Crime Fiction Has Made Me A Horrible Person

I fear that reading crime fiction has made me callous.

A couple of years ago, I was once brought to a crashing halt (quite literally, since the guy walking behind me crashed straight into me - well, he shouldn't have been walking that closely behind, should he - anyone would think he was one of those collar sniffers*) by an advert for one of the local papers in the window of a shop near me "Clydebank man shot in girlfriends' lovers' garden." Was my first thought "Oh the poor man"? Or "How shocking"? No, it was "How many girlfriends? How many lovers? How big was the garden?" A misplaced apostrophe or two can make me forget about the human element. And so, apparently, can a few drops of blood.

I went out onto the landing of the flats where I live to discover a trail of blood drops - drying, but still shiny - going up the stairs. Each landing had a little pool of the stuff, while every few stairs had a drop or two. Did I rush to find out if anyone needed urgent medical assistance? Did I pull out my phone to call the emergency services. No, I did not. I pretended I was in an episode of CSI "Was this person standing still, or were they moving?" I thought. "Are the splatters directional?" "Where is my lovely white lab-coat?"

As it turned out, those CSI jobs are safe, anyway. The only injury was a minor burn as my upstairs neighbour tripped as he walked up the stairs with a container of coffee. All I can say is that it's a jolly good job I never aspired to a career in medicine.

But on to the proper news. Ray Banks get a starred review in Library Journal - and quite rightly so - for the excellent NO MORE HEROES. And a review of the Scotland Street series by Alexander McCall Smith, who will be launching his new book in The Edinburgh Bookshop on 3rd March.

The Times has an article on the social concerns of the thriller and how the distinction between crime fiction and literary fiction lies in their relative attitudes to language. Oh dear, that doesn't bode well, does it? The author of the piece has nice things to say about Aly Monroe, amongst others. However, this paragraph did annoy me a tad:

"Generally speaking, however, the distinction between crime and thrillers on the one hand and "literary" fiction on the other lies in their attitude to language. Many crime novelists seem indifferent or unaware that it might be a good idea to have a view of the matter at all, and the result is work that suggests that the writer believes he or she can operate in some medium which exists prior to, or instead of, language." I also have to admit that I've read the second of those two sentences about seventeen times and I'm still in the dark.

Louise Welsh and Dan Rhodes appear in Edinburgh on 10th March (not as if by magic, I hasten to add, but at Blackwell Bookshop on South Bridge).

More from India with Rankin on Rebus. And, talking of India, Irvine Welsh narrates a documentary about a charity whose aim is to build a home for Dalit children.

Another article on Ian Pattison's Rab C Nesbitt. And more on the Booktrust project to encourage the over-60s to read.

*The collar-sniffing incident: I was down in London on business and there I was, happily tootling up the escalator at Liverpool Street Station when I felt someone pressing really, really close behind me. "Hello", I thought, "Either you've pulled, Donna, or you're getting your pocket picked." I've had relationships with people who got less intimate on a first date.** Before I could do anything, I then felt a nose on my neck. Since it wasn't cold and wet, I didn't think it was a rather tall Golden Retriever, so I squealed like a big girl, turned round, and walloped the bloke behind me with my handbag. He looked at me as though it was ME in the wrong.

"What?" he said. "I was only sniffing your collar" (as if this was the most natural thing in the world).

"Oh, and is THAT supposed to make it sodding better?" I belted him in the shins with my suitcase (I was aiming for higher but the escalator suddenly flattened out) and stalked off feeling aggrieved. I'm not sure why these things always seem to happen to me, but they do. I was once flashed at in a Parisian cemetery...

** Dad - that's just a joke, by the way. I've never been on a first date with anyone who tried to get intimate. In fact, you can just assume that I've never been on a date, OK?

A Teeny Tiny Sunday Summary

Denise Mina's STILL MIDNIGHT reviewed in the Globe And Mail, the Daily Telegraph reviews Aly Monroe's WASHINGTON SHADOW, Publisher's Weekly reviews Philip Kerr's IF THE DEAD RISE NOT and Eurocrime reviews Russel McLean's THE LOST SISTER.

More on the Isle of Man event (gulp) organised by the lovely Chris Ewan.

For those who enjoy reading (and writing) short stories, Tania Hershman has an excellent list (incomplete - so e-mail her if you spot a missing one!) of UK and Irish literary mags. Good on that woman - it must have taken her ages.

More from Ian Pattison on Rab C Nesbitt in a very entertaining article.

More on the Jaipur Literature Festival - although this time it's the Daily Express wondering if money should be spent on it when Scotland has its own literacy problems.

Val McDermid is part of a Booktrust project to enourage the over 60s to engage more in reading and creative writing. My Mum and Dad read loads already (they're in their 70s), but I'm not sure I want to encourage my Dad to do creative writing - he already makes up plenty of rubbish about me in the comments.

Gi'e's A Job

Carry a poem in Edinburgh from 1st February. Carry one in Glasgow, too, if you like. Just don't let anyone know.

Single? How about a bit of literary speed-dating? I once went speed-dating of the non-literary kind. It was...an experiene.

Noir Journal pronounces Allan Guthrie's SLAMMER his best yet. And asks "What kind of mind thinks this up?" I've been asking that for years.

Paul Blackburn reviews Tony Black's LOSS for Eurocrime. And Crimetime speaks to Tony. And for those who won the copies of LOSS - I haven't forgotten. I'm going to go and get copies as soon as possible.

Val McDermid talks about A DARKER DOMAIN.

A book trailer for Peter May's VIRTUALLY DEAD.

Some details of the Reading Crime Writing Festival announced. And more on the Jaipur Literature Festival where Alexander McCall Smith is appearing.

Ian Rankin's six best books. And India's Organiser reviews Ian's THE COMPLAINTS, strangely calling it his second book. And, if you're a fan of beer and Ian Rankin, here's just the event for you.

And, finally, should anyone specify a lazy good-for-nothing, I'm superbly qualified.

Bawbags, Gobbledygook and a Better Class of Thief

Ian Pattison's Rab C Nesbitt gets plenty of ink. And for those in Glasgow, or thinking of visiting, you can catch an Ian Pattison play in May at Oran Mor's 'A Play, A Pie, and a Pint' series. But make sure you don't mix up your local hostelries and end up at the Bucket of Blood in Possilpark for their 'A Buckie, A Bawbag, and a Boak' series.

For those with plenty of time on their hands, the Scottish Parliament debates literacy. Or you can watch it on TV here, if you have a spare two and a half hours, and there's a summary underneath if you don't.

Here's the start of the Lit Sutra blog on Ian Rankin's appearance in India. And an interview with Edinburgh Spotlight here.

Best Selling Books reviews Charles Cumming's TYPHOON, Margaret Cannon has nice things to say about Russel McLean's THE GOOD SON, Starting Fresh blog likes M C Beaton's DEATH OF A VALENTINE and Dutch site 8 Weekly says...errrr...Dutch things about Philip Kerr. I have absolutely no idea whether they liked it or not, especially since plugging the first paragraph into Babelfish results in the following translation:
"The genre is literary think thriller no longer and knows a large schare volgers. The question what moves an editor when he a thriller stamp ' literair' gives, it has been already frequently put. Generally it is determined that in vain zoeken is to the so-called literary aspect. If the deads do not rise again on this no exception forms. " Sadly, there is no option to turn gobbeldygook into English.

An event called Murder, Mystery and Microscopes has made the shortlist for Best Live Communication event in the Communicators in Business awards.

And, finally, about 200 of Edinburgh's most distinguished citizens are suspects in an art theft. "A picture hook was left at the scene of the crime." Presumably vol-au-vent crumbs too.

Heading North By North West

Well, it's official, I am definitely going back to Alaska in May - yippee! I have a guarantee that I am going to get to spend time with my lovely friend Mary, plus I am going to get to visit Stony River (population 65), a village that I haven't yet been to, where they want me to attend a Fine Arts Festival they are putting on, flying in the students from all the Upriver Schools. The students will take part in a number of activities and one of them this year will be writing something, with a view to publishing or performing it. I can't wait. As long as they don't expect me to paint or dance, we should be OK...

Talking of festivals, Ian Rankin is currently in India. You can follow him at the Lit Sutra Blog. Or you could follow Ian himself on Twitter. In which case you will be treated to such wonderful comments as "Postcard 2. Now in Kolkata. 26 degrees but not humid and no midges. Curries eaten: 11. Kingfishers drunk: 28. Meeting readers: priceless." Marvellous stuff. And BooksPlease has an excellent write-up of Ian's recent award from West Lothian Libraries.

Marcel Berlins in the Times rather likes Scottish crime writers Catriona MacPherson and Tony Black, and calls Tony Black "a compelling and convincing portrayer of raw emotions in a vicious milieu." Excellent. And a good review of Russel McLean's THE GOOD SON at nightsandweekends.com.

Charles Cumming talks about spying and books on YouTube.

Poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy on Glasgow's Aye Write festival.

And, finally, Douglas Lindsay is good to his readers. This isn't the first time he's posted short stories online and, apparently, it won't be the last.

How To Get A Bed In Glasgow Without Really Trying

I'm hoping I'll be able to get back to my normal posting schedule next week.

Edinburgh's One City Trust charity - set up to fund initiatives in some of the most deprived parts of Edinburgh (a city where one in five children are being brought up in poverty) is in danger of closure. A shame - their collection of short stories - CRIMESPOTTING - was excellent. I hope the charity manages to stay open. This in a week where it's revealed that more than one million people in Scotland struggle with literacy.

A blog has started up recently about Alexander McCall Smith, who, meanwhile, is in Jaipur for the Jaipur Literature Festival. And later on in the spring he's in Toronto. His Edinburgh neighbour, Ian Rankin, is in Sri Lanka. Hopefully, he'll be able to get some milk there. Helen Fitzgerald, on the other hand, gets to go as far as Newcastle.

And Rankin and McCall Smith, amongst others, talk to the Courier Mail in Australia about their approaches to the televised versions of their books.

A preview of Louise Welsh's NAMING THE BONES.

An interesting interview with poet John Burnside. Unlike some other writers of the Scottish literary establishment (I'm looking at you, Mr Kelman), he does not sneer at genre writers.

An interview with my Dad's favourite, Caro Ramsay.

Top agent Stacia Decker says how wonderful Ray Banks is. And she's right.

Ian Pattison's creation Rab C Nesbitt is back.

And finally, a wee Glasgow story. My friend Eleanor was telling me that she was walking along a quiet street yesterday, thinking how she needed to get her bed fixed, when a white van screeched to a halt beside her.

"Haw, hen, do you know anyone who wants a double bed?"

She hesitated. Was the double bed fairy smiling down on her?

White van man jumped out of the van, beer gut swaying in the breeze. "Here, have a wee swatch at it." He flung open the back of the van and there was this double bed, orthopedic mattress, cream satin headboard, just sat there in the back of the van. Although, it was a bed, so I guess that should be 'just lying there'. "That mattress alone is worth four hunnerd quid. It's yours for a hunnerd and fifty."

"Well, I do need a new bed, but I don't live in this bit of Glasgow."

"Hop in, hen. I'll take you to yours."

So she did (my mum would have killed me - getting into a van with a strange man and one who had a double bed in the back of his van, no less). He then proceeded to drive to Eleanor's with his elbows on the steering wheel, as he was using his hands talking too much.

Half an hour later, deal done and new bed nicely ensconced in her bedroom, white van man took off. "Here's my number, hen, if you want another bed any time, gi'e me a call."

That's Glasgow for you. It doesn't fall off the back of a lorry - it comes to a stop beside you, invites you in, and takes you home.

If you work in a bed shop and read this, light dawning as to why you're a bed short, don't sack him - he's an entrepreneur.

Quick and Dirty Posting

In the midst of editing, so a quick and dirty link summary.

It seems that everybody in the world likes Russel McLean - and quite rightly so. As an extra added bonus, one of those links also has a review of C David Ingram's THE STONE GALLOWS.

Christopher Brookmyre at the Winter Words Festival in Pitlochry on January 31st, while Alexander McCall Smith will be visiting Epping Forest in March.

Listen to the start of M C Beaton's DEATH OF A VALENTINE.

Author Craig Robertson revealed. I have a copy of his debut novel, RANDOM which looks good. I've decided that February is Scottish Crime Fiction Month chez moi and I shall be reading that one, Tony Black's LOSS (as soon as I buy a copy), Russel McLean's THE LOST SISTER and Gordon Brown's FALLING.

And talking of Tony Black, sadly, I shall miss the launch of LOSS at Blackwell's Bookshop in Edinburgh this Thursday. If, like me, you have been jonesing for a new Gus Dury, The Rap Sheet has an original short story featuring Gus. Great stuff.

The Big Thrill talks to Peter May.