Happy Father’s Day, Writers Who Kill!
Over the past few years, my June post has become something
of a Father’s Day tradition. I’ve written about my own dad and the books we
shared, celebrated favorite fictional fathers, explored the dads and father
figures in my own mysteries, and raised a virtual glass to some underrated
literary dads who deserve more love.
This year, I found myself thinking less about “great dads”
in the general sense and more about the specific kind of courage fathers and
father figures can pass down through stories. We live in a world that often
feels loud, uncertain, and frightening. Maybe that’s why I’ve been drawn lately
to characters who are brave, not because they’re fearless, but because someone
once helped them believe they could face hard things.
In literature, the best fathers and father figures don’t
always remove danger from the path. They can’t. Instead, they offer something
more lasting: trust, steadiness, wisdom, love, and a sense of right and wrong.
They don’t hand the hero a map around danger. They hand them a compass.
For mystery lovers, Carson Drew is one of the finest
examples. Nancy Drew’s father could have easily been written as a stern,
overprotective obstacle. After all, his teenage daughter regularly investigates
dangerous people, explores hidden passageways, and asks questions that most
adults would be wise to avoid. Instead, Carson trusts Nancy. He worries, of
course. What good fictional father wouldn’t? But he also respects her
intelligence and instincts. His frequent reminders to be careful never feel
like an attempt to stop her. They feel like proof that he believes she can
handle herself, even as he hopes she comes home safely. Carson Drew teaches
courage through trust.
Dr. Murry from A Wrinkle in Time offers another kind
of courage. His absence drives much of the story, but his love is never absent.
Meg’s search for her father becomes a journey into her own strength, and one of
the beautiful things about Dr. Murry is that he is not invincible. He needs
rescuing, too. That matters. So often, fictional fathers are expected to be
all-knowing, all-powerful protectors, but Dr. Murry reminds us that love does
not require perfection. Courage can mean admitting fear, accepting help, and
continuing to reach for one another even when darkness presses close.
Then there is Pa Ingalls from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little
House books, who represents courage through steadiness. The Ingalls family
faces hardship after hardship: storms, hunger, illness, isolation, and
uncertainty. Pa does not always have an easy solution, but he brings calm,
music, work, and reassurance. His courage is not dramatic. It is practical. It’s
getting up the next morning. It’s keeping the family moving. It’s playing the
fiddle when spirits are low, reminding everyone that they will endure. Sometimes
bravery looks less like charging into battle and more like keeping the lantern
lit.
In the fantasy realm, Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander from Terry
Goodkind’s Sword of Truth series has long been one of my favorite grandfather
figures. Zedd is prickly, eccentric, powerful, hilarious, and deeply devoted.
He may grumble and lecture, but beneath all that wizardly bluster is fierce
love. His relationship with Richard shows that courage requires more than
strength. It requires judgment. It requires sacrifice. It requires the
willingness to face difficult truths. Zedd teaches that bravery is not simply about
having power; it is about knowing when and how to use it.
And, of course, I can’t write about literary father figures who
impacted my childhood without mentioning Arthur Weasley from the Harry Potter
books. Mr. Weasley's courage is gentle, but it is unwavering. He welcomes Harry
into his home, stands against prejudice, protects his family, and never loses
his sense of wonder. He’s not the flashiest wizard in the room, and he’s
certainly not the richest, but Arthur Weasley models decency under pressure. He
teaches courage through kindness, curiosity, and conviction. In a world full of
fear and cruelty, he chooses warmth again and again.
What I love about all these fathers and father figures is
that they don’t make the world safe by pretending danger doesn’t exist. They
make their children and loved ones braver by giving them something solid to
carry into that danger. Nancy has Carson’s trust. Meg has Dr. Murry’s love.
Laura has Pa’s steadiness. Richard has Zedd’s wisdom. Harry has Arthur’s
example of goodness in action.
As a mystery writer, I think about courage a lot. A sleuth
has to knock on one more door, ask one more question, follow one more clue, and
stand up when something feels wrong. That courage may come from within, but
very often, it was planted there by someone who believed in them first.
So, this Father’s Day I’m grateful for the literary dads and
father figures who remind us that courage doesn’t always arrive with a sword, a
badge, or a grand speech. Sometimes it sounds like, “Be careful.” Sometimes it
looks like a hand on your shoulder, a book placed in your lap, or someone
believing you’re strong enough to face the next chapter.
Which literary father or father figure taught you
something about courage?
