I read all genres, but mysteries were there for me when the going was rough. During the hardest times in my life I engaged my overactive mind in high-stakes puzzles, in fictional webs of deceit, and in dropped clues and red herrings. Each mystery pointed out the truth: sometimes, life went sideways, the world went wrong, and people went wrong, too. I didn’t want to be gaslit into thinking everyone was safe. I knew that was a lie. Instead, I needed to know that, at the end of each story, the cunning, good-hearted protagonist would make sure that those who survived would be put back together, and those who caused harm would be put away.
Now I dabble in volumes of daring, gritty cases that star unreliable narrators (this tradition started early, but gained popularity in recent years). There is a solid place for these echoes of a reality where we don’t always know who to listen to, or which voice will lead us rightly. I know endings are not always tied in bows. But when I need sleuths to be clever and good, and I need justice to be served, I know what to read.
by Sarah Burton, Editor in Chief
