Today's Reading
I force myself to stay silent as we make our way through the savory and sweet delights. I want to say nothing that will overwhelm. Aside from the odd remark about the wonder of this mouthwatering sponge or that delectable sandwich, we do not speak. The unnatural quiet makes me physically uncomfortable, and I squirm until finally Agatha says, "Your Detection Club is a noble and worthy endeavor, make no mistake. We writers of mystery and detective novels have great need of the unity it would provide if we are to elevate our craft."
As she reaches for a slice of the pastel-colored Battenberg cake from the tray, I echo her sentiments. "No matter how beautifully written a mystery book is or how important and profound its themes, mainstream reviewers lump us in the genre category and refuse to consider our work as literature. They think of our books as pulp fiction, and as one who reviews detective novels for the Sunday Times, I am keenly aware of the difference in treatment. But if we support one another and insist on a certain level of quality, then we stand a chance."
"I am committed to your new club," she says. "But what is this greater need you have of me? On that, the jury remains out."
"Well," I venture, delighted that she's chosen this moment to take a bite of her favorite orange poppy-seed cake—a delectable confection always softens my mood—"you know I've installed Gilbert as the first president."
Nibbling away, she nods at my mention of G. K. Chesterton, known as Gilbert to his friends and colleagues. He's well loved by the public for his Father Brown mysteries and a little less loved by his fellow writers for his verbosity. Still, I chose him to give the club a certain level of gravitas that I wouldn't be able to confer if I'd named myself president.
"He's shared with me some grumblings by other prospective Detection Club members about adding more female writers to the roster. Other than you and me, of course." I will my voice to remain steady. Steadier than it was when Gilbert had delivered this sour news and I'd shrieked like an alley cat.
Agatha places her fork down upon her plate and sits up even straighter. "Grumblings?"
"Apparently, Gilbert and several proposed members were dining together, and a certain hesitancy was expressed around having an abundance of women in the ranks. Apparently they worry that it might be perceived negatively by those very literary institutions we are trying to impress."
Her eyes narrow and her cadence slows as she asks, "I take it that an 'abundance' is more than two?"
"That seems to be how they're defining the word. Although I doubt that the Oxford English Dictionary would agree."
"Was Anthony part of this conversation?" A single eyebrow raised, Agatha asks about our mutual friend, author Anthony Berkeley Cox. Discussions at the writerly dinners he hosts planted the seed for the Detection Club, one that I coaxed into existence with my usual energy and brashness. The male writers may have let the idea languish.
"Gilbert would not share the names of the men."
"Typical cowardice," she says with a disappointed shake of her head. "Hiding behind the cloak of anonymity."
On this point, I could digress for days. But I have an agenda, and a time-sensitive one at that. "I do have a plan."
Her eyebrow lowers, and she leans toward me. "If I know anything about you, Dorothy, it's that you are never without one." As she speaks, her eyes flash intensely, and I do believe the Agatha of old has returned for a moment. I've got to take advantage of this opportunity.
"How would you feel if we hand-selected the cleverest female mystery writers to become members of the Detection Club—contrary to the men's wishes—and form a club within a club? We would share the objectives of the Detection Club, but we will have a purpose all our own: to ensure that we have a place among the pantheon of preeminent mystery writers. Together, we would become a society of mutual admiration and support—for one another and for women everywhere. And..."
I pause to gauge her reaction. While on the one hand, I doubt that Agatha would thrill to the suggestion that she is a feminist, as I might should I be called the word outright, on the other hand, her books depict bright, inventive women, even those in their later years. As do mine, increasingly. Does this mean she might be open to assembling this unusual circle of women? Then take the necessary next step? It would be hard to go this path alone.
As I hold tight for an interminable moment, I watch as Agatha slowly nods. My stomach flutters excitedly as she then asks, "And?"
"And once assembled, we would appear en masse at the Detection Club initiation ceremony, ready to be sworn in by Gilbert. In such a setting, the men wouldn't have the moxie to object. An 'abundance' of female mystery writers in the Detection Club would be a fait accompli."
...
