Another day, another Rebus

Another enjoyable Rebus to report, this time number 8: Black and Blue. On this occasion, Rebus is pitted against a copycat serial killer, gangs in Glasgow and the fledgling drug trade in Aberdeen's booming oil industry. As usual, the book's an eminently readable tale, that both piggy-backs on the earlier novels while solidly building on the foundation they provide. And also as usual - irritatingly, repetitively so - Rankin again manages to turn out a better book than its already great predecessors, by turns clever, alarming and wry. I actually found this one even more of a step up in quality than I've gotten used to. One of the distinguishing features this time around, and one that Rankin handles very well, is the tying of the tale to a real case, that of the late-1960s serial killer Bible John. Rankin does a great job fleshing out one of the theories about this killer's disappearance, and nicely weaves this - and him - into the story, ultimately pitting Rebus and Bible John in a race to track down the copycat, Johnny Bible. I also really quite liked the flitting around between Edinburgh, Glasgow and Aberdeen, as well as the jaunt to the Shetlands and the Broch of Mousa. Anyway, roll on the next novel - will Rankin ever stumble?

Blah ... Rebus ... Blah

Number 7 in Ian Rankin's series of Inspector John Rebus "adventures", Let It Bleed starts with a fatal set-piece on the Forth Road Bridge and culminates with Rankin's gruff hero gruffly accosting hitherto untouchable authorities. I read this quickly, completely enjoyed it - as usual - and then have largely forgotten it. Which is not at all a reflection on either Rankin in general or this novel in particular. It's just that it is yet another well-written crime yarn that continues to flesh out Rebus. I've actually gotten a little tired of singing Rankin's praises - each novel is more or less as good as, or better than, its predecessors. Arguably better, since Rebus' world becomes more and more complete each time.

Sectarian premise

Back once more for another tour of Edinburgh's dark underbelly with Inspector Rebus' sixth outing, Mortal Causes.

Set against the backdrop of Edinburgh's annual arts festival, the novel opens with an murder in a vault off one of the city's ancient, subterranean streets. Elements of the murder, a brutal knee-capping ended with a headshot, remind Rebus of the punishment beatings he witnessed years earlier in Northern Ireland, and raises the spectre of terrorist activity spilling into the British mainland. Worse, when the victim is identified, he turns out to be no less than the son of "Big Ger" Cafferty, an Edinburgh kingpin with more than a passing interest in Rebus.

This apparent linkage of Edinburgh's criminal underworld with Northern Irish sectarianism leads to Rebus' secondment into a specialist crime squad with links to London's Special Branch. While this affords Rebus certain opportunities to advance the case, it also makes him the "new boy" in an already suspicious team. However, Rebus keeps a hand in with the investigations of old squad with help from his trusty underlings, DS Holmes and DS Clarke. Their work, together with information from Rebus' shady contacts in Edinburgh's criminal fraternity, leads to the unearthing of a connection to a seemingly defunct Scottish nationalist group, the Sword and Shield, that seems to have gained a new lease of life, one that involves the supply of weapons to Protestant "brothers" in Ulster. These developments lead Rebus to confront the sectarian elements of his own home town and, along the way, complicate his relationship with Big Ger.

It's already getting repetitive to say it, but with each novel Rankin is getting more and more sure-footed with Rebus, and Mortal Causes is definitely the high point to date. While tantalisingly labyrinthine, the plot uncoils effortlessly, with a nice number and balance of slowly interconnecting threads. By now, Rankin has established his roster of characters well enough that they need no introductions, and appear satisfyingly well-rounded because of the "baggage" carried over from earlier titles. Even sporadic characters such as Rebus' stuffy superior, 'Farmer' Watson, have become amiably familiar figures for whom even brief appearances now convey far more than the bare words might suggest.

One particularly interesting aspect of this novel for me was its extensive coverage of sectarianism in Scotland. In what now seems surprising to me, growing up there I was almost completely unaware of this side of Scottish life. Part of this can probably be attributed to me being on the east coast, and in a town where Catholics were too thin on the ground to inspire any comment (not, of course, that the absence of non-white people led to any corresponding drop-off in racism). Until I was well into my teens, all I knew about Catholics was that they were exactly the same as everyone else but went to a different church for Christmas and Easter services. Subsequently, I became a lot more aware of how divisive Catholicism is for a section of Scotland's Protestant population, including, as it happens, my Bothwell-residing "Uncle" Willy. But by the time I came to first came to grips with this nonsense, I was already irredeemably dismissive of all such sectarian splits. And having now been in England for years, where such divisions seem even less noticeable than in Carnoustie, it all seems even more distant and irrelevant. So the novel was quite an interesting reminder of aspects of Scotland that, while diminished, haven't yet entirely withered.

Anyway, I'm now up to number 6 of the series, so slightly passed the third stage. Though only in terms of novels that is, by page count I'm nowhere near - they just get thicker and thicker!

Scandanavian Rebus

While Inspector Rebus has, to put it mildly, had something of mixed success in his translation to television (cf. John Hannah's woeful miscasting), the screen (big and small) has been much more kind to Sweden's Inspector Wallander, of whom there are already three distinct incarnations (including a recent UK production with Kenneth Branagh in the lead role). Having enjoyed these, and reasoning that film and TV producers only back sure things, I gave the biggest Rebus fan I know (C) the first of Henning Mankell's Wallander novels, Faceless Killers, as a present. So, how fares the crime genre across the North Sea?

The novel opens on a cold winter night with an elderly farmer, alerted by disconcerting calls for help, discovering a horrifying scene in the farmhouse of his old friends and neighbours. Expecting a routine, rural call-out, the middle-aged Inspector Wallander arrives to find a dead husband and his nearly lifeless wife, both victims of a brutal assault and torture. The motive for the crime is unknown, but the investigation gets its only divisive clue in the dying words of the wife, "Foreign". Leaked to the press by a junior officer, this information adds fuel to the simmering hate of Sweden's Far Right groups. As well as struggling to understand the initial murders, Wallander now has to contend with an attack on a refugee encampment, and a further racially-motivated murder of a Somali refugee. His investigation of the former crime leads him to uncover uncomfortable facts about the murdered farmer, while the latter crime draws in murky connections between a police officer and racists. And all the while Wallander has his personal demons to contend with: a failed marriage; an estranged daughter; and his elderly artist father, dismissive of his choice of career.

Much like the Rebus novels, this is solidly enjoyable genre fare. It has all the right ingredients, mixing in a perplexing initial mystery, a number of tantalising if ultimately unhelpful leads, victims that are not quite what they first seem, and a solution that reads like an entirely plausible fusion of Wallander's luck and skill. I particularly liked the fact that the investigation unfurled at a realistic pace; normally, fictional crimes are solved frenetically within days, but here the pieces take time to fall into place. The novel also does an convincing job with Wallander himself, quickly and economically establishing where he is in life, and deftly filling in his, and his family's, history. While Rebus has some rough edges, Wallander has quite a number more, and his creation as a borderline unlikeable character, with both talents and flaws, is handled well. Of course, it also helps that it's been translated with what seems a lot more care than another, much more famous, Swedish novel that I've recently read.

Comparing with Rebus is quite instructive. As another first detective novel in a long series, I think Wallander gets off to a much better start than Rebus. The latter's first outing (read pre-blog) was a rather clichéd start that, for me at least, made the cardinal error of moving Rebus from the role of investigator to that of the key to the mystery. To be fair to Rankin, when he first wrote Rebus, this plotline was probably less of a cliché than endless detective TV dramas have now made it appear. But in Faceless Killers, Mankell also gifts Wallander with a much more realistic-seeming backstory than Rebus' SAS background (and then foreground) from Knots and Crosses. This, however, also serves to make him quite a bit less sympathetic, but, straight out the box, he seems a much more three dimensional character than his Edinburgh rival did. That journey took Rebus a few more novels, but he seems to very much have gotten there from my last visit.

One minor complaint I did have with Faceless Killers is how its dénouement relies on a character with a somewhat implausibly good memory. The original murders are long cold, but a bank teller is able to pass along some key information. In Branagh's TV series, this was more plausibly (and cleverly) handled via security videos, but here it strains credulity a bit. Not seriously, but Mankell could have thought a little bit more about this critical development.

Anyway, a very good start to a series that I've certainly enjoyed on television. I suspect I'll be back here at some point before too long.

Rebus 5

After a detour into decidedly dodgy science fiction, I thought I'd get back onto more solidly reliable genre fare with Ian Rankin's Rebus number 5 novel, The Black Book.

I actually read this a month or so back, so can't actually remember all of the various ins and outs of the plot. Suffice to say that it was a satisfyingly twisty tale that dragged in present and past murders, a suspicious hotel fire, an attack on one of Rebus' closest colleagues, and the unveiling of Big Ger, an Edinburgh kingpin darkly hinted at in earlier novels. It also skilfully balanced these crime strands with the re-appearance of Rebus' brother, Michael, from prison and his on-again-off-again relationship with his doctor girlfriend, the appropriately-named Patience.

What was particularly pleasing about this book was that it really felt like Rankin has finally hit his stride with Rebus. With great economy of narrative and character, Rankin spins out his tale, and almost effortlessly reels in the reader. By this point in the series of novels, Rebus' character, and the world that he operates within, feels satisfyingly lived-in, like a comfortable pair of slippers. Previous books have been a lot less sure-footed, and Rankin has had to take the reader by the hand more, but here things flow much more easily - perhaps just because Rankin's world-building is more complete.

Twelve novels to go.

"MP In Sex Scandal"

Dipping once again into the world of Inspector Rebus, this time with Strip Jack, the fourth in Ian Rankin's series.

Orchestrated by his Chief Inspector as part of a moral drive to clean up Edinburgh, Rebus finds himself part of a raid on one of the city's brothels, unexpectedly discovering popular local MP, Gregor Jack. When Jack's unorthodox wife, Elizabeth, subsequently disappears without trace, Rebus' attention gradually turns to the tight-knit circle of childhood friends that she and Jack associate with. As the investigation proceeds, Rebus builds up a picture of Elizabeth more suggestive of a wild-child than the constituency wife of a young MP. Furthermore, as the investigation appears to link to a second concerning a spate of recent murders of women, Rebus begins to suspect that Jack is actually being framed in a campaign to strip him of his reputation and standing.

There's actually not a lot that I can write about this book. It's pretty satisfying Rebus fare, with little about it that merits much expansion. I did like the digression into childhood friends, and how such relationships change (or not) into adulthood, but otherwise the novel was a fairly routine, if twisty, crime novel. Well up to Rankin's usual literary standards, but not necessarily stand-out.

Only another 13 novels in the series to read ...

Werewolf

Another day, another Inspector Rebus novel, Tooth and Nail ...

This time the novel is set, unusually, outside of both Edinburgh and Scotland. Rebus has been called to London to assist a stumbling investigation there into a potential serial killer, dubbed the "Wolfman" by the popular press. Ostensibly there because of his experience in an earlier case (one that's pre-novels I think), Rebus suspects that he's been brought in only temporarily, to take the heat off the local investigators and to potentially serve later as a scapegoat. However, much as hoped by his London opposite number Detective George Flight (and expected by loyal readers), Rebus' fresh eyes and Scottish experiences take the investigation in new directions. Assistance from an attractive, if strangely office-less, female psychologist gives Rebus both a new perspective on the killer, but also an Achilles' heel.

There's not really a lot to say about this novel beyond it being another quality Rebus read. Unlike the earlier novels, which are largely police procedural and peopled by criminals with ultimately straightforward motives, this is focused around a crime genre stereotype: the serial killer. It's an interesting diversion for Rankin, but one which is slightly haunted by the spectre of Hannibal Lecter. Especially so given the killer's interest in teeth, which is reminiscent of the quarry in Red Dragon, published several years before this novel. Rankin also appears to borrow the convention of giving the killer voice here. Hitherto, the novels have tracked Rebus' dogged pursuit, but here the object of the chase is given short chapters in which victims are all-too-briefly introduced.

But the parallels don't detract from this novel, and may even be Rankin satirising the genre, although it feels more like homage. The serial killer is finally revealed a little late in the novel, and while I was somewhat perplexed by the revelation of identity (I probably wasn't paying close enough attention), I still went along with it happily. But then, that's what happens when the well-written prose goes down so pleasingly easy.

Overall, another step up for Rankin. I'm looking forwards to the next one.

Rebus

Although C usually decries genre fiction, and doesn't get involved in long series of novels (with the exception of three involving Frank Bascombe), she has been quite taken by the tales concerning Detective Inspector John Rebus written by the Scottish novelist Ian Rankin. As she recently finished Rankin's final novel with Rebus, I thought it was time for me to pick the series up again. I started once before, pre-blog, but found the very first novel, Knots And Crosses, fairly unremarkable, and just a little bit clichéd. Of course, I was forgetting that Rankin began writing Rebus long before many of the TV series and films that I mistook the novel as aping. So what I took for the traipsing out of tired storylines was just my late reading of a novel somewhat out of its time. Anyway, with such a gold standard recommendation from C, I thought it was long past time that I got around to Hide & Seek.

The novel begins not, seemingly, with a murder, but with the discovery of a dead junkie, an altogether too-common occurrence in the more squalid reaches of Edinburgh. However, with just about enough quirks to attract the attention of the attending coroner, including a hint of the occult, a more senior officer, DI Rebus, is brought in for a look. Enough intrigues Rebus for him to take an interest in the case, despite a call from his superior upstairs to lead a charitable drive to tackle the city's drug problems. Rebus is aided, as police officers often are in fiction, by a disastrous personal life that makes few, if any, calls on his time outside work, freeing him up for extra-curricular investigation. Before long, his efforts have turned up a friend (girlfriend?) of the dead addict, and a slumming university student with an interest in the occult. These hint at others who may have had an interest in seeing the man dead, including a shadowy figure that Rebus comes to know as Hide, or is it Hyde? Whoever he is, he somehow appears able to skip ahead of Rebus at each turn, subtly interfering and stalling every step of progress. At the same time, through the glad-handing of the drug charity, Rebus gains temporary entry into the world of the corporate gentry who preside over Edinburgh. This gives him tantalising glimpses of men with altogether different appetites, glimpses that begin to trace patterns in Rebus' mind.

First up, this is a better and more enjoyable novel than its predecessor, Knots And Crosses. While it does tread over some of the classic tropes of detective fiction, it's never stale, and it mixes things up sufficiently to keep the reader guessing throughout at what's going on. In surrounding the investigation with layer after layer of seemingly disconnected aspects of the case, Rankin is able to give the reader the experience that Rebus feels during the novel: that nothing makes sense, that the investigation is spiralling wider and wider and that something outside the case is pulling the strings. In a good way, of course. And Rankin's able to tie it all up satisfyingly by the end, which always helps.

What also helps is Rankin's ability as a writer. I've not read an awful lot of crime fiction, but he's clearly a cut above almost all that I have read. While the genre does create expectations that description and character are generally in the service of plot, Rankin still breathes a lot of life into the novel. All of the different facets of Edinburgh, for instance, come alive, albeit to mostly skulk malevolently about the reader.

One of the more disappointing aspects of the first novel was its use of the woefully overused trick of having the central crime twist back on the investigator, such that it's finally revealed that the perpetrator has a personal beef with the officer doing the detecting. It's such a cliché and always rings false: how many cases in the average detective's life are really all about them? While this novel includes a breakthrough that comes somewhat close to home, it's not laid directly at Rebus' door, nor is it the key twist in the plot, so it doesn't detract from or weaken the novel.

In summary, a big step up from the first novel, and an easy and enjoyable read. It doesn't escape from the genre, but I'll be interested to see what Rankin tries with the later novels (of which there are another 15 to read!).