Two things I’ve said before and I will say again and again:

• Writing is art and art is subjective: just because I absolutely love The Residence, doesn’t mean you will. Equally, we will take different things from it.
• Breaking down something so well done is incredibly difficult.

Let’s stay with number 2 for a moment.

I have watched The Residence, a cosy murder mystery set in the White House and available on Netflix, four times. Yes, FOUR times.

The second watch was to see all the clues and hidden details now I know who the murderer is, the third and fourth because suddenly this TV show has become my warm comfort blanket during a cold snap.

Obviously, I need to talk about The Residence here. But in what capacity?

Should I go through the cosy murder mystery tropes and how The Residence does against each one?
Should I talk about the main points all writers can learn from and the big stuff that makes this show work?
Should I focus on why I think it became a comfort watch for me?

The thing is, this isn’t going to be the last time I talk about The Residence.

It turns out the TV show is inspired by a book. Fabulous! I wanted to read the book to see the difference between sharing red herrings and clues in a novel compared to a teleplay.

Nope! Turns out the book it’s based on is a non-fiction book about the actual staff looking after the actual first families in the White House, written by a journalist who worked the press events at said White House.

Woah!
Hang on.

The very idea of taking a non-fiction book and turning it into something unexpected. That’s amazing! It’s like my inspiration rut has been turned inside out.

What else can we look at and turn into something completely unexpected?

But I digress. That’s for another article, because yes, I’ve gotten the book from my local library and yes, I’m reading it right now.

Back to the TV show.

Shall we talk about cosy murder mystery tropes?

Don’t get put off by the word ‘trope’, it just means a recurrent theme. Something specific that readers expect from certain genres, and it’s now something that writers are expected to hit if they want any kind of success.

The lead investigator

If he’s a man, he’s usually a white, eccentric detective, if she’s a woman, she’s usually a white, ordinary, often older woman sticking her nose in. In the case of The Residence, our lead investigator is a joyful mixture of the two.

Detective Cordelia Cupp is a Black consulting detective – the best detective in the world. She’s confident, intelligent, fallible and an avid birder, and she brings her bird facts into every aspect of the investigation.

I adore her on every level.

The setting is a charming, confined area like a small town, a train, a tearoom, a national library, or a big house

Cosy murder mysteries often take place in large houses, confined places where people can’t escape but there’s enough rooms, hidden passageways and a certain atmosphere to create the story we’re craving.

The Residence is set in the White House.

I mean, c’mon, it doesn’t get much big house-ier in the U.S., right?

This also means there’s an extra element of political intrigue.

Someone hasn’t just been murdered, they’ve been murdered in the president’s residence during a sensitive state dinner with the Australian prime minister.

The stakes are not only high, there’s blood in the water.

There is zero gore or violence

There’s a reason a lot of cosy murder mystery victims are poisoned. There is no blood, gore or violence in a cosy story of any genre.

That’s partly where the ‘cosy’ comes from.

And it’s why I screamed at the TV during episode one of The Residence, as Harry Hollinger, the president’s top advisor, said it must be a suicide, the guy slit his wrists, ‘WHERE’S THE BLOOD, HARRY?’

The victim is disliked

Are they, though? I strongly disagree with this ‘rule’. In every cosy murder mystery I’ve read and watched, the victim is potentially unlikeable, but isn’t everyone to someone?

A cosy murder mystery is nothing without well-developed characters and even the most evil person (and cosy doesn’t really do evil) has some good in them.

As such, our victim in The Residence, Chief Usher A.B. Wynter is certainly not unlikeable. He’s loved. He’s part of the family. Partly because that’s what being on the staff in the White House means (read the book!), but also because he’s a good man.

He’s just in charge, making tough decisions, not letting much emotion show, so of course people have disagreements with him.

The victim shouldn’t be a villain, as such, otherwise who cares who the murderer is? Hurray, the evil wrongdoer is dead!

But they need to have caused enough friction in their life that there are a number of people who could have killed them.

Okay, that’s enough of that. I hope through all this you’re beginning to build an image of The Residence in your mind, if you haven’t already watched it.

The big storytelling lessons every writer should know

Let’s get to some writing lessons, and we’ll start with the big stuff.

A mystery is nothing without good characters

All stories are nothing without their cast, and this makes murder mysteries a little harder than other stories simply because their cast of characters must be bigger than others to give enough suspects. And each one needs to be fully developed, otherwise we’re lacking in good, interesting red herrings.

On episode 6 of Dan Heath’s excellent podcast, What It’s Like To Be…, he talked to mystery writer Donna Andrews, and she explained how when writing a mystery, every character must have their own secrets.

That makes sense. Be honest, everyone has their own stuff going on and their own secrets. But, of course, this adds wonderful red herrings to a murder mystery.

Is that character being sheepish with the detective because they’re embarrassed about something or because they’re the murderer?

It doesn’t stop with secrets, of course. You have to include personality types and physical traits: how does each character react to finding out this person is dead, but also to having the suspicion placed on them?

The Residence does this beautifully.

No one wants to get fired or have their reputation tarnished, and equally the murderer doesn’t want to get caught.

Jasmine, the assistant usher, wrings her hands, but is that because she’s scared and stressed, or is it because she doesn’t want to get caught?

Sheila, the butler, has plenty to hide and she’s a great talker, but is she just trying to keep her job and stay out of trouble, or is she a killer?

Didier, the pastry chef, has been let down so many times and maybe he’s finally snapped, or maybe it’s just been a stressful night and he needs a sit down. On the floor.

The art, then, is in revealing all this information.

Detective Cupp interviews them, asks them questions, and they talk, tell lies, tell truths and talk about each other.

But we also learn things from what’s happening around the characters. The body language, the actions, what’s not being said, and quite literally the objects and setting around them.

The setting is a murder mystery character

Whatever genre you’re writing, your setting is just another character in your cast.

The snowy small town in a Christmas romance, the castle in a fantasy, the spaceship in a science fiction, and the big house in the murder mystery.

The White House is one hell of a setting for a murder mystery.

All those rooms, all those hidden doors, so many members of staff, so much history, so much politics and eggshells to walk over.

So many secrets.

What a perfect setting for a murder mystery, and it feels like it hasn’t really been done before, which gives it a wonderful feeling of difference, a unique quality, something different enough to draw you in. And yet when you scrape off the surface, it’s just another Cluedo murder mystery.

A setting should be a character, but it can also be a twist. And if you’re anything like me, you might need reminding of that from time to time.

Every murder mystery should need to be consumed twice

As I’ve said, I’ve watched The Residence four times now.

The second watch was to spot all the clues I missed the first time round, now that I know who the murderer is.

And there it was.
The murder weapon.
In so many scenes.
Especially right at the beginning. And I missed it. It flew right over my head.

You might wonder if there’s any point in putting in subtle clues that might go over the reader’s head on the first read, but I am here right now to tell you that there is ALWAYS A POINT to putting in subtle clues.

Please put in subtle clues along with your red herrings.

The reader or viewer is picking up on them sub-consciously, and when the truth is revealed, everything will fall into place and make sense. There will also be something joyful about consuming the story again and discovering the clues were there all along. It’s incredibly satisfying.

The actionable writing lessons I took from The Residence

Having watched The Residence twice, I dug out my first cosy murder mystery novel, which I wrote a year ago and has been sitting patiently, waiting for me to do something with it.

Hurray for the lack of confidence when playing with a new genre!

Still on a high from The Residence, I set about a sneaky extra edit on my manuscript.

I’m now in the habit of writing a brief synopsis of each chapter as I copy-edit a book, and I think this is extra handy for a murder mystery.

Once I had the brief outline of each chapter, I could check that my sleuth did in fact talk to every potential suspect. I could also highlight the number of red herrings and clues (in different colours) and see if there were enough and a good balance of both.

It’s a start!

Lastly, how do you make a story someone’s comfort blanket?

Let’s finish on the big question.

How did The Residence become my comfort watch as 2025 turned into 2026?

Obviously, the characters were the starting place. They’re fully developed, interesting and I wanted to be there with them. Yes, even with a murderer around.

I so badly wanted to be part of this world! (I would work in the curator’s office, just fyi.)

Just from the first watch I knew who I wanted to be friends with (Sheila, definitely Sheila. And Marvella, please) and who I would have problems with. Whether I would get on with A.B. Wynter, and how I would feel when his body was found.

Of course, this is how most of my own stories start. I fall in love with someone else’s world and start picturing myself in it. Suddenly I’m not me anymore, I’ve been replaced with the start of a new character, and then it’s time to find them a new setting.

So this might all be quite strange to a writer who doesn’t work this way.

My point, though, is that the characters are all relatable. They’re human.

And the whole show is fast-paced and funny. That humour comes from the characters as well as the quick retorts and fast camera shots, and it is glorious.

Yes, someone has died, but we can have fun figuring this mystery out.

Not all the characters are having fun, in fact none of them really are, but in their stressful reactions is warmth and humour.

And then there’s the end.

We’re reminded that A.B. Wynter wasn’t just a murder victim for this story to play out. He was a human, a person, who was both liked and disliked, who was kind and fierce. Who was complicated. As all people are.

Funny, warm, fast and with a hint of love and raw emotion.

Mmm, like a warm, fuzzy blanket I could cover myself with over the Christmas period.