A Crossword and a DuMaurier

On a plane flight this past month, I felt the inclination to do the crossword puzzle in one of those airline magazines that they tuck into the seat pocket. (How much hope do they have of anybody actually reading those magazines, I wonder? I do skim them often. And I relished every word of an article I found in one last year about the World Baseball Classic. But nobody sitting around me ever seems to even take them out.)

The primary motive to complete the crossword puzzle, as is almost always my motive to complete crossword puzzles, was the wish to feel some sense of camaraderie with the fictional character and crossword aficionado, Inspector Morse. Rather than simply playing a vocabulary brainteaser (although I do find that fun) the real draw is being able to pretend I'm some sort of clever detective jotting down the answers in the same vein one might piece together the clues to a mystery. ("Pretend" being the operative word.)

The book I brought with me on the plane to read was not itself a mystery novel. But, being written by Daphne DuMaurier, it was nevertheless a quite mysterious novel. Thus the mood to pass the time in pursuit of the enigmatic.

Something struck me about this choice of flight pastimes. The simple phrase "a crossword and a DuMaurier" rang like something itself out of a novel. In fact, I liked the sound of it so much, I jotted it down for future reference. Looking back, it got me thinking. Writers love to make such clever pairings, much like the pairing of wine and entrée or painting and frame. In fact, this clever compliment of things or ideas seems just as popular as a clever simile or paradox. If a character does a crossword puzzle on an airplane, that is all well and good. If a character reads a DuMaurier novel on a plane, that is also nice. These little details add interest. But if a character settles into a flight equipped with a crossword and a DuMaurier, well, suddenly the reader’s insight into the character is elevated to the superlative. The little detail becomes a most interesting little detail. Why is this?

Perhaps, like the wine and entrée, the taste of one and the other not only compliment each other but add depth and richness to each other. If a character does a crossword puzzle, we might begin to imagine that she has an inquisitive mind, or perhaps did well in school, or perhaps loves language. (One might imagine that she likes to fancy herself a fictional detective, but that might be a bit of a stretch unless we are told straight off that she does.) If a character reads a DuMaurier novel, we might begin to see her as a romantic, a bookworm, perhaps even (if this is a character in a novel we’re describing) a little lovelorn herself. But with both “a crossword and a DuMaurier” this character becomes most interesting. The two things together highlight a similar taste, bring out our character’s love of words. But at the same time we have contrast between a logical brainteaser and a romantic intrigue. The flavors of her personality start to show variety, spice.

Perhaps, like the painting and frame, one thing compliments the other by making it shine. If a character, for instance, is reading a biography of Amelia Earhart on an airplane, in the relationship of that pairing it is the plane ride that frames the Amelia Earhart biography with a nice little frame of irony. Although much better examples abound elsewhere than this quickly thought-up example for a blog post, of course. (For instance, when a crossword puzzle serves as a frame for the painting of a detective’s investigation.) But you get the idea.

And so the characters of fiction fly around the world, armed not just with books to read, but “a copy of Romeo and Juliet and a pink highlighter”, or “a scientific journal and a bag of chips”, or “a crossword and a DuMaurier”.