Richard Osman has been both sides of the screen
Long before he presented television, he watched it, nose smudging the glass.
His rule? The closer the better. For when he was a couple of inches of the tube, the flickering reds and blacks took on elaborate life. They became The Dukes of Hazzard.
Further back, the muddy colours would return. The picture would blur. And Osman’s eyes would twitch.
There were times when his eyeballs span in their sockets, trying to chase cop cars crashing into haybales while the Duke boys got away.
What was going on?
Osman was born with nystagmus, so his eyes moved on their own. They still do, I suppose. Which makes seeing generally difficult — and some forms of sightseeing impossible:
Let’s say I go for a long walk in the woods, or up a mountain, and people say, ‘look at that view.’ I’m sure it’s terrific. Whereas if I watch a nature program on television, I can see all of those things.
Perhaps more disabling, the genetic condition frustrates the act of reading. Especially, if all you have are paper-and-glue books.
(Today, Osman devours books through his ears. And so has firm opinions about who should narrate his series of novels.)
Still, with the patience of a detective playing his case by the book, he ground through titles from Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers and Ngaio Marsh.
Those mystery novels — lifted from his mother’s shelf — were as much a part of his boyhood as snooker and Saturday night telly.
So it feels right that, decades later, on break from filming gameshows, Richard Osman began writing about murder.
His books are rampantly popular
Millions have sold — to readers of all ages. You’ll see the retro cover of The Thursday Murder Club on South Western trains… bent double on Go-Ahead buses.. splayed decadently in Costas, up and down the land.
Sorry — was that clumsy? I was attempting a move from the Osman playbook: using brand names while building a scene.
It’s one of the reasons his world feels so cosy and familiar. It’s populated by shops and snacks we recognise.
Besides, it makes for efficient prose.
When a British reader learns that the setting — a retirement home — is visited by Waitrose delivery vans, they know they’re dealing with money.
When they learn the vans ‘clink with wine and repeat prescriptions’, they know they’re in for fun.
Like Osman, brand names live on both sides of the screen
They’re part of entertainment; they’re part of the daily grind. They’re a code the author shares with the rest of us — a code encompassing class and comfort, ambition and avarice, modernity and tradition.
And that gives Osman a power.
He embeds the names of apps and celebrities and TV programmes as clues for the reader to interpret. When interrogated, they squeal secrets about character, time and place. And we get to play detective that small way, while the greater mystery rolls on.
So, yes, Britain’s favourite ‘cosy crime’ author might strain over a description of a mountain view. He may never breathe in a vista only to exhale it onto a page. But his cultural references flow easily. And that’s reason enough for success.
To think, Osman’s killer technique was there on every page, hidden in plain sight.
Book him, boys.
Case closed.
Aidan Clifford writes for Pinstripe Poets – artists who love their day jobs. This post is part of a series called ‘Write like the Greats’. See the rest here.
