit into only one category, the individuals either amalgamate various moulds or develop from one mould to the other.

3.2.1 Character Moulds

The nine (as I have divided them) categories of character moulds employed in Dorothy L. Sayers's fiction echo a fairly comprehensive cross-section of personality types. It has to be borne in mind, however, that they are just that: types. No character fits exclusively into one category only, but most belong predominantly into one or the other. Some, however, have equal claim to a place in two or more categories. Their stereotypical cast is similar to the patterns utilised by Agatha Christie, though some categories differ. They consist, again in no particular order, of 'the formidable old', 'the sour', 'the intellectual', 'the shark', 'the devoted', 'the self-confident girl', 'the bird-witted', 'the sensible' and 'the spineless'. Though most of these categories, in their names, carry the attitude expressed by the author regarding their rank on the sympathy scale, 'the devoted' and 'the bird-witted' require further explanation. I have tried, again, to render the categories as self-explanatory as possible and will refrain from elaborate characterisations.

The term 'formidable old' is used here to denote a variety of women of advanced age who, though suffering from various ailments, call for admiration. While some of them are already deceased when their characters are recapitulated^[20] or are bed-ridden and unperceiving^[21], they are remembered with reverence and awe; those active in the respective novel^[22] speak for themselves. They are equipped with sharpness, self-control, intellectual and emotional integrity, fairness and/or honour. The label 'shrewd' is often attached to them, although they tend to be considered as difficult, either because they are slightly cantankerous, too voluble, tyrannical or in other ways exasperatingly idiosyncratic. To some extent, both Lord Peter's mother, the Dowager Duchess^[23], and his assistant sleuth, Miss Katherine Climpson, belong into that category. Sayers obviously harbours utmost respect for all these women and represents them, though not necessarily as agreeable, but with unfailing homage.

The second category, the 'sour' receive an entirely different treatment. Its exemplary specimen is Lord Peter's sister-in-law, Helen of Denver^[24]. She is immersed in unfavourable epithets, and in the course of her short appearances in four novels (Clouds of Witness, Strong Poison, Murder Must Advertise, Busman's Honeymoon), she emerges as a snobbish, unsatisfied, spiteful and extremely reactionary woman whose most endearing feature is her loyalty to her family's name and reputation. Her worst aspect is her complete lack of any humour. Sayers refers to her with scathing wit, and leaves little doubt about her antipathy towards women of her kind. Equal disdain is exhibited towards spiteful boarding house women or rancorous village matrons. Suffice it to exemplify the species with its most prominent prototype, however. I venture to propose that Helen of Denver clarifies the point.

Easily the most likeable group of women are those I presumed to call the 'intellectuals'; this includes, as its most minute description, Harriet Vane, but some lesser characters have to be incorporated as well. For one, there are Vane's friends in Strong Poison, Eiluned Price and Sylvia Marriott^[25], for another, there is Marjorie Phelps, a friend of Lord Peter Wimsey and his key to artistic circles^[26]. Most importantly, there is Miss Meteyard, who is a copy-writer at an advertising agency, a former Oxford student and thus another facet of Sayers's autobiographical reflection. The 'intellectual' is usually artistically inclined in a practical and moderately successful way. She is practical and sensible, intelligent and observant, with a sound education and a university degree. She is well-versed in the English language, its literature and poetry, and has a tendency to dress in a slightly eccentric though very becoming fashion. She is a feminist, though this is rarely an issue; her emancipation is complete, and male chauvinism can only scratch the surface. She likes or even falls in love with Lord Peter precisely because he is so untypically male, but her disdain for the normal man is equable. Harriet Vane, obviously, comprises a few more facets to this portrait, but as I will elaborate these aspects further in the next section, these are, in short, her chief characteristics.

One of the most interesting type of women in Sayers's novels are what I have called the 'sharks'. These are, by definition, dangerous persons, though their danger lies in various different aspects. They can be man-eaters^[27], they can imperil by dragging people down into the abysses they already occupy^[28], and, in the extreme, they can be cool, calculating, ruthless murderers^[29]. The lowest common denominator is that they are relentless in the pursuit of their respective aims. They are invariably highly intelligent; in later years, the murderer at least would receive a full treatment as a psychopath, but in the novels, their psychological characterisation remains sketchy. Though they appear but rarely, theirs is an interesting case. Despite all the caution and aversion with which the reader is supposed to approach them, there is a residue of grudging admiration in their description. I suggest that there is a factor of both shrewdness and courage even to their character that renders them more sympathetic than their behaviour should suggest. Here, at least, there's an enemy worth battling.

In clear contrast to that admiration, though on the whole a lot more positive, are the 'spineless'. These include, in the beginning at least, Lady Mary Wimsey, the sleuth's younger sister, but also various Bohemian types, usually not nominally identified. They occur in whole roomfuls whenever the hero intrudes into the world of strong coffee, bad food, stale air and art. Sayers seems to have had a penetrating insight into these circles, for her descriptions are astute and scathingly revealing. Apparently, the meeting places, cafés and clubs are also frequented by the 'intellectual', at least Harriet Vane's friends and fellow-'intellectuals' are at home in them, so it is deducible that Sayers herself had some experience with that particular group of people. It also follows that some aspects of the Bohemian life suited her very well, and some of its members are quite positively portrayed. On the whole, however, Bohemian types are usually described as being of dubious political persuasion, namely Communist, Socialist or other leftist orientation, to be a-religious and almost forcedly modern. They subscribe to free love and the extinction of the diatonic scale, they support the idea of the worker (a rather vague notion no one ever clarifies) in an unrealistic but passionate way and they are artists even if they have never produced any actual work. All in all, they are depicted as idealistic though misguided, but most of all easily influenced in their opinions, confused and, in one word, spineless. This is not necessarily negative, since mistaken ideas can be remedied, as is the case with Lady Mary, and, if nothing else, they are always good for a hilarious afternoon for anyone who can stand their poems and their cigarette smoke.

The significant difference between Lady Mary and other characters of the 'spineless' type is that she evolves, beginning in Clouds of Witness and culminating in Murder Must Advertise. She then belongs to a category I have called the 'sensible', a rather large group that includes, interestingly enough, all the older female servants in Sayers's novels, particularly the cooks, but also various nurses and the women employed in Lord Peter's brain-child, the 'Cattery'. The most detailed descriptions of this type can be found with Mrs. Agnes Venables, the rector's wife in The Nine Tailors^[30]. As the name suggests, she is a clear-headed, practical person with both feet planted firmly on the ground. She has an enormous capacity for charity and a tendency to organise everything and everyone around her, and her environment is usually in desperate need for organisation. With a varying degree of education among the women of this category, their characteristic sense is nonetheless ascribed to a natural talent rather than to acquired skills. The group of 'sensible' women also includes Katherine Climpson, who thus represents the few women who belong to more than one category with equal legitimacy. The women are invariably positive figures, and there is a loving respect in their delineation.

A rather less equivocal group are the so-called 'devoted'^[31]; these are women whose main feature is their capacity for blind obedience and loyalty to their husbands or lovers. The devotion is exclusively focused on their respective spouses, and they are often tainted with suspicion regarding the crime under investigation because they hide something from the detective that concerns the spouse. The hidden secret is without fail something they think would incriminate the man involved, while, when it is unearthed, it usually turns out to be vitally important to the case but rarely implicates the individual's guilt. While Christie implicitly supports devotion in all of her positive character types, Sayers's attitude is a lot more equivocal. The women of this category are depicted with a careful admiration for their loyalty while implying at the same time that even the purest devotion should have some limitations. Regarding the objects of their loyalty, these women tend to dismiss their reason and sense, and this leads to a minor catastrophe. The concept of misguided devotion is most fully elaborated in Gaudy Night, and its dangers and disasters are most vociferously condemned.

On the whole, however, the 'devoted' do not receive even half of the aversion Sayers retained for the 'bird-witted'. These are chattering, empty women^[32] with a high degree of refined or unrefined silliness (depending on their social background), and the author depicts them with scorn and, at best, condescending pity. They occur frequently in various guises, as village women or foolish young servants, as spinsters or mothers, as semi-genteel teachers or farmer's wives. Whatever their station or age, however, they are as a type exposed to derision and contempt.

Finally, there is the small but precious group of 'self-confident girls'. In essence, these are any of the positive character types as listed above in their youthful form. These girls are sometimes cheeky^[33], sometimes quiet^[34], they come from different social backgrounds^[35], but they always represent a group of children or young adults Sayers seemed to have set great score in. They know where they want to go, and there is little doubt that their determination will take them there. This is particularly pronounced with Hilary Thorpe, who enjoys the most detailed description and characterisation. I suggest that her person, a young orphan from a family of impoverished gentry, bound for Oxford and ambitious to write novels, is, to some extent, a hint at Harriet Vane or, by implication, Dorothy L. Sayers in their respective earlier ages. Thus, though she appears rarely, the 'self-confident girl' takes place among the nine categories of women in Sayers's fiction.

3.2.2 The Dowager Duchess

While Harriet Vane is indubitably the most important woman in Sayers's novels, other significant individuals were introduced long before her. I will therefore relegate her to the end of this paragraph, as a last but by no means least. The first notable woman Sayers introduced her readers to was the detective's mother, Honoria Lucasta, the Dowager Duchess of Denver. All in all, she brightens four of Sayers's novels, Whose Body?,Clouds of Witness, Strong Poison, and Busman's Honeymoon, in chronological order. She is by far the most endearing character of all, a bright, sprightly old woman who rules her house with a tyrannical hand and a sympathetic heart. She has a tendency to ramble slightly, and she suffers from malapropism, but she is piercingly shrewd and invariably kind. She may not, on the spur of the moment, be able to recall whether she means angle or diagnosis when she asserts that someone's diagonal is probably correct^[36], but in content, she is never mistaken. Her first description runs thus:

"She was a small, plump woman, with perfectly white hair and exquisite hands. In feature, she was as unlike her second son as she was like him in character; her black eyes twinkled cheerfully, and her manners and movements were marked with a neat and rapid decision. She wore a charming wrap from Liberty's, and sat watching Lord Peter eat cold beef and cheese as though his arrival in such incongruous circumstances and company were the most ordinary event possible, which with him, indeed, it was."^[37]

She is a practical, no-nonsense person, and despite the fact that there is never any formal education mentioned, she is brightly intelligent in a down-to-earth fashion^[38]; she is also able to read people's characters and will not be deceived by outward appearances^[39]. She is 'formidable' and 'sensible', and her drifts into being 'bird-witted' are either a disguise or an expression of an over-full mind. Referring to the categories in 2.2.1, she combines at least four character moulds.

3.2.3 The Gaudy Night Women

The Gaudy Night women are, obviously, as diverse as any group of almost three dozen nominally identified individuals can be. On the whole, however, they can be subsumed under four different headings: the Senior Common Room (SCR), i.e. dons, fellows and tutors, the students, the former students including Harriet Vane, and the scouts. The Senior Common Room consists of exclusively unmarried women of academic background who combine a range of characteristics and opinions. On the 'likeable' side, this range includes the slightly fussy Miss Lydgate, Harriet Vane's former tutor, the Dean, the inscrutable Miss de Vine, the formidable Head and the practical Science fellow. On the other end of the sympathy spectrum, there are the rather spiteful and gossipy tutors Allison and Pyke, and Miss Hillyard, on whose slightly warped person suspicion rests for some time. In between, in a kind of neutral space, are young Miss Chilperic, Miss Shaw and Miss Barton. This collection of academic women covers a fairly consummate expanse of attitudes on the core topics of the novel, namely intellectual integrity, marriage of equals, women's education and the consequences of principles. By means of these women, Sayers discusses the salience of these questions, with Harriet Vane, who drifts between SCR and students, both present and former, as the central catalyst. The Senior Common Room serves not so much as a collection of types but as a means of expressing different viewpoints.

The students, on the other hand, represent a group of people who are much more concerned with the practical problems of academic life and the disturbance Harriet Vane investigates than with the theoretical angles that occupies the SCR. Again, a range of temperaments is explored, from the earnestly studious, the resentful and the brilliantly academic to the frivolous. In the shape of individual students, a kaleidoscope of university experiences (as Sayers saw or remembered them) is unfolded, with gate-crashing and late-without-leave via illicit milk after the buttery is closed and punting on the Isis to long sessions at the Bodley library and midnight discussions about responsibility and art. The students' description reflects an atmosphere rather than a rational observation, and through them, Sayers offers a different perspective on academic life.

The former students as they appear incidentally with Harriet Vane's return to Oxford to attend the Gaudy delineate another aspect of the college. While the students contain all the possibilities and are, to some extent, unknown quantities, Vane's contemporaries have ceased to develop. They mirror Harriet Vane and what she could have but did not become: a happily married archaeologist, an impertinent (and single) American propagating the procreation of the intelligentsia, a close friend who has stopped growing intellectually and is almost unrecognisable as the former bright sociable student, a variety of failed or successful women. Most inspiring is Vane's encounter with a Mrs. Bendick née Freemantle^[40], once a bright scholar, who has married a farmer in the erroneous belief that serving the land is worthier than an academic career, even if one is not fit for the former but could excel at the latter. "What damned waste! [...] All that brilliance, all that trained intelligence, harnessed to a load that an uneducated country girl could have drawn, far better."^[41] The question is not so much which job is nobler, but which job one is more suited for. "However grand the job may be, is it your job?"^[42] Harriet Vane walks away "[...] with a depressed feeling that she had seen a Derby winner making shift with a coal cart."^[43] The appropriateness and suitability of training and choice of occupation is the central issue of this conversation. Thus the former students mirror all the possible Harriet Vanes, so to speak, and since Harriet Vane is a reflection of Dorothy L. Sayers, I suggest that their contribution to the overall picture of the role of women is salient.

The scouts, as a fourth category, coincide largely with Sayers's usual concept of servants; they are either capable and 'sensible' or 'bird-witted', with the notable exception of Annie Wilson, who holds the post as one of the two (and therefore rare) female perpetrators in Sayers's novels. She is worth mentioning in some detail. On the whole, Annie Wilson fits best into the category of the 'devoted', for her deeds are spurred by a desire to revenge what she considers an injustice to her deceased husband. She commences with a grudge directed at one particular member of the college, Helen de Vine, and develops towards a general hatred of academic women and the university as a whole. Her hostility is enlarged onto a pathological scale, and all the doubts and insecurities unravelled before she is apprehended are set into proportion through her cathartic outburst^[44]. She is so quite obviously psychotic that her accusations, however similar to the SCR's cautiously expressed opinions, are tarnished with the brush of madness and thus dismissed.

3.2.4 Harriet Vane

The most important female character in Dorothy L. Sayers's novels is, undeniably, Harriet Vane. She is first introduced in Strong Poison, where she is accused of having murdered her ex-lover, and continues to feature in three full-length novels (Have His Carcase, Gaudy Night, and Busman's Honeymoon) and two short stories ('The Haunted Policeman' and 'Talboys'). There is an implicit mentioning of Lord Peter Wimsey meeting her during his investigation in Murder Must Advertise, but "[...] what he said or did on that occasion is in no way related to this story."^[45] She is most easily subsumed under the category of the 'intellectual' as described above, which is why I will omit the basic fabric of her type. She makes her living by writing detective novels and is thus, along with Miss Meteyard (Murder Must Advertise), similar to the author. Sayers's biographers agree, and reading the novels confirms it, that Harriet Vane is the closest Sayers ever came to portraying herself in her work. She is a country doctor's daughter with a sound education in classics, an Oxford degree and a complex character. When the readers meets her first, she struggles not only against the legal system, but also for her existence as an independent writer. She is described as having been poor all her life until literary success provided her, though not with anything even resembling wealth, at least with a comfortable income. Exchange country doctor with country parson and leave out the trial for murder, and the portray matches Sayers's too closely to ignore the resemblances. I conclude therefore that almost anything Harriet Vane does, says, thinks or feels can be without much difficulty related to her creator. Consequently, it is necessary to take a closer look at her character in order to explain Sayers's attitude towards the women in her novels.

When Harriet Vane makes her first appearance, she is in the least enviable of circumstances: a prisoner at the bar, accused of having poisoned her former lover with arsenic. Lord Peter Wimsey is convinced that she is not guilty, and when the jury cannot agree over a verdict, he has a month to clear her. Almost the first question he asks when he sees her is whether Vane would marry him; she refuses and continues to refuse even after he succeeded in apprehending the real murderer. As a matter of fact, she remains quite adamant in her refusal for five years, while his appreciation of her changes from rather superficial infatuation to serious love for her. The reasons for her consistently negative answers to his proposals are twofold. First, she resents his self-confidence that allows him to take life, security and happiness for granted; she always had to fight to survive, and nothing was ever easy for her. Being tried for murder, though definitely her worst experience, was very much in line with the course of her life after her father's death, with "[...] that one didn't actually hurt and the next may be quite bearably, if only something beastly doesn't come pouncing out [...]."^[46] She is shy and scared, trying to piece her life back together after the trial and her time in prison, and he barges in with his more than unwelcome attentions. Second, she feels that the gratitude she owes him for saving her from being hanged was not a base for marriage. It would always seem as if she had only accepted him because of this service, and her principles prevent her from being put in that position. Being indebted for one's life to one's future spouse is not an enviable situation, but she fails to succumb to it. Only when this balance is restored in Gaudy Night is she prepared to view him in a different light.

To reach equality between the two partners is the aim of the development unfolded in the first three 'Vane novels'; the fourth, Busman's Honeymoon, describes the result of a marriage between equals. One of the anecdotes about Sayers's life tells us that she originally intended to get rid of Wimsey by marrying him off, only to find out that the cardboard two-dimensionality of her hero clashed so violently with the multifaceted character of Harriet Vane that she could not, without doing injustice to Vane, allow the two to marry. While it is true that even in Strong Poison, Harriet Vane is as far away from being a cliché as Lord Peter Wimsey is close to it, and agreeing to marry him then would have disagreed with Vane's disposition as described in the novel, the anecdote does not explain why Wimsey returns to his full caricature type in one novel later than Strong Poison, Five Red Herrings, or shows no change in The Nine Tailors. Be that as it may, Wimsey had to change from the 'silly ass' to a fully developed human being, and the balance between his self-assuredness and her scarred insecurity had to be levelled.

Aside from this elaborate statement on the necessity of a happy marriage being exclusively between equals, Harriet Vane also represents the author's attitude towards the novels' women. She takes an immediate liking to the Dowager Duchess and an immediate disliking to Helen of Denver. Her relationships with the academic women in Gaudy Night influence the reader's view of them. Her budding friendship with Miss Lydgate and Miss Martin, her respect for Dr. Baring, her careful admiration of Miss de Vine and her distrust of Miss Hillyard become the reader's sentiments. Thus through her eyes, which I suggest are Sayers's eyes, the academic world and the women who populate it are revealed.

^[1] Mann, Jessica Deadlier than the Male: An Investigation into Feminine Crime Writing,  Newton Abbot and London, 1981, p. 9

^[2] Knight, op. cit., p. 2

^[3] Knight, op. cit., pp. 107-134

^[4] Knight, op. cit., p. 107

^[5] Mann, op. cit., p. 58

^[6] Referring to the first decade of Christie's literary career.

^[7] Note that I refer only to the limited number of novels under analysis here.

^[8] Anna Benningfeld in The Man in the Brown Suit, Katherine Grey in The Mystery of the Blue Train, Cinderella Duveen in Murder on the Links; apparently, the stereotype of the 'adventurous young heroine' is not taken too seriously, at least in its purest thriller form, for Anna Benningfeld, even in her own story, is equipped with her own parody, Pamela, of episodically cinematic fame.

^[9] Christie, Agatha The Man in the Brown Suit, New York, 1984, p. 70

^[10] Christie, Agatha The Mystery of the Blue Train, London, 1964, p. 41

^[11] Mary Cavendish in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Mrs. Renauld in Murder on the Links

^[12] Miss Russell in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

^[13] Flora Ackroyd in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

^[14] Cynthia Murdoch in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Bella Duveen in Murder on the Links, Ursula Bourne in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Lenox Tamplin, Ruth Kettering and Zia Papopoulos in The Mystery of the Blue Train

^[15] Emily Inglethorpe in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Mrs. Fleming, Suzanne Blair in The Man in the Brown Suit, Caroline Sheppard in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Jane Harfield, Amelia Viner in The Mystery of the Blue Train

^[16] Madame Daubreuil in Murder on the Links, Mrs. Cecil Ackroyd in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Mary Ann Harfield, Lady Tamplin, Mirelle in The Mystery of the Blue Train

^[17] Evelyn Howard in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Marthe Daubreuil in Murder on the Links, Ada Mason in The Mystery of the Blue Train

^[18] Dorcas in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Françoise in Murder on the Links

^[19] Annie in The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Denise, Léonie in Murder on the Links, Elsie Dale in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Ellen/Helen in The Mystery of the Blue Train

^[20] Agatha Dawson in Unnatural Death

^[21] Cremorna Garden alias Rosanna Wrayburn in Strong Poison

^[22] Mrs. Thipps in Whose Body?, Mrs. Wilbraham in The Nine Tailors

^[23] For a more detailed study of her character, cf. IV, 3.2.2

^[24] Another fine example is Mrs. Gates in The Nine Tailors

^[25] In the opening chapter of Strong Poison, Miss Marriott is referred to as 'Sybil', but since for the rest of the novel she is consistently called Sylvia, I conclude that the first reference is erroneous.

^[26] Sayers, Dorothy L. Strong Poison, London, 1989, p. 73

^[27] Simone Vonderaa in Clouds of Witness

^[28] Dian de Momerie in Murder Must Advertise

^[29] Mary Whittaker in Unnatural Death

^[30] The category also contains Joan Murchinson and Bella Rumm in Strong Poison, Mrs. Ashton and Mrs. Tebbutt in The Nine Tailors, and, for one aspect of their character, the Dowager Duchess and Katherine Climpson.

^[31] Vera Findlater in Unnatural Death, Mrs. Grimethorpe in Clouds of Witness, Mary Thoday and Suzanne Legros in The Nine Tailors, Annie Wilson in Gaudy Night.

^[32] Caroline Booth in Strong Poison, Aggie Twitterton and Mrs. Ruddle in Busman's Honeymoon, various guests at Denver, younger servants and other minor characters

^[33] A young female identified as 'Esmeralda' in Unnatural Death

^[34] Helen MacGregor in The Nine Tailors

^[35] Esmeralda Rumm in Strong Poison and Hilary Thorpe in The Nine Tailors

^[36] Sayers, Dorothy L. Busman's Honeymoon, London, 1988, p. 31

^[37] Sayers, Dorothy L. Whose Body, London, 1989, p. 43

^[38] ibid., pp. 114-117

^[39] Sayers, Dorothy L. Strong Poison, op.cit., p. 30; Sayers, Dorothy L. Busman's Honeymoon, op. cit., pp. 17-32

^[40] Sayers, Dorothy L. Gaudy Night, London, 1990, pp. 46-49

^[41] ibid., p. 47

^[42] ibid., p. 47

^[43] ibid., p. 49

^[44] ibid., pp. 425-429

^[45] ibid., p. 99

^[46] Sayers, Dorothy L. Busman's Honeymoon, op. cit., pp. 257