Crime Word Origins: From ‘Whodunit’ to ‘Cliffhanger’
If you came of age reading mystery or detective novels, you’ve probably come across words like “whodunit” and “cliffhanger.” But have you ever wanted to know how these terms came about?
Arielle John, Writing For
Did you grow up with a love of detective work and a mystery novel always in tow? In the midst of all that crime consumption, you probably picked up on a handful of terms like “whodunit,” and “cliffhanger”—words that are usually associated with crime fiction. If you’ve ever wondered where those words come from, you’ve come to the right place.
‘Whodunit’
“Whodunit,” pronounced, “who done it,” is another term for “murder mystery.” Accounts of who coined “whodunit” are conflicting. If you check the Google Books Ngram Viewer you could be forgiven for thinking the first documented use was in 1925 in the literary magazine, “The Virginia Quarterly Review.” But, that path is a red-herring (a term we’ll get to in a minute) because sleuthing revealed that the entry is mistaken—a conglomeration of two separate publications.
In fact, Merriam-Webster, the Oxford English Dictionary, and The Guardian all credit Daniel Gordon, a book reviewer for “The American News of Books,” with creating the term in 1930. When faced with the task of writing a review about a standard murder mystery, “Half-Mast Murder,” Gordon deemed the story “a satisfactory whodunit.”
‘Sleuth’
And what about sleuthing? It was a noun first. “Sleuth” arose in the Middle Ages from “sloð,” the Old Norse word for “trail” and described a “track or trail of a person.” The 1872 definition of “sleuth,” meaning “detective,” was derived from “sleuthhound,” a breed of dog similar to a bloodhound that was once common in Scotland and was used for finding the track or trail of a person. The sleuthhound was renowned for its remarkable sense of smell, reportedly having the ability to track thieves solely by the scents of the items they had stolen. “Sleuthhound” was also a nickname for a “keen investigator.”
The definition of ‘sleuth,’ meaning ‘detective,’ was derived from ‘sleuthhound,’ a breed of dog similar to a bloodhound.
Surprisingly, that same Old Norse word “sloð” also gives us the word “slot.” The origin is a bit uncertain, but according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, one of the original meanings was “a narrow opening into which something else can be fitted,” and if you squint, you can maybe see how that could be related peripherally to the idea of a track or trail.
If you have ever worked at a newspaper in the United States, you’ll know that the slot is also the position in the middle of a horseshoe-shaped desk where the chief sub-editor sits, and Bill Walsh, who was a Washington Post copy editor who wrote books such as “The Elephants of Style” and “Lapsing Into a Comma,” ran a popular language website called The Slot. Maybe you can think of copy editors as sleuthing for errors and solving language mysteries. But back to crime!
‘Red Herring’
Today, the phrase “red herring” is often used to describe “a fact, idea, or subject that takes people’s attention away from the central point being considered,” but it first held a quite literal meaning. Herrings are a type of fish that formerly played a significant role in supporting fisheries in North Atlantic seas. When salt-cured and smoked, herrings develop a strong scent and turn red or dark brown. Because of this potent stench, seventeenth century fugitives used red herrings to avert scent hounds from their trails. It is also thought that the smelly fish were dragged along paths to train young dogs to follow scents.
The present day metaphoric meaning of “red herring” first appeared in a verbose 1782 British Parliamentary speech about taxes, and if you’re a reader of mystery or crime fiction, you know that you always need to be wary of red herrings: clues meant to throw you or the investigator off the track of the real culprit.
‘Gumshoe’
(correction_with_script)
In the early twentieth century, men wore heeled, lace-up shoes and boots—footwear that didn’t allow its wearer to walk quietly—a fact that posed a multitude of problems for those whose jobs required covert missions (like detectives). The first use of the term “gumshoe” as an informal synonym for “plainclothes detective” was in 1906, simply stemming from the words “gum,” and “shoe.” “Gumshoes” or “gums” were essentially the rubber-soled predecessors to current day sneakers (also known as tennis shoes, gym shoes, and other various regional terms). Whatever you call them, these shoes were often worn by detectives and suggested stealth because the soft soles let them sneak around quietly.
‘Cliffhanger’
Meaning “a suspenseful situation,” a cliffhanger is a plot device used in a series to keep viewers engaged and eager to know what happens next. “Cliffhanger” is a term you’ve likely heard if you watch primetime TV shows. It is also another term with paradoxical tales of its creation. The word originated in the 1930s, from continued-next-week radio and silent cinema serials in which the main characters frequently found themselves in imminent danger at the end of each episode, sometimes literally hanging off the edge of a cliff.
Other sources claim that English author Thomas Hardy’s “A Pair of Blue Eyes” was the true beginning of the word “cliffhanger.” The 1873 novel, first published in segments in “Tinsley’s Magazine” from 1872 through 1873, featured an even more literal cliffhanger at the end of one chapter—the main character, Henry Knight, finds himself hanging off the edge of a cliff by his fingertips after he has just saved a girl from plunging into oblivion herself. But while this 1800s story may have included literal cliff-hanging, the Oxford English Dictionary lists the first actual printed instance of the word coming in 1930 in the magazine “Variety.”
For those of you itching for crime stories that don’t end in cliffhangers, you might want to check out Case Closed, a new true crime podcast about the times the bad guy didn’t get away with it. Each season, Case Closed tracks one murder from crime to trial to conviction, and the show is produced by my publisher, Macmillan. This season digs into the disappearance of 19-year-old Erin Corwin in Joshua Tree State Park. The first episode is available now, so go listen and subscribe. Available wherever you like to listen!
Arielle John is an intern at Quick and Dirty Tips, a senior at CUNY Queens College, and a media studies major.
Image courtesy of Shutterstock.