Solving, Saving and Misbehaving Bleeding Hearts, Sydney: Harper Collins, 2001 and Golden Relic, Sydney: Harper Collins, 1998. By Lindy Cameron. Reviewed by Evelyn Hartogh. Reviewing Cameron's first Kit O'Malley novel, the 1999 Blood Guilt, in AWBR (12. 2000), Katie Hughes saw crime fiction as being 'in stark contrast to the other main genre developed by, and marketed to, women - romance fiction'. Bronwen Levy, in a discussion of women's crime fiction in Hecate (15.1. 1989), compares it to romance and notes that both genres are 'contradictory (although in different ways) for feminism' (42). Levy points out that although crime fiction has been predominantly categorised as a masculine genre due to its domination by male writers, 'women have in fact long been readers of detective fiction' (43). The designation of crime fiction written by women as a recent phenomenon has also been disputed by feminist scholars who have uncovered nineteenth century women writers of crime fiction. What attracted me to recent women's crime fiction was not the formulaic, predictable plot structure of such popular fiction, but the proliferation of depictions of tough, independent women. Contemporary women's crime fiction has managed to turn the dynamic female lead character into a standard rather than a gimmick. While women writers' forays into crime fiction have been applauded and have catalysed an international organisation of crime writers and enthusiasts ('Sisters in Crime' - of which Cameron is a member), is this simply a case of women writing in a genre that already had legitimacy because of its association with male writers? Maybe in the future we will see men taking on the lesser-valued romantic fiction? Could we see an organisation of 'Brothers in Love'? Would they have a similar aim to 'Sisters in Crime', who aim to 'play an active role in promoting women's crime fiction and in correcting the imbalance in the treatment of women writers in the field'? Traditional depictions of women were as frightened victims or duplicitous sirens who existed in the background to a male main character. When writing a female lead, the woman crime novelist is faced with the dilemma of depicting a utopian relationship of equals, in an age of inequality, or of exploring the dilemmas of contemporary women's sexual autonomy. Crime fiction generally tends to contain a romantic subplot. A romantic smooch (after the mystery is solved) is stock in trade of the depiction of the male hero. Heterosexual, female, main characters in crime fiction haven't fared as well in romance as their male (or lesbian) counterparts - their lovers either die or can't handle a strong, independent woman with a dangerous job. In an interview with Lindy Cameron she told me of one notable exception: Val McDermid, who is a lesbian, writes the most successful, straight, female P.I. character with an on-going boyfriend because she has taken all the shit out and she's just made them human beings. (Queensland Pride 121. 30.3.01). Crime fiction, like romance, is a highly disposable literary form. The huge popularity of recent female characters and female writers shows not only an acceptance of a woman in control of a situation, but also as the eventual victor. However, preceding victory is humiliation. The female characters of popular crime fiction are frequently in danger or a state of fear. Most of the time this is justified, but at the same time it is reminiscent of the scream queens in horror films where much of the pleasure of the genre is exploitative - from seeing women in situations of terror. Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum regularly fears her flat being broken into and being raped and murdered by women-hating men she meets in her work. Patricia Cornwall's Kay Scarpetta lives in a high security middle class home where she fears to open the windows while her lunatic nemesis is at large. Is this constant fear and self imprisonment these women's punishment for daring to take jobs such as Bounty Hunter or Chief Medical Examiner, jobs whose power was traditionally a male privilege? Cameron's characters are no less flung into danger than her contemporaries, but her female leads critically analyse their situations, not just as potential victims but as women. Golden Relic contrasts two female main characters, the young Federal Officer Sam Diamond and the older Archaeology Academic, Maggie Tremaine. Older and wiser, Tremaine is more confident and sexually aggressive than Diamond. Diamond blames this on 'her generation; it was the gains of feminism versus the stagnation of masculinism' (63). Diamond sees lust as an annoying distraction to her work, while for Tremaine it is all just fun and games. Diamond despairs over her younger sister's insistence on hanging out with gay guys and bemoans her own attempts at romance with civilians: One guy found he couldn't date a cop; one had offered to support her so she didn't have to be a cop; and the last had given the ultimatum - him or the job. The job was far more interesting (62). In Golden Relic, Cameron wasn't above taking cheap shots at the fragility of the male ego. Diamond sends some cops to raid a shipment of giant carved penises and they report back to her that 'most of us blokes felt pretty inadequate' (65). Diamond's boss considers that perhaps she sent the blokes out to the giant penis carvings 'to get revenge for that girlie calendar in the lunch room' (65). Golden Relic was commissioned for the Museum of Victoria and first published chapter by chapter on the Internet as Stolen Property. The plot of a murder at the museum offered a framework for Cameron to educate her reader on the ongoing battle for artifacts to be returned to their rightful owners. The impact of colonization and the redefinition of borders has created a situation where proving a historical link from the ancient world to the modern is increasingly difficult. This central theme of Golden Relic resonates with the apparent difficulties that women have in taking on autonomous roles. As the colonized gender, women have been attempting redefinition and self-determination, while around them the patriarchal structure has not been dismantled - only redecorated. Cameron's third novel, Bleeding Hearts, is the sequel to Blood Guilt and continues the adventure of the 'dyke dick', Kit O'Malley, a Melbourne private detective. O'Malley is investigating threatening notes being sent to TV presenter Rebecca Jones. Meanwhile, manure is being dumped on politicians' lawns, and a series of grisly murders are being kept out of the papers. O'Malley is writing a detective novel herself - so she doubts if all of these things could actually be connected. She can understand why people would dump manure on the right-wing, bigoted True-Blue Party's lawn (a thinly disguised reference to One Nation) but why dump it on the lawns of ex-sports stars turned pollies? Doesn't everybody love a footy player? Everyone except O'Malley that is - she keeps going weak at the knees over her sexy lawyer friend, Alex Casenove. Not only does O'Malley angst over whether she'll get her girl, she also worries that perhaps Casenove is straight and therefore unattainable. Bleeding Hearts offers positive depictions of strong women and lesbians while at the same time destabilizing the boundaries of what is seen as a 'valuable' woman. Cameron writes warmly about women who are in charge of their lives and implies clear contempt for women who trade on their looks and are dependent on men. Kit O'Malley is so fearless (in the face of kidnapping, snuff films and potential killers) that at times she is difficult to believe in. Sam Diamond, from Golden Relic, is a much more fully realised, fallible character and the archaeological theme of the novel gives full rein to Cameron's self confessed love of ancient history and mythology. In Bleeding Hearts, references to Hector in Homer's Iliad and the Greek gods and muses seem rather out of place alongside the plethora of popular culture references (her characters do Buffy-like kicks and Xena-like yells while O'Malley wants to be Star Trek Voyager's Captain Janeway). In true feminist-future style all the villains are, of course, right-wing, white, heterosexual, middle-class men (and all on cocaine). Although slightly fantastical, Cameron's books give an inspirational vision of female power. Cameron is a welcome addition to the genre, her work is fast paced and packed with suspense. Her books are definitely page turners and her characters worth looking up to.