It is with sadness that we at Open Letters share the passing of Irma Heldman, who died in December at the age of 82. Irma was the mystery columnist at Open Letters Review, and before that at Open Letters Monthly, writing hundreds of reviews that displayed her bottomless enthusiasm for mysteries and suspense novels, as well as her unmatched knowledge of the genres. For years Irma’s “It’s a Mystery” column was a bedrock of our websites, and her funny, sharp, opinionated correspondence was one of our most reliable editorial pleasures.

Irma’s background in the book world was deep and extensive. She worked as an editor and publisher at Ballantine, Holt, Rinehart & Winston and Playboy Paperbacks, among other places, and she ran her own mystery and suspense imprint, Irma Heldman Books. But she was also always writing, reviewing theater and books for such places as the Wall Street Journal and the Saturday Review of Literature. Her favorite gig, she often said, was a mystery column in which she reviewed under the pseudonym O.L. Bailey. There was no aspect of writing or publishing that she didn’t know firsthand—something reflected in this recently resurrected interview about the book business from 1984.

I met Irma at her regular volunteer shift at Housing Works Bookstore in downtown Manhattan, where she presided at the checkout, making book chat with the customers, regaling the staff and fellow volunteers with stories (sometimes of the off-color variety, always delivered with the subtlest of smiles), and occasionally bringing a lollygagging colleague into line with a stern look over her glasses (usually followed by that subtle smile). There was virtually no author in the mystery section she didn’t know chapter and verse, but just as impressive as her expertise on Golden Age writers was her determination to keep up with newcomers to the field.

The new and the classic blended seamlessly in her mystery reviews, which were always looking to fit the work of a fresh face into some historical context. Irma’s background as a spotter of talent meant that she had an unerring ability to see which authors were on the cusp of becoming the next big thing. One of her very first reviews for Open Letters was a prescient piece on Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Through the years she was an early proponent of writers such as Mick Herron, Louise Penny, Jo Nesbø and Sophie Hannah. Such comers often shared column space with deathless favorites, and for my money little was more enjoyable than reading Irma’s rhapsodies about Josephine Tey, P.D. James, John le Carré, or perhaps her favorite, “the undisputed Head Girl,” Dame Agatha Christie.

As for professionalism, little needs to be said. Irma was always on time with her pieces, sometimes writing them during bouts of ill health. She was a gregarious inbox presence for years and our editorial back-and-forth was full of jibes, playful indignation and sweet little notes. She knew—and taught all of us—how to conduct serious work on the basis of friendship. It was my good fortune that our friendship deepened on the occasions that she and her wonderful husband Martin hosted me for dinner in their book-lined apartment.

Irma’s final review for Open Letters was of the latest Jack Reacher novel by Lee Child, one of the many authors who had kept her thrilled and entertained for decades. Praising Child’s “inimitable badass style,” she predicts that the series will continue at the highest level for years to come. It is a source of deep sadness to us that Irma won’t be around to keep up with it and others like it. We miss her already. But we feel proud and grateful to have published so much of her writing, with all of its wit, intelligence, savvy and passion.