Free The Elements of Mystery Fiction: Writing the Modern Whodunit by William G. Tapply

can be enhanced by alternating the narration among the points of view of several different characters. In The Silence of the Lambs , for example, readers witness most of the scenes from Clarice Starling’s viewpoint. But Harris heightens the suspense of his story by periodically showing scenes from the point of view of other characters, including the victims, the evil Dr. Lector, and Jame Gumb, the story’s villain.
    If you’re writing a mystery story in which the central quest involves solving a puzzle, however, stick with a single point of view. First person or third person. Your choice. Don’t be tempted to tell your reader what your other characters are thinking and feeling by entering their viewpoints. That will divide your readers’ attention and blur their identification with your sleuth.
    There are, of course, exceptions. Tony Hillerman, for example, masterfully alternates between two intimate third-person points of view in his mystery novels. But Hillerman is a master, and his series features two more or less equal protagonists, Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee. Most successful mystery writers, however, stick to the single point of view. Beginners should do the same.
    Besides blurring your readers’ identification with your sleuth, the multiple viewpoint also creates tactical problems in puzzle-driven mystery fiction. When writers alternate point of view among several characters, readers inevitably know more than the story’s sleuth. They have the advantage over her, which violates the rule of fair play just as surely as if vital information were withheld from readers.
    Here, for example, is a scene as it might be told from a secondary character’s viewpoint (Sarah Benjamin) rather than the story’s sleuth (Michael Blake):
    Sarah peered over the tops of her glasses and watched Michael push open the glass door and step tentatively onto the patio. She saw a frown crease his handsome face. Poor Michael, she thought. He was a nice guy, but he didn’t know any more about how to deal with a dying old woman than anyone else.
    She shivered. Even in her bulky sweatshirt, she was cold. She was always cold. The chemotherapy had sucked all the warmth from her body. In spite of what the doctors told her, she knew she’d never be warm again.
    Or perhaps it was rereading Mary Ann’s old letters that gave her the chills.
    Well, maybe Michael would help. She hoped so. She didn’t know where else to turn.
    He’d resist, she expected. He’d protest that he was a lawyer, not a private eye, that he was overworked as it was. Dear Michael. She knew that he’d rather go golfing. She’d have to handle him carefully.
     
    Here readers know things about Sarah that Michael, the sleuth, can only surmise. Through Sarah’s point of view readers learn that she intends to “handle him carefully.” They know that she will attempt to manipulate him. Michael, at best, can only deduce this important fact.
    At this point in the story, readers might legitimately consider Sarah a suspect. Once they hear her thoughts and share her feelings, however, they know that she should be deleted from their list of suspects, because if she had committed the murder, it’s reasonable to assume that she would be thinking about it. Readers are disappointed that the complexity of the mystery is thus reduced.
    Suppose Sarah actually is the villain?
    Writers who enter the point of view of the villain either cheat inexcusably or give the puzzle’s solution away. Fair play demands that no point-of-view character can lie to readers, or deceive them, or withhold crucial information from them. Obviously, uppermost in the murderer’s mind are that he did the deed, that he desperately wants to get away with it, and that people are trying to bring him to justice.
    To have him not think these thoughts is cheating your reader. On the other hand, if he does share these thoughts with readers, they will solve the mystery puzzle before your sleuth does.
    Writing in the