It sometimes seemed to him that he favored dead bodies over living ones. Yes, he harbored a sort of admiration for cadavers, these wax-skinned, soft, suddenly ceased machines. They were perfected, in the their way, no matter how damaged or decayed, and fully as impressive as any ancient marble. He suspected, too, that he was becoming more and more like them, that he was even in some way becoming one of them. He would stare at his hands and they would seem to have the same texture, inert, malleable, porous, as the corpses that he worked on, as if something of their substance were seeping into him by slow but steady degrees. Yes, he was fascinated by the mute mysteriousness of the dead. Each corpse carried its unique secret - the precise cause of death - a secret that it was his task to uncover. For him, the spark of death was fully as vital as the spark of life.- Benjamin Black, I mean, John Banville, from Christine Falls
This paragraph makes me glad that a great writer (and a reflective mind) wanted to write mysteries.