Historical fiction or conspiracy theory?

 

Vincent van Gogh did not commit suicide. He was murdered.

And I can prove it.

How? By fudging the facts. Creating doubt. Promulgating  conspiracy theories.

Historical fiction writers do it every day.

Let’s face it, we’re deep in conspiracy theories these days, and more and more people are latching on to conspiracies to explain the world around them. Conspiracy theories are a growth industry. Unless the market is being manipulated by the Russians, or lizard people, which would explain a lt.

A good conspiracy theory does explain a lot, the more phenomena the better, no matter how disparate they may be.  5G causes Covid is good; 5G causes Covid and chemtrails and weight gain is even better. It’s more complete and tidy than reality, which has a lot of ragged edges. Truth is always stranger than fiction.

When I was growing up, there was just one conspiracy theory, the mother of them all, the Kennedy assassination theory. It had it all: the Mafia, the CIA, Cuba, and LBJ. Then came the faked moonshot theory. Then it snowballed, so nowadays we’re wondering what’s going on in the basement of our favorite pizza parlors. As faith in our institutions, the state, the church, the school, the military has waned, conspiracy theories have rushed in to fill the vacuum.

But how do these even get started? I’ll tell you. At least I’ll tell you my theory, and it’s a pretty good one, because I’m a professional conspiracy theorist. I write historical fiction.

Now don’t get your hopes up. I can’t explain the really loony theories. Those are just loony. But a lot of theories are built around a kernel of truth. The truth is the bait. What’s needed is a selective eye. Science takes a set of facts and tries to build a theory around it. Conspiracy theorists start with the theory and tries to fit the facts to it. Maybe the facts need to be bent some. Maybe they need to be twisted all out of shape. Hey, they’re still facts.

I didn’t start my journey with a theory, actually. I started with a question, something that didn’t seem right. Why, I thought to myself, if he wanted to make a sacrifice to his lady love, did Van Gogh cut off an ear? An artist would cut out an eye. That would make a real sacrifice.

And there I was, off to the races. Because that’s all you need: doubt about the accepted story. And it doesn’t have to be informed doubt. Just as long as it’s plausible. What if he didn’t cut off his own ear? He was living with Gauguin at the time, they had just had an argument, and Gauguin had been trying to teach him saber dueling. And as soon as it happened, Gauguin got the hell out of town.

Gauguin did it!

What about him shooting himself? From the evidence, he was shot from several feet away, from above—and the gun was never found.

Is it possible then that van Gogh was not mad? That there was a conspiracy to make him think he was mad? Why?

He must have known something. Something criminal. Something big, involving most if not all of his friends. Most of his friends were fellow artists.

A giant forgery ring! Easy peasey. Then I ignore or soft-pedal facts that don’t agree. Van Gogh had himself committed to the madhouse for a year. While there, he often had fits of violence toward his attendant, or he tried to swallow his paints. He lived for three days after he shot himself, and never accused anyone else. Of course, I do explain these away in my book (which you might like to read). And I don’t need to disprove facts. Only create doubt about their veracity.

And the biggest stretch of all, that there was a giant forgery ring. There’s no evidence for that at all. Of course not. That would have been hushed up by the state.

Now the question you’ll ask is: what do I believe? I first began this story (as a screenplay) some twenty years ago. Since then, scholars have questioned Gauguin’s role in the ear incident. A new biography asserts that he was killed (although manslaughter might be a more apt description than murder, and their killer and motive differ from mine.)

So my questions aren’t crazy. But I did make up the answers. I would say more than likely Van Gogh was bipolar, and possibly epileptic as well, although whether his conditions led to his purported actions, I can’t decide. It would be a fascinating study to try to match his letters and paintings with manic and depressive periods.

But that’s not my task. My task is to create conspiracy theories. I hope you read them and spread them among the general population. It’s better than “Paul is dead”, if not quite so juicy as Roswell.

Originally published in Lesa's Book Critiques

Who will play the Sherlocks?

 

Sherlock Holmes devotees all have an opinion on one crucial question: Who played the best Sherlock? From William Gillette to Benedict Cumberbatch, they will wrangle over every actor who was ever measured for a deerstalker cap. Writers of Sherlock Holmes pastiches have a slightly different question, however:

Who would play my Sherlock best?

 

Or in my case, my Sherlocks. (Well,  it'sConan Doyle's Sherlock, of course, but my transliterations thereof.) And I use the plural because I have written three Sherlock books which portray the Great Detective at three very different ages--36, 58, and 70. I suppose if Netflix were doing a miniseries, they'd use one actor and plenty of make-up and CGI. But if they were three separate movies, what then? 

Action stacking action

 ... or what I learned from William Goldman.

I'm not much on the trend of casting your narrative in first person present tense. It's too much like theatre in the round. I like the distance availed by the proscenium, which gives the audience a wide-angle view--at the expense of immediacy, some will say. But a film that's all close-ups is claustrophobic as well as tedious. (Sorry about the mixed mediums.)

So when do I use close-ups, that is to say, when do I switch from past to present tense? (Which tense-switching you will always be told by the powers that beis a no-no, and you'll probably get your hands rapped for it by someone who knows the rules and guards them with their life.)

There's a technique in screenwriting called action stacking. It's more a trick of typography than writing, but useful to explore.

It consists of short action sentences literally stacked one on top of another on the page. In practice, it looks something like this:

272. INT. ELEVATOR -- NIGHT                                       
     

           Ariadne DROPS inside the ROCKETING ELEVATOR, and as it SMASHES
           INTO THE TOP OF THE SHAFT Ariadne SMASHES INTO-
     

273.    INT./EXT. VAN INTO RIVER -- DAY                              
     

           -THE WATER, THE VAN CRUNCHING WITH THE IMPACT- WATER CRASHING
           THROUGH THE BROKEN WINDOWS FLOODING THE INTERIOR...
     

           Fischer's EYES OPEN, PANICKING- he UNBUCKLES HIMSELF, pushes
           out of the broken window- STOPS, goes back to UNBUCKLE
           Browning and DRAG him out-
     

274.    EXT. RIVER -- CONTINUOUS                                     
     

           Fischer breaks the surface with Browning, who COUGHS and
           GASPS.  He starts PULLING for the near bank, struggling
           through the rain-impacted water-
     

275.    INT. VAN, UNDERWATER -- CONTINUOUS                           
     

           Ariadne, Arthur and Yusuf wait calmly underwater.  They are
           sharing TWO REGULATORS pulled from beneath the front seat.
           Arthur he turns to Saito.  There is blood in the water around
           Saito's belly- his eyes are LIFELESS-  Arthur feels for a
           pulse... turns to Cobb, whose eyes are lifeless... Ariadne
           GRABS Arthur's elbow, pulling him away...
     

276.    EXT. RIVERBANK -- MOMENTS LATER                              
           Fischer turns Browning/Eames over.  They lie there, exhausted.
     

277. --from Inception, screenplay by Christopher Nolan

(Producers are wild about this technique because it creates a lot of white space on the page and fewer words. Producers hate to read.)

But William Goldman does something interesting with this technique, interesting even to novelists.

Who's William Goldman? A god to screenwriters, and he's earned his godhood. Writer of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Marathon Man, Princess Bride (both novel and movie), Misery, Absolute Power, and many others, Goldman's name is golden in Hollywood.

What sets Goldman's action stacking apart is his use of what I'll call foreshortened present continuous.

If you need a refresher, The present continuous tense is used to describe an ongoing action in the present. It usually take the form of a "to be" verb plus a present participle as in:

You are working on my last nerve.

I am only yanking your chain.

It's used to describe an action that is happening at that exact moment. In other words, it's as immediate as it can get.

What do I mean by "foreshortened? Goldman dispenses with both the subject and the "to be" verb, stripping the sentence down to its action, like this:

Working on my last nerve.

Yanking your chain.

Or, put more elegantly and more immediately, like this:

    INT. BROWNSTONE - McCARTY - DAY                         

       raising his rifle.

    INT. UNMARKED VAN - DAY                                 

       Collin, raising his.

    EXT. CAFE ALONZO BUILDING - DAY                         

       The three workmen, raising the glass panel.

    EXT. CAFE ALONZO - DAY                                  

       Kate.  Watching her father come closer.

       Luther.  It’s hard to suppress a smile as he walks
       towards his daughter.

       Kate, still watching.

       Luther, almost there.  Speaks softly.

                               LUTHER
                 I did not kill that woman, Kate.

    INT. BROWNSTONE - DAY                                   

       McCarty, flipping off the safety.

    INT. UNMARKED VAN - DAY                                 

       Collin, doing the same.

    EXT. CAFE ALONZO - DAY                                  

       Luther and Kate, and he starts to sit --

    INT. LOBBY - DAY                                        

       Seth, right hand raised -- he’s about to start it all in
       motion.

    INT. BROWNSTONE - DAY                                   

       McCarty, his finger floating to the trigger.

    INT. UNMARKED VAN - DAY                                 

       Collin, doing the same.

    EXT. CAFE ALONZO - DAY                                  

       Luther, seated now and as at last, he reaches out for his
       daughter’s hand --

    EXT. CAFE ALONZO BUILDING - DAY                         

       -- The three workmen, and for a moment the glass panel
       slips and tilts and as it catches the afternoon sun --

    INT. BROWNSTONE - DAY                                   

       -- McCarty, blinded as the red reflection hits his eyes
       but he FIRES.

from Absolute Power, screenplay by William Goldman

Notice how he creates tension by rapidly switching between continuous and simple present tense.

So what does all this have to do with writing novels? You, too, can get in on the action stacking craze!--modified, of course, to fit your narrator's voice. (The screenplay has no narrator but the camera.) To prove it, here's an example of how I used the technique in my second Sherlock Holmes novel The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter (which except for a few action scenes is written in past tense):

“I’m calling to Vernet, who stands like a statue, his eyes two marble ovals; I can’t even hear myself over the violence of hooves. Here is the cab, one wheel sparking a stone and shooting away on its own journey, the cab toppling upon us, the driver thrown into the air, still lashed to the reins. The horse, in a fury of terror, blacking out the night sky, and I too am flying, hurling myself across the alley, slamming Vernet’s body to the ground, hooves spraying stones against my scalp, the carriage plowing through bins, smashing against the wall of the building, the driver’s battered body juddering across the cobblestones, Vernet unconscious in my arms as I listen to the hoofbeats recede in the distance."

You can also adapt the technique to past action by using the past continuous tense (for slightly less bang for the buck in immediacy). From the same novel:

“There I was, turning, slow as a sundial, the blood roaring in my ears, the knife leaping from my hand, rotating through space, blossoming in his chest, the surprise in his bright feral eyes as he dropped to the ground, the overwhelming feeling of terrible purpose pounding in my brain, as if every moment since I had arrived in Paris had led me to the Gare du Nord at midnight only to kill this horrid little man, this assassin, and consign him to hell.”

So that's my pitch for Goldmanian action stacking. Needless to say, this technique loses its vitality almost entirely if your novel is set in present tense. But in all cases do what feels right for you. A writer needs to trust him/her self. As Jean-Pierre Jeunet (writer/director of Amelie) put it:

"You work for yourself. If you are a chef, you are the first taster. ”Um, I love that. Do you want to share?’ But, you have to love before. You are the first spectator of your film. If you think about the other people, you’re dead, you know."

Playing Favorites

 

Here’s an attaboy to brighten my day.

The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter made King River Life Magazine Staff Favorite Books of 2022.
https://kingsriverlife.com/01/28/king-river-life-staff-favorite-books-of-2022/

Stumbling across the internet

 And speaking of stumbling across while googling, Randall Stock, Holmes scholar, has a list of "the best choices for new fans, and a separate section with the best new items produced in 2022." And there I am, wedged right between Nicholas Meyer and Nancy Springer. Good company. Thanks, Randall!

For the entire list, check here: https://www.bestofsherlock.com/sherlock-gifts.htm

The Textbook for this class

 It's amazing what you'll stumble across when googling.

Lifelong Learners: An Independent Collaborative (an outfit out of Boston, apparently) offered a course last year called The Mysterious World of Art Crime, Fictional and Factual.

This is the list of course materials:

Books and Other Resources:

The Art Forger, B.A. Shapiro

The Rembrandt Affair, Daniel Silva

Stealing Mona Lisa, Carson Morton

The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter, Timothy Miller

Painted Ladies, Robert Parker

The Art Thief, Noah Charney

The Raphael Affair, Ian Pears

Now I nothing about this outfit or whether, like the Ted Baxter Famous Newscasters School, they only attracted one student. And no, I don't know whether the course will be repeated (Although if you want to rise up as a mob and demand it, go HERE .)

But it's nice to be included, one way or another.

Ted Baxter Famous Newscasters School.

Do You Know This Man?

 Of course you do. You've seen this picture of him in every tasteful little coffee-shop or bistro you've ever frequented. It's so ubiquitous that it's almost invisible. And there's his name right on the poster, Aristide Bruant. French guy, right?

You might even know that the poster is the work of Toulouse Lautrec, the little guy, the godfather of posters. 

But do you know Aristide Bruant, who was anything but tasteful? As a matter of fact, he was the Andrew Dice Clay/ Ozzie Osborne of his time. He was an outlandish cabaret owner whose main attraction was himself, entertaining his customers by parading on the bar top, singing and insulting everyone who came to see him, and everyone was the bourgeois, slumming it up in dangerous Montmartre (or La Butte, as the hilly region of Paris was called). And the bar he packed them in at was The Mirliton.

The what?

The Mirliton, which basically means "the kazoo" in French. It's also a favorite vegetable in Cajun cooking, which caused me no end of trouble along about the third draft of The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter.

But maybe we'd better back up, to the bar where Bruant made his name: 

Le Chat Noir in Montmartre, the ur-nightclub, which I know you've heard of, because once again, you've seen the poster--probably in that same cool little bistro, just across from the poster of Bruant. Bruant became so well known there that when the club closed, he opened his own--at the very same site. The walls were decorated with Lautrec's masterworks, which the bourgeois crowd mainly ignored. Lautrec held court there most nights--until some place The Moulin Rouge opened up down the street.

Here's how I imagined the place in The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter:

This then was the Cabaret Le Mirliton, just one of several down-at-the-heels establishments pocking the Boulevard Rochechouart that promised song and dance and bonhomie, or alternately enough noxious drink to make the first three superfluous. 

Le Mirliton was of the first kind. As soon as we were inside the door, we were greeted by smoke and noise and the booming voice of the proprietor himself. 

“My God, look at these two! Have the sewers backed up all the way to Montmartre?”

There was Bruant, striding up and down the top of the bar in the same costume we’d seen in the posters, a gamekeeper’s outfit with a scarlet shirt and scarf, an opera cape and wide-brimmed black hat. He pointed a rattan cane at us and said, “See how they gawk? Like sheep about to be sheared! Mutton-heads!”

Interior of Le Mirliton by Louis Anquetin

 

St. Lazare, a song by Bruant                              

Golden State Gabfest

Up for more talk about 

The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter, as well as a peek at my nearly-completed next next Holmes epic, The Strange Case of the Pharaoh's Heart, and even a whisper of what's to come after that?

Then tune into:

Golden State Media Concepts Podcast

for all the lowdown.

 

Readers and Writers Podcast

 Miss my dulcet tones?

Want to get the lowdown on my latest novel The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter, and my upcoming novel,
The Strange Case of the Pharaoh's Heart?

Then hie thee to: 

 Readers and Writers Podcast (by request, no arithmetic was involved in the making of this podcast)for the double scoop treatment.

Beach Read

Fishing Boats on the Beach by Vincent

 

After rigorous analysis and testing, I'm happy to report that 

The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter 

has been designated by the Beach Reading Association as 100%

Beach Readable

Because of this designation, you are hereby guaranteed to enjoy this read on any beach in the world, from Cozumel to St. Tropez to Bondi Beach, without fear of sun-bleaching or sand-scratching.* 

Enjoy your summer!

*not water-proof

Tea and Crumpets

 

Actually, you're not going to get tea or crumpets, but you can get a nice conversation about The Strange Case of the Ditch Painter and cabbages and kings with the crew at Beyond the Trope .

HERE.

The Man in the Long Black Coat

 "There was Bruant, striding up and down the top of the bar in the same costume we’d seen in the posters, a gamekeeper’s outfit with a scarlet shirt and scarf, an opera cape and wide-brimmed black hat. He pointed a rattan cane at us and said, “See how they gawk? Like sheep about to be sheared! Muttonheads!”

The crowd laughed. “What are you laughing at?” said Bruant, picking out a balding little pickle of a man in front of him, “You’ve already been sheared to your pink-and-white hide. And the rest of you smell of sheep dip!”

The crowd roared at every word. These were hardly the denizens of the underworld I’d expected to see. They were stock clerks and assistant managers, wine merchants and lace manufacturers, the shank of the bourgeoisie, along with their mistresses and perhaps a few daring wives. They had climbed the butte of Montmartre to come and be scandalized and insulted by the three-penny poet of the bateaux. Bruant gave them good value for their money. A piano player in the corner by the bar banged on the keys, and Bruant tore into a song.

--The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter

King's River Life Review + Coal Tar

 

A new review of The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter:

"The mystery is filled with twists and turns, and there is even a bit of an added mystery in
the epilogue. If you are looking for a new Sherlock Holmes story that is a bit different then you are used to, be sure to check out The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter."

For the full review, check HERE.

Plus, a bonus article in which I take on the burning issue of Sherlock Holmes and coal tar derivatives!

"Instead of painting gods and heroes, kings and queens, they could paint street scenes, picnics by the river, water lilies, dancers, the whole joyous repertoire of everyday life for which we have come to love the Impressionists and with a whole new palette of bright synthetic colors to mix from."

Read it all in King's River Life Magazine.

On entering Arles

 "I tripped over the threshold into the cafe, cutting a slice out of the early-morning silence. An old billiard table commandeered the center of the room, the baize worn down to the slate. It was flanked by a dozen granite-top tables. One of last night’s patrons was passed out face-down at a table near the door, with the reek of vomit rising from him. A small bar stood at the far end of the room beneath an old station-clock; its drip-drop tick-tock was the only answer to my call of good morning."

The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter

Midwest Book Review: the Dutch Painter

 

From MBR:

A welcome addition to the growing library of Sherlock Holmes stories, "The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter" by Timothy Miller does full justice to the exploits of that master detective which was originally created by Sir Conan Doyle. A 'must read' selection for all dedicated mystery buffs, as well as the legions of Sherlock Holmes fans, and also readily available for personal reading lists in a digital book format (Kindle, $9.99), this paperback edition of "The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter" from Seventh Street Books is an especially and unreservedly recommended for all community library Mystery/Suspense collections.

I'm not insane!

Have saber, will travel.

I mean, I had this figured out long before any German scientists.

"The story of van Gogh's madness was part of a coverup, the authors say, by none other than van Gogh's friend and fellow artist Paul Gauguin."

For the full article, 
check out NPR 

Lermolieff has his say

 From an interview with "Ivan Lermolieff, Holmes's confederate in The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter:

What is something you want people to know about you?

My name is not Ivan Lermolieff. That’s only a nom de guerre hung on me by Vernet—or can I say Sherlock Holmes? My real name is—oh, perhaps I should stick with Lermolieff. Which is actually an anagram of my mentor’s name. More or less.

For the complete piece, visit Karen's Killer Book Bench--

Interview: Historical Novel Society

A review/ interview with the Historical Novel Society:

 

"Timothy Miller’s second ‘Strange Case’ novel features a witty amalgamation of Sherlockian investigation with historical oddities. The Strange Case of the Dutch Painter (Seventh Street Books, February 2022) revolves around the suicide of Vincent Van Gogh, and throws up some intriguing perspectives on the era, the painter, and the power of art."

For the entire piece, visit the Historical Novel Society

Historical Novel Society review of the Dutch Painter

 From the Historical Novel Society:

"While the book contains deft Holmesian plotting and a plethora of historical tidbits, the real draw for me is the extraordinary voice of Miller’s narrator: hilariously pompous, erudite, and evocative. The
sheer riot of his descriptions captivates and invites readers to linger over the sentences rather than rush headlong through the story."

For the entire review, check out the Historical Novel Society:

Launch Day!

 Run, do not walk, to your nearest bookstore, kibrary, computer or cellphone--

It's out!