The Silent Appeal returns to the world of The Appeal. What drew you back to the Fairway Players, and how did you know there was still more trouble worth uncovering there?
After writing The Christmas Appeal I knew it was possible to go back and further explore the dynamics of The Fairway Players, but for a full-length sequel, I knew I’d need a meaty story and wouldn’t return until I’d found it. While working on a couple of my other standalone stories, The Examiner and The Killer Question, I gradually percolated a plot that intrigued me, primarily, but also one that would work in the particular confines of The Appeal universe and suit the characters in Lockwood.
Sequels can be tricky, especially when the original novel made such a strong impression. Did you feel pressure revisiting that world, or was it more liberating than intimidating?
It’s a challenge and there’s nothing I love more than that! The most challenging aspect is to recreate the tone and atmosphere of the original book. I wrote The Appeal on spec and didn’t think it would ever be published, so I took my time and had fun. The result is a book that breaks all the rules of crime fiction, and yet has a raw energy that really connects with readers. Fast forward seven years and I’m a far more experienced novel writer, very aware of the genre and what else is out there… so winding my writing style back to those early days is a mind-trick I have to play on myself!
Your novels have helped redefine the modern epistolary mystery. What still excites you about telling a story through emails, texts, letters, and messages rather than conventional narration?
The way we communicate now is a gift to an author, because we write things down. Texting, WhatsApping, emailing and online posting all have their own conventions, languages, syntax and diction that we use constantly, often without thinking and certainly without realizing how much we are giving away about how we really feel. My style removes the authorial voice (or at least hides it behind the characters) leaving readers to make their own minds up about what’s lurking between the lines.
With an epistolary novel, readers become detectives in a very literal way. Do you consciously write to make them suspicious of everyone, or do you prefer to let the form do that work on its own?
When I’m writing for a large group of characters, I find it quite easy to raise our suspicions about most of them. One thing I enjoy is making you think a character is bad through and through, but in the end, they turn out to have some really positive qualities that raise them above the rest. I never paint any character as wholly good or wholly bad – that just wouldn’t be relatable or realistic.
Agatha Christie’s The Hollow plays a role in The Silent Appeal. What made that particular Christie work the right theatrical backdrop for this story?
Back in 1985 I was involved backstage in a production of The Hollow with my local amateur drama society. It really stayed with me, especially as it’s not one you see performed much these days. The murder scene happens on stage – a character is shot dead right in front of us – and still we wonder who done it! What’s not to love about that? I also wanted to explore themes of love in this book, and I knew The Hollow would bring out some of the nuances I wanted to draw in the relationships between the Lockwood characters.
You’re often compared to Agatha Christie, but your books feel thoroughly modern in structure and psychology. Which elements of classic mystery are most important to you, and which do you enjoy bending or breaking?
The comparison was a complete surprise to me and very flattering. I wasn’t over familiar with Christie before then, but I’ve been catching up! You can’t beat classic, golden age crime fiction for its skill in diverting attention away from genuine clues, and using societal conventions to mask motive. I’m also a big fan of tying things up at the end, and delivering a satisfying conclusion, which the classic murder-mysteries are core examples of. Having said that, I can’t promise not to leave the odd thread hanging in a menacing way.
Your background includes journalism, government communications, playwriting, and screenwriting. Which of those disciplines has most shaped the way you construct suspense?
Playwriting and screenwriting have the most in common with novel writing. It’s all storytelling and I find myself defaulting to screenwriting structure all the time: three ‘acts’, inciting incident, end of act two crisis (all terms that will be familiar to all the screenwriters out there!) Journalism gave me a valuable ability to revel in pressure and deadlines, and to write whether I feel like it or not. I’d say that every form of writing I’ve mastered over the years plays into novel writing one way or another.
Because your books are built from fragments—emails, WhatsApps, memos, and other documents—how do you keep control of pacing and revelation without losing the reader?
It might look fragmented, but that’s only because I’m showing the reader the story, not telling them. The gradual unfolding of clues as revealed by the characters themselves is exactly the same as it would be in a more conventional third person, past tense narrative, revealed by an authorial voice. After finishing the first draft I spend a lot of time considering the pace and how and when the twists are revealed.
One of the pleasures of your fiction is that humor coexists with deceit, cruelty, and murder. How important is comedy to your mysteries?
I can’t imagine writing anything that had no humor in it. However, some of my novels are funnier and others darker, as I allow the story and characters to dictate the tone. It’s tricky to incorporate humor successfully in this genre, because suspense is very hard won and a single, mis-placed gag can destroy all that tension in a single word. I have removed funny lines from climactic scenes just to keep the tension high.
Do you begin with the solution to the crime firmly in mind, or do some of the twists and character betrayals emerge as you assemble the documents?
I start with just a vague idea of the setting and perhaps the sorts of people that might be found there. Otherwise, I just set off, writing whatever comes to mind, exploring the world, letting new characters speak and seeing where they take me. I always have in mind that there should be a twist or two, but I never know what it is, let alone who is going to die and who is going to kill them. I write as if I were the reader, discovering the story for the first time and this works for me (although I’m sure the plotters out there win when it comes to the structural edit – I always have a huge job on then, sorting that organic plot into something coherent!)
Your characters often reveal themselves indirectly—through tone, omission, passive aggression, or what they choose not to say. Do you think that makes the epistolary form especially suited to exposing human nature?
Totally! The term ‘reading between the lines’ was made for this form of writing. Words are wonderful things for revealing the skull beneath the skin because however hard we try to disguise what we really mean, our words will give us away.
Having been a magazine editor yourself, do you think your editorial background made you especially attuned to voice, structure, and the hidden story between the lines?
Probably, although for me, screenwriting and playwriting have been most useful in finding ‘voice’ on paper. Magazine editing gave me an appreciation of brevity and how less can be more when it comes to writing. All forms of professional writing give you a healthy respect for the deadline!
Readers love trying to outsmart your novels. Do you enjoy planting clues in plain sight, and have readers ever caught something you assumed no one would notice?
Yes! This is one of my great joys. One of my novels (I won’t say which one, because IYKYK) has a twist so audacious I don’t know how I got away with it, but there was a strong purpose behind it – how it’s easy to judge people before you know what drives them. I think some readers try to stay a step ahead, especially if they’ve read my books before, so it’s a cat-and-mouse game to stay two steps ahead at all times!
The Fairway Players are deliciously chaotic. What is it about amateur dramatic societies that makes them such fertile ground for blackmail, betrayal, and murder?
I belonged to my local amdram society for 30 years and I think it’s the passion the members have for what they do. The play must go on, despite whatever else is happening behind the scenes and that passion, that drive – to achieve something that is, subjectively, very low-stakes – is the sweet spot where The Appeal brings the drama.
Looking back at your run of novels so far, what do you think The Silent Appeal reveals about you as a writer now that your earlier books did not?
A theme The Silent Appeal explores that is relatively new to me is love, and its potentially devastating, destructive power. I haven’t written very much about this subject before, which was one of the reasons I was drawn to it this time. I wanted to explore the cataclysmic events these biological survival hormones can detonate and the number of lives that can be destroyed by them.
About the Author: Janice Hallett is a former magazine editor, award-winning journalist, and government communications writer. She wrote articles and speeches for, among others, the Cabinet Office, Home Office, and Department for International Development. Her enthusiasm for travel has taken her around the world several times, from Madagascar to the Galapagos, Guatemala to Zimbabwe, Japan, Russia, and South Korea. A playwright and screenwriter, she penned the feminist Shakespearean stage comedy NetherBard and cowrote the feature film Retreat. She lives in London and is the author of The Silent Appeal, The Killer Question, The Examiner, The Mysterious Case of the Alperton Angels, The Christmas Appeal, The Twyford Code, and The Appeal.
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