I am, and always will be, a die-hard Nancy Drew fanatic. There’s just something about a 100-page mystery novel with a somewhat predictable ending usually involving a secret passageway or a gardener that appeals to a core aspect of my being. I grew up loving Nancy Drew, and as I grew older and began to read the adventures of Holmes, Poirot, and Wimsey, my love for the mystery genre only increased. There is a kind of satisfaction that comes from seeing pieces fall into place, in seeing justice done and knowing that in the end good will prevail. I believe that mystery fiction can act as a healing agent to those who live in a broken world by affirming the existence of justice and celebrating the restoration of peace.
Given my love for all things cartoonishly-large magnifying glass-related, when I discovered the world of true crime records and podcasts, my interest was piqued. What could be better than a real-life mystery with a real-life resolution? What could be more satisfying than knowing that the heroic detectives I once read about really existed? However, as I delved into true crime, the feeling I found was not one of satisfaction or intellectual gratification—it was something between sadness and disgust.
Humans have a fascination with the macabre. Whether it stems from a subconscious fixation on our own mortality or from a strange kind of wonder in the face of terrible events, there is a reason why things like murder mystery parties, unsolved crime shows, and even ghost tours maintain popularity among the public. In a way, the appeal of mystery fiction draws some of its power from this innate fascination, but there is an undeniable difference between a Nancy Drew story and an unsolved true crime documentary. True crime finds its way into our headphones and onto our TV screens by its similarities to any other mystery media, but unlike the Hardy Boys, true crime seldom comes to a happy conclusion. I am not saying that one should abstain from all mystery media (what a hypocrite I would be if I was!), nor am I suggesting that true crime is something evil to be shunned altogether. What I am suggesting is this: that we view true crime with self-awareness and self-discipline.
I have simply heard one too many Spotify ads for podcasts promising only the most disturbing crimes in the most gruesome and lurid details to believe that true crime is an entirely harmless form of entertainment. I was halfway through an episode of a true crime documentary detailing a chilling unsolved murder when I found myself wondering why I was watching it. Did I enjoy what was being said? Certainly not. Would I find any satisfying resolution at the end? Given that the crime was unsolved, no. So why spend my time in this way? Because I could find no good answer, I decided to leave the end of the episode, like the crime itself, without a clear resolution, and I clicked off to instead watch a scripted, somewhat predictable, BBC mystery show.
Those who know me will likely have this objection: “but aren’t we exposed to dark realities all the time? Don’t you love reading all those disturbing Greek tragedies?” Of course, both of these are true, but I’d like to point out a key difference—that of intention. The realities we are exposed to every day are (usually) not to the same caliber of darkness as the average true crime show, and when they happen we are not in a mental state to be entertained by them. Works of literature—especially the literature of the ancient world—are indeed, at times, quite disturbing. I think of Euripides’ Medea or Bacchae, or even the ever-popular Oedipus Rex by Sophocles. However, the purpose of these works was never to excite horror or dread for its own sake, it was to purge those emotions from the audience and leave them healed to a degree. Outside of the true crime genre, I have yet to find a place where graphic details are described for no other purpose than the perverse enjoyment of the listener. And the terror and gore of true crime are not healing—psychological studies have shown that true crime can have detrimental effects on its audience’s psyche.
One of the three ancient Delphic Maxims recorded by Plato was “know thyself” and it remains a piece of ancient wisdom strikingly applicable thousands of years later. Know thyself. Know what appeals to you and why. Is true crime truly edifying or harmless for you? Or do you find yourself agitated, disturbed, or unable to take your mind off of some detail long after the podcast has finished? What we find relaxing or entertaining speaks volumes about the kind of people we are and the kind of people we will become, and when entertainment is found in the graphic details of horrific crimes, it is wise to proceed with caution. Have the self-awareness to know what you should be putting into your brain, and the self-discipline to stay away from things that are unhealthy. If you find that the rush you get from a new true crime story is not worth the hours of disgust with humanity or fixation on the brutal actions of some unknown criminal, first please know that you are not alone. Second, know that being a well-informed human does not mean you must be informed of every single gruesome detail of another person’s real-life tragedy. And finally, if you haven’t yet read any Agatha Christie, I highly recommend.
