Margaret Millar was a mystery writer, a Grand Master in fact, but after reading Banshee I’m still not sure what kind of mysteries she wrote. Certainly not the hardboiled detective stories her husband, Ross MacDonald, was justly famous for helping define in its infancy. But not quite cozies either. “Not quite” because Banshee begins with the characteristics of a cozy. There is an affluent California town with its network of family and friends. There is a victim, an eight-year-old little girl missing for four months before her remains are found. A coroner’s jury declares a crime had been committed and the police initiate an investigation and then . . . nothing. The police are stymied. The girl’s father and the local Reverend, friends since college, decide to investigate on their own.
Except it’s not that. The investigation, all of three interviews, goes nowhere--results each character on some level had expected from the beginning. It had only been the means chosen by one to cope with the loss of his daughter and the other with the loss of his faith. That’s why the four months between the disappearance and the funeral were necessary. Banshee is a character study. The funeral is the catalyst that allows Millar to explore the various aspects of grief, loss and guilt within this community.
If Millar had stayed the course Banshee could have been a successful book. These were well-drawn character and they were involved in interesting situations and interactions, some of which changed in unexpected way, forcing responses. Maybe not the kind of frenetic responses as would be required today, but appropriate for a psychological study from 1983. Unfortunately there came a point where she remembered she was a mystery writer. It was time for the solution and in providing a traditional one--placed as close to the end as possible--she shunted aside most what she had built. It left too many incomplete journeys. Even the two characters directly involved and affected by the finale were not completely serviced.
You don’t become a Grand Master without knowing how to marry a character study to a mystery. It’s why I’m still not sure what kind of mysteries Margaret Millar wrote. Banshee felt experimental, a deliberate attempt to ignore what had always made the character-driven mystery work. Both elements, the mystery and the exploration of character, have to be intertwined from beginning to end. They’re almost symbiotic in nature. Once both are established, neither have the strength to stand alone.
Banshee’s abrupt turn from one to other cripples the work as whole. It can still be enjoyed. I was aware of the pages running out as I neared the end, and realizing that a satisfying conclusion was no longer possible did not make me regret the time invested. If anything, it made me want to read one of her more accomplished works. I guess that a success of sorts.