March 28, 2004
Ian Rankin, A Question of Blood
Half-way through; started last night as a treat to myself after three days of migraine hell. (Yes, I know I have to mark your papers, students from 3621. And I will.) I've read all the Rebus series, and they're the only detective/mystery novels that I still read. The story this time around is prosaically topical — ex-SAS soldier goes psycho and shoots up a school — and the writing seems off. I mean, "Now, on the M74 south of Glasgow, [the windshield wipers] were flying to and fro like Roadrunner's legs in the cartoon" (125). Or, "Her eyes were the same colour as the clouds which had obscured Arthur's Seat earlier that morning" (130). And, there is too much explication, too much awkward filler. The book is part of a successful franchise, moving along on the accumulated steam of its predecessors, but there is not much here that would draw in new readers. Rankin is not that old, yet with this novel he — and Rebus — have grown curmudgeonly.
Boy, there is no reviewer so cranky as a betrayed reviewer.
Scribbled at March 28, 2004 11:41 AM AST | Permanent link to this post | More? migraines, reviewsTrackBack URL for this entry:
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Gee, you sound like me beating up on Reginald Hill for blowing the Dalziel & Pascoe chronology to smithereens :)
I agree that this last Rebus was not so wonderful; it may have something to do with Rankin's desire to wrap up the series. (I couldn't help musing over the novel's Latin epigraph...) Minette Walters' last two were also pretty depressing, quality-wise. That being said, I read through Stephen Booth's novels while in England & really enjoyed them.
Scribbled by Miriam at March 28, 2004 1:40 PM | Permalink