Sunday, July 2, 2023

When I was a little girl, my teacher tried to help us picture what heaven would be like. She said “What do you like to do, most of all? What do you like to have? Well, in heaven you’ll have it — as much as you want, and more!”

And right there and then, I knew that my heaven would be a comfy chair with a neverending supply of Nancy Drew mystery stories on one side, and a neverending supply of Coke and potato chips on the other!

Even now, when I need to get away from the world, I tell my guys (spouse and son) “I’m going to heaven tonight. Don’t bother me!” and set up camp in the Lazy Boy chair with a mystery novel (or two) and plenty of Coke Zero and potato chips.

Lately I’ve been reading the Brother Cadfael mystery novels by Ellis Peters. A friend of mine managed to collect the entire series and gifted them to me. Now that I’m almost finished with them, I’ve been pondering on what our guilty pleasures tell us about ourselves.

Much of the time, our guilty pleasures are actually not quite so guilty at all. They’re simply an indulgence in the closest we can get to what is missing in our lives: escape and relaxation, romance, intellectual stimulation without any responsibility, a little rebellion or excitement, satiation of cravings, especially sweet and/or salty ones, etc.

Since Nancy Drew, I’ve read dozens of mystery novel series. Most mysteries don’t do it for me these days — I don’t like the police procedurals, nor the cutesy ones where the cat solves the crime or the chef “detective” solves the case with a cake recipe. (Not dissing anyone else’s taste!) Remember “Murder, She Wrote”? I always wondered how we were supposed to believe that there were so many murders in such a quaint small town — one a week!

I don’t go for the blood and gore mysteries, nor the sadistic serial murderer who tortures his victims but works as a mild mannered lawyer by day. I don’t like gritty urban alcoholic detectives fighting their own demons. I truly dislike the P.D. James sub-genre of “beautiful charming picture perfect village where, underneath the idyllic surface, some long-term citizens bear 100 year old grudges, twisted minds indulging in the most peculiar and horrific murders of innocent descendants of the blood feud.”

Real life scares me quite enough, thank you very much! I don’t need to be reminded of horror lurking underneath the surface.

And I REALLY don’t like the ones where the “bad guy” is not caught! Hannibal Lector, anyone? Keep your doors locked!

Most mystery novels, though, presume that life is mostly safe and orderly, but someone brings a dash of chaos into this calm ordinary reality. Once that someone is caught and removed from proper society, life can go back to its predictable order. These kinds of mysteries don’t ring true to me — I don’t see life as safe and orderly, and I don’t think finding and removing one “bad guy” is going to solve our problems.

The mysteries I love are the Louise Penny types, or Brother Cadfael types. I love a good novel that helps me understand why seemingly ordinary people can cause so much suffering, especially where the crime-solver is thoughtful and mature, able to see deeply how hurt people hurt other people, able to thoroughly empathize with the fallout suffering of survivors in a world that too often is a trauma generator rather than the kingdom of God here on earth.

In Brother Cadfael’s world, twelfth century England, the civil war causes waste and havoc for people just trying to live their lives. Suffering is the unwelcome guest, causing more suffering wherever it travels. Brother Cadfael understands this, yet is committed to a life of healing who he can when he can, offering mercy and safe haven wherever he can. He is always encouraging those in power to take the long view in order to create a society where human foibles are balanced with communal responsibilities and the worst of revenge is suitably contained.

Methinks I want to be Brother Cadfael, or Louise Penny’s Armand Gamache, when I grow up! I love peeking into their fictitious lives where I understand their struggles and am encouraged by their successes. Their successes may be tiny or large, but each success is a ripple in the pond spreading a little peace and justice. I am buoyed by their goodness.

And, my cravings for salty crunchy treats are satisfied, too!

So what are your guilty pleasures? What do they give you that you might not be getting in any other way? What are they satiating?