The No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency is cool for a number of reasons, but the best part about the series is the lead character – Mma. Ramotswe. She is the first really likable detective I’ve come across – unassuming and pleasant; someone you could hang out with, and make easy conversation about Botswanian politics over a cup of tea.
No one else comes even close.
I’ve heard quite a few people claim that they love Sherlock Holmes, but I am not sure they know what true love means. Holmes, if you recall, was the deductive genius constructed from bones and brain who subsisted on tobacco and said things like “It’s elementary, my dear Watson” (although his handlers now say he was misquoted). Now he is the type of person that inspired awe, not love. He was a skillful detective, who was aware – too aware – of his skill. He was moody and aloof, and seemed to prefer hanging out with dumb doctors.
If he were to stop by unannouced at my house one of these days, I’d be leery of letting him in. Not without clearing my list of visited sites, and making sure my shoes were out of eyeshot, with no traces of soil on the soles. I’d make him a generic brand of tea – characterless – and make sure I drink my tea when he is not around. I’d fret about the way I eat my food, and make sure I don’t look at anything on the wall when thinking about stuff – this dude can pick up trains of thought. Thank you very much, but I’d rather watch him drinking tea with you.
Who else, I wonder.
Miss Marple was possibly a hottie (if and) when she was young, and could sometimes make intuitve leaps that could shame Holmes, but she was boring and mean. She was an anachronism even in her time, and talking to her over tea would be umm.. boring. And there is the small matter of her thinking of us young folks as fools.
Perhaps the only thing that would make me do it with her (why do you snicker? I meant the act of drinking tea) is the threat of an evening with Poirot. Uggh. I shudder when I think of the reactions at the restaurant when I walk in with this funnily dressed dude with an upturned moustache.
Although I think it would be kinda cool if I take him to the local restaurant that plays “Mangalu Mangalu” all the time. (Alright, Alright that was a lame reference: just because Poirot’s moustache is upturned doesn’t mean he looks as bad as Aamir Khan does in Mangal Pandey).
Marlowe? No way. How long can you stand someone wisecracking through the sides of their mouth? And that, by the way, rules out most of the detective populace since Marlowe.
Well, maybe young Christopher would fit the bill – we could talk prime numbers and the big bang theory – but he’s a little too young. And coming to think of it, pet detectives don’t count. So no Christopher, and (thank goodness) no Ace Ventura.