The series of hitherto four crime novels published under the name John Banville raises the stakes a few notches as regards the aesthetics of crime. The caesura indicated in the root-meaning of ‘secret’—“originally past participle of sēcernĕre to separate, divide off: see secern v.”—continues to be an important structural and thematic device. Another feature that seamlessly follows into the Banville crime series is the set of themes about, and critiques of, specific parts of the Irish history, especially the Catholic Church. The seemingly primary victim in the first piece of the series, Snow (2020), is a priest, who is found dead in the library of the Ballyglass House. This location functions narratologically as a version of the Irish big house, which is a well-known motif and/or setting in Banville’s earlier fiction as well. The priest is rather ironically named Father Thomas Lawless, which means that the guardian and disseminator of the Word of God is gradually shown to be a transgressor of moral laws himself, obviously in name as well as in deed. When discovered on the library floor in a pool of his own blood, it is revealed that Father Tom has had his treasured male attribute severed from his body and that particular body part is mysteriously missing from the crime scene, perhaps in some ironic and absurd phallic dissemination that is planted as a provocation of the otherwise phallogocentric backdrop of the narrative. The chapter argues that Banville deconstructs the genre while writing perfectly readable hybrid crime novels, drawing on the noir as well as the classic detective novel, while also heavily criticising the abuse of power of the state and the Catholic Church in the middle of the twentieth century, as well as before and after with the logic of spectrality. The relatively simple act of engaging with a narrative thrives on secrecy and suspense. Epistemological Desire feeds on secrecy. In addition, the complexity of guilt and distribution of guilt is contained in Blackville’s type of crime fiction. The way it appears, especially in these four Banville crime fiction novels, is by revealing the impotence of punishment and revenge, when it comes to the seeking of redemption or peace of mind. If one takes certain acts by Quirke and Strafford as ethical actions, it seems as if Christian kenosis is one of the possibilities available. This entails an ability of self-emptying that prevents the subject from endlessly projecting inner darkness outwards in scapegoating and blame rituals, and in turn this work of kenosis involves a level of humbleness and a willingness to follow the example of Jesus Christ. The awareness of one’s own guilt and vulnerability could potentially assuage the immediate urge for violent and swift solutions.

The Spectrality of History: The John Banville Crime Novels

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发表日期：

2026年

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Joakim Wrethed

摘要

The series of hitherto four crime novels published under the name John Banville raises the stakes a few notches as regards the aesthetics of crime. The caesura indicated in the root-meaning of ‘secret’—“originally past participle of sēcernĕre to separate, divide off: see secern v.”—continues to be an important structural and thematic device. Another feature that seamlessly follows into the Banville crime series is the set of themes about, and critiques of, specific parts of the Irish history, especially the Catholic Church. The seemingly primary victim in the first piece of the series, Snow (2020), is a priest, who is found dead in the library of the Ballyglass House. This location functions narratologically as a version of the Irish big house, which is a well-known motif and/or setting in Banville’s earlier fiction as well. The priest is rather ironically named Father Thomas Lawless, which means that the guardian and disseminator of the Word of God is gradually shown to be a transgressor of moral laws himself, obviously in name as well as in deed. When discovered on the library floor in a pool of his own blood, it is revealed that Father Tom has had his treasured male attribute severed from his body and that particular body part is mysteriously missing from the crime scene, perhaps in some ironic and absurd phallic dissemination that is planted as a provocation of the otherwise phallogocentric backdrop of the narrative. The chapter argues that Banville deconstructs the genre while writing perfectly readable hybrid crime novels, drawing on the noir as well as the classic detective novel, while also heavily criticising the abuse of power of the state and the Catholic Church in the middle of the twentieth century, as well as before and after with the logic of spectrality. The relatively simple act of engaging with a narrative thrives on secrecy and suspense. Epistemological Desire feeds on secrecy. In addition, the complexity of guilt and distribution of guilt is contained in Blackville’s type of crime fiction. The way it appears, especially in these four Banville crime fiction novels, is by revealing the impotence of punishment and revenge, when it comes to the seeking of redemption or peace of mind. If one takes certain acts by Quirke and Strafford as ethical actions, it seems as if Christian kenosis is one of the possibilities available. This entails an ability of self-emptying that prevents the subject from endlessly projecting inner darkness outwards in scapegoating and blame rituals, and in turn this work of kenosis involves a level of humbleness and a willingness to follow the example of Jesus Christ. The awareness of one’s own guilt and vulnerability could potentially assuage the immediate urge for violent and swift solutions.