This is Volume 3 of the Soho Syndicate re-edition of Millar’s collected works. Recognized by Mystery Writers of America as a Grand Master, praised by a diverse range of mystery writers, from Agatha Christie (“Very original”) to H. R. F. Keating (“No woman in twentieth-century American mystery writing is more important than Margaret Millar”), Millar was very popular in the 1950s but had fallen off the radar by the 1970s.
I was in high school then and discovered her by accident in our town’s public library. I’d worked my way through Agatha Christie’s entire opus by the time I was thirteen and moved onto the hard stuff, beginning with the classics: Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, James M. Cain. I liked the movies made from their books, The Thin Man, The Maltese Falcon, The Big Sleep, Double Indemnity. But, let’s face it, those guys didn’t have much use for women and I didn’t find their world particularly congenial, however much I admired their writing.
But there were Millar’s books, nestled up against theirs, and her female characters were so compelling. Not femme fatales, but not innocents, either. They were intelligent, observant, they had a sense of humor, but not the wise-cracking type (much as I enjoyed the repartee of Nick and Nora Charles . . .) Some were married, rarely happily. Some were divorced. Some were single women trying to find their place in the world, falling in love with the wrong man, with a married man, but that didn’t make them home wreckers like Elizabeth Taylor in BUtterfield 8.
In fact, Millar’s heroines had more in common with the characters in noir films based on novels written by women. Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca or Vera Caspary’s Laura: truly chilling mysteries that depended more on psychology than on detective work for their resolution. They weren’t just puzzles to solve; they weren’t so much about crime, really, as about longing and frustration. They made you think differently about life.
I write noir stories from a woman’s perspective that don’t conform to the conventions established by the hardboiled male writers. It’s not all mean streets and cynical loners and double-crossing dames. Rediscovering Margaret Millar, I realize how she marked me, as a mystery writer, emboldening me to create a vulnerable heroine who comes to know her own strength in the course of her travels.
Thank you, Ms. Millar.