Mostly Books bookshop in Abingdon

Time to get cosies out of the closet (one in an occasional series of bookrants) I don’t know where the label ‘cosies’ came from, but is it all part of a conspiracy to say if you like crime fiction you want another serial killer (probably preying on women and children), can’t get enough of forensics, adore police procedurals in all their authentic, often dull, grisly detail and murders that teeter into territory that used to be the province of horror stories? I think it’s high time for cosies to sneak out of the closet and murmur discreetly that (ahem) a genteel murder mystery is sometimes just the ticket. Disparagers of cosies (and there are many) sniff at the fact that the murders take place mostly among the middle classes, present little authentic detail, with elderly amateur sleuths careering over the Cotswold and seaside villages in between drinking cups of tea and knitting tea cosies for their china teapots. All right, most cosies do involve female amateur sleuths who have a preference for bracing country or sea walks and find the concept of a cappuccino a trifle louche. But just occasionally, on a cold winter evening, with just the hint of a sniffle allowing you to put your slippers on and curl up with a hot toddy, am I the only one who secretly uncurls their favourite Simon Brett or MC Beaton? Cosies are the PG Wodehouse of the crime fiction world, a place of fantasy where mistaken identities, aunts who have long outlived their usefulness, sinister vicars lurk and afternoon tea parties abound where the gossip is more malicious than the House of Commons. Is this really so awful? Why is it so difficult to stand up and admit that reading these can be jolly good fun? And why is it that no good, central website exists where anonymous whodunit fans can swap notes on whether Amelia Peabody outranks Sheila Malory? I always thought lovers of historical romance had to get together under the guise of doing ballroom dancing classes to discuss whether Rochester was more romantic than Darcy. But they have a brilliant website http://historicalromanceuk.blogspot.com/ where people post quite openly and, apparently, under their own names. Considering Rosemary and Thyme was given a Christmas special and Midsomer Murders’ plots are unashamedly barking mad, can cosy crime really be consigned to Sunday night television? Does no-one actually read them any more? Or am I missing something? Next: There are worse crimes than liking Agatha Christie category tags: whodunnits mbwhodunnits