The best books of unputdownable, game-changing crime fiction from the Queens of Pulp

From the opening pages (where the heat of the desert seeps off the page), I was hooked by this mystery. And then, the fun and games began.

There I was, enjoying the superbly-paced plot, the psychological realism, the stark beauty of Hughes’ prose when – suddenly – the book leapt from being very, very good to being a work of genius. I won’t share the twist, but it’s a powerful, provocative one.

Hughes, like all the authors on my list, shows that pulp fiction can be truly great, game-changing literature.

One of the best things about teaching English at Oxford University is that students sometimes get to choose their own topics. Years ago, one of those students introduced me to Mary Elizabeth Braddon’s Lady Audley’s Secret, and (to my shame) I didn’t even know the author. Yet Braddon sold more novels than Dickens in the nineteenth century.

Indeed, Lady Audley went head-to-head with Great Expectations, and Braddon won! On first reading, I loved the novel’s raw energy, its crazy plot twists, and its honesty: there’s little or no sentimentality in Braddon. On the second or third reading (yes, Lady Audley can cope with multiple reads even though it’s a murder mystery), I discovered complexities, contradictions, and challenges that just made me more intrigued.

Put simply, Victorian Braddon is the original and best Queen of Pulp.

I’d already read a couple of Fremlin’s "psycho-domestic noir" mysteries when I picked up this book, but nothing prepared me for the emotional and psychological punch packed by it.

One of the reasons I love genre fiction is that it is so obviously fiction. I enjoy entering another world, just for a while, taking an emotional rollercoaster ride, safely strapped in, and then stepping back into my life. Reading this book blew this cosy-crime-reading model out of the water, and I’m glad it did.

Specifically, Fremlin writes – from the inside, painfully honestly – about widowhood and, as a widow myself, there was something both comforting and uncanny in her insights.

Once I’d belatedly realised that women wrote noir, it was a short step to becoming obsessed with Margaret Millar, a Canadian/American counterpart to British Celia Fremlin.

This book kept me guessing right to the end. It has a psychological complexity that means the characters got under my skin, and it is crammed with razor-sharp insights into dysfunctional relationships. I just love Millar’s spare prose: "The smile meant nothing. It was one of habit. She put it on in the morning along with her lipstick and removed it at night when she washed her face. Jim liked this smile of Daisy’s…"

It is easy to see why Millar was celebrated in her own time – and, sadly, equally easy to guess the reasons she now needs "rediscovering."

While Eric is not a Queen, I think he is a Prince. 

Trains. Many trains. Rail travel has always been a crucial element in crime fiction–which works for me since I truly adore train journeys, real or imagined. Seriously though, there’s so much I love about Eric Ambler’s book.

Known as the creator of the modern thriller (just as Braddon created the murder mystery), Ambler – like all the authors I’ve chosen – offers a whole lot more than thrills. I’ve mentioned the trains, but I love the way in which his heroes are just ordinary guys who discover they can do extraordinary things while defeating Fascism.

I’m fascinated by Ambler’s unobtrusive but telling insights into some of the darkest moments in European history – this is writing that takes a popular genre and turns it into literary gold.