British author, Simon Marlowe, often uses the thriller genre to tell stories which combine realism with a blend of the surreal. He published his debut novel, Zombie Park, in 2017, an intense and darkly comic drama set in a dysfunctional psychiatric hospital during the social and economic turmoil of the 1980s. Since then, Simon has published short stories and flash fiction while completing his second novel, The Dead Hand of Dominique. This is a post-Brexit crime thriller that centers on Steven Mason, a young career villain, and his journey through the underbelly of London and Essex searching for answers to his boss’s AWOL mistress and a way out of a heartless world to fulfill his own dreams. Marlowe's latest novel, Medusa and the Devil, continues the adventures of Steve Mason.
In Medusa and the Devil, Essex rogue Steven Mason has decamped to the Mediterranean, to escape his low life gangster world and start afresh. Keeping his head down while still laundering money for his old boss, Steven’s plans go awry when a former associate turns up and asks him to retrieve an unassuming ivory sculpture. As the story unfolds and Steven unexpectedly finds himself embroiled in an illegal immigration case, his attention turns to more pressing issues—being buried six feet under but still breathing.
Simon Marlowe stops by In Reference to Murder to talk about researching and writing the book:
Medusa And The Devil (Pub Cranthorpe Millner 23rd May 2023) is book two of my darkly comic crime thriller trilogy Mason Made, and starts with the protagonist, Steven Mason, six feet under. The only problem is, he’s not dead. And that posed a question for me, one that initiated my first bit of research for this novel: how long can you survive buried alive in a coffin? I won’t spoil the outcome for you, but it is long enough for Steven to tell the story of his latest villainous adventure on a Mediterranean island.
Perhaps the best example I can give regarding my current approach to research and storytelling can be found in a key narrative event in Medusa. I had always envisioned a sea journey for my central characters that was going to be a choppy ride, in part because I’d had such an experience on a catamaran crossing the Med—and that was a vomit fest. What I didn’t know was anything about sailing, and our plucky involuntary sailors needed to sail. I knew this had to sound convincing, because imagination might get me through the storm, but it wouldn’t pass muster with anyone who had a crow’s-nest knowledge of the task of sailing. I read articles about sailing, making notes on the technical side and experiences of navigating storms and capsizing. Once I had enough detail, I could write this section of the novel by blending, or integrating, fact with fiction, the technical with the narrative, so much so that I could even enable the central character to tutor others in how to sail.
However, this approach of research integrated into the storytelling was not on my radar when I started seriously committing to fiction and creative writing. For instance, I did no research for my first novel, Zombie Park (Pub Matador 2017). It was based on my experiences of working in a psychiatric hospital in the mid-1980s. I fictionalized some things, dramatized others, and let loose a few surreal literary flourishes to create a mega-busting epic that was so intense even I struggle to re-read it! It took me seven years to write because I was also learning how to write, having earlier dropped out of my Masters in Creative Writing (there’s probably a good plot there for a self-conscious-author-led murder mystery!)
Anyway, I sold a few copies, and was resolute about using my life experience as the basis for my further fiction. Why? Because the thought of research tended to send shivers down my spine—I had spent far too long in academic study and believed that fiction meant the application of the imagination. It was only through my attempts to produce a second novel that I began to realize that things were not that simple. A failed novel followed next (which will never see the light of day) before I finally reached an understanding of what my creative writing was naturally suited to in terms of genre, and that research was necessary if the narrative required it, and if I wanted authenticity to back up some of the surreal and thematic content.
The Dead Hand of Dominique (Pub Cranthorpe Millner Nov 2021) was the result and is the first novel in this comic crime thriller trilogy. But my approach to research has evolved. I don’t head to the Reading Room at the British Library and emerge months later with a Pukka Pad full of illegible notes. Instead, I search for articles and news stories that give me just enough substance, however tenuous, to hopefully convince the reader that what they are reading is probable, likely, or just about possible. I also like to have sources that can be used to prove that fact is stranger than fiction. I haven’t yet resorted to producing documentary evidence when a reviewer has doubted the integrity of the plot, although I have been tempted. I would also like to add that, in The Dead Hand of Dominique, a process for smuggling illegal immigrants that I had invented without reference to news stories became a news story six months later! ‘Intriguing, don’t you think, Dr Watson…’
Finally, the preparation starts way back. My process of writing a novel does not consist of a eureka moment wherein I bury myself in my author grotto, emerging, bruised and battered, with a literary masterpiece (if only!). There is inspiration, the sparking of ideas, but those ideas take time to brew, ferment and mature. In other words, the process of transforming my ideas into a novel can take months, even years. I use a notebook (one of the few good pieces of advice I gleaned from my creative writing course), so I am constantly jotting down and developing story ideas.
Therefore, for me, the key preparation is thinking.
But not all ideas come to fruition, especially if I think the research required to realize the story is too great. That is where the conflict comes in for me. If there is too much research, and not enough scope for the imagination, I will abandon the project—at least for the time being anyway. As such, I like to believe it is in the hands of the author to convince the reader that a character can commit some egregious act, given certain predispositions and the right circumstances. Also, descriptively, I tend not to spend a lot of time on a murderous act, but I appreciate there is literary mileage in exploring how difficult it can be to murder someone.
That’s not to say I have experience of being overtly murderous. But, as someone who has done far too many jobs, I have had the experience of working with murderers—in a professional sense and not as an accomplice! And the murderers I have come across were all obsessed with their life sentences, perceiving the time they had to spend incarcerated as an injustice. They were generally evasive, with an inability to empathize. And dare I say it, they were also quite boring, ‘trapped people’ who were damaged beyond repair.
And that isn’t very exciting.
Which brings me to one more point I would like to make. Crime thriller authors, and I include myself in this category, make murder interesting. I use it as a vehicle to produce drama, to hopefully say other things that are more important—at least that’s what I try to do.
And with that, I must go and see my neighbour, who has been annoying me about the height of my garden hedge. In fact, I’m just going to take a hammer with me, not to use, of course, but this guy… I mean… he kind of deserves it…
You can learn more about Simon Marlowe and his writing via his website and follow him on various social media platforms. Medusa And The Devil is now available from Cranthorpe Millner Publishers and via all major booksellers.
