My crime-writing colleagues have been writing sadly, lovingly, admiringly and eloquently about Reg Hill, and I can’t pass up the chance to say what a wonderful writer and delightful man we have lost. I venerated him greatly and loved his company. It was my proudest moment as a crime writer when he proposed me as a member of the Detection Club. I wish I could remember the affectionate jibes he directed at me in his speech.
Reg was erudite, cultivated and a master of the English language, but he wore his learning so lightly and wittily that it was reminiscent of a soufflé surprise. He could be authoritative, but he was never ever pompous. He laughed affectionately at himself, at his friends, at the world and at his characters. When he described himself as being at the Jane Austen end of the crime-writing spectrum he meant he didn’t go in for torrid sex or graphic violence. But of course the comparison works at a much deeper level. Like Jane, Reg was a wise and amused observer of the human condition who had great compassion but a subversive pen and utterly despised pretention.
I was a happy member of the audience at Harrogate in 2009 for his memorable discussion with John Banville. He had wondered in an email what they could talk about. ‘Dare I suggest that as Iris Murdoch got a full Booker for The Sea! The Sea! he should only have got half a one for The Sea? Maybe not…’ Continue reading