Having ordered the ebook version of Simon Mason’s Lost and Never Found on the day before publication day – I was keen, and they kept emailing me not to forget to buy it, including after I had bought it – I started wondering when I’d actually ‘get’ it. Would they be smartly on the starting line at midnight, or would they saunter in some time during the day?
I couldn’t sleep. Not because of the book, but anyway. Around four a.m. I checked my inbox and discovered the book had been delivered at three minutes past midnight. Downloaded it straight away, in case the insomnia demanded some immediate reading which, after a very early breakfast, it did. I had even avoided starting on a new book the previous day, just to be available.
It was as if I’d not been away from the Oxford of the two DI R Wilkinses. I was home. Disturbed rich girl crashes her Rolls and disappears. This time I looked carefully for those small clues, but not carefully enough it seems. Next time I will write down every character who turns up. (Oddly enough, a couple of them are in the novel I’m reading right now, albeit with other names.)
Next time; yes, I vowed not to read the first chapters of the next book, on the grounds that I got a little irritated with recognising what I must have read a year ago. But, obviously, I didn’t stick to that. I was so eager for it by the end, that I had to devour the early pages of book four.
The one I feel sorry for is Ryan. Not sure if it’s little Ryan (though if he’s really 20 inches tall at the age of three, I’ll eat my hat) or Ryan père. Both, probably.
I love Moist von Lipwig, almost as much as I love Terry Pratchett. I also love Going Postal, which I have now read for the second time. I can just about see the third time coming up.
Not sure why I chose to read it the first time, but suspect I was wanting to read about something that would remind me of my own early professional times. I can still miss the days of the Post Office, and Moist’s exploits in Ankh-Morpork are quite close to my own experience. At least the way I remember it.
Moist is a crook, of course, but a kind one and someone who thinks on his feet. Lord Vetinari clearly knew what he was doing when making Moist Postmaster General. Post people are such fun. And there is stamp collecting.
The loveliness of postal matters apart, I was [again, maybe] struck by Terry’s way with words, making some new ones up whenever required. It’s the thinking of things. Stuff like using the doorway when you run out of wall. I could say that too, if I had only been able to think such thoughts.
There is a ‘romance’ of an unusual kind, which is so much better than too much soppiness. And one wishes all tyrants were more like Lord Vetinari.
The question now is whether I read another book featuring Moist, or reread this one.
I simply couldn’t resist the opportunity of saying ‘Fletcher Moss, I presume?’ so had to start off this year’s Bloody Scotland with Alex Gray’s New Crimes, where she talks to new crime writers. She receives so many proofs every year that her house is in danger of collapsing. This year Alex – who apparently is the daughter of a seventh daughter – talked to Fulton Ross, who might be some sort of elf, to Jo Callaghan who knows about AI, and to Alex Hay (I like the rhyming!) who’s into historical heists. And then there’s the ‘thuggish looking deputy headteacher’ who was previously Fletcher Moss, but now writes as Martin Griffin, his real name. I think, anyway. He recognised me and we shook hands and we laughed about his long ago lack of book signing capabilities. It went better this time.
Next I trotted over to the Albert Halls where I denied all interest in Alex Gray several times, on the grounds I’d just seen her. But once I looked at the programme, and also discovered I didn’t seem to have the tickets I needed for my next event, I realised their eagerness in wanting to offer up Alex was that she was the one chatting to James Oswald, with a bit of help from Jonathan Whitelaw.
Unfortunately someone was sitting on my chair when I entered, but I sent witchy thoughts and eventually he moved. Before Alex and James were let loose, it was time for the two minutes in the spotlight from a new writer, reading from their first crime novel. In this case Axl Malton with Cries of Joy. (Took me a while to get his name right…)
You don’t want to watch television with James. He sits there with his notebook, ‘writing is a compulsion, it’s a terrible thing.’ According to James, if you plot, then that’s already been written and no good for when he wants to write. He has a whiteboard in his study, and he forgets his characters’ names. He’s less keen on swearing, but doesn’t mind violent murders. He gets depressed by the news and doesn’t read true crime. If it weren’t for copy editors he’d keep repeating the same clichés over and over.
Alex believes the police – especially in Scotland, who are different – are fine people. All large organisations, including the police, have rogues. And having chatted to lifers in prison, they do not look for inspiration for crime in fiction; reading is purely entertainment.
At the signing after, I was pleased to see that Axl got to sit with James and Alex. And I was glad I caught James before the queues took over, so I could say hello before I was driven home for dinner and a rest, before returning to the Albert Halls for more.
Val McDermid and Abir Mukherjee chatted and joked for an hour, and we all had fun. In fact, it was such fun and the hour was perhaps a little longer than they ordinarily are. Luckily the very determined Ann Landmann was on door duty and let Abir know it was time to stop. Eventually he heeded her, giving everyone enough time to prepare for the next event. I occasionally struggle with hearing things, and had they not handed out the first two chapters of Val’s new book, I’d have come away under the impression the title is Past Lines. It’s not. It is Past Lying. (I have an appointment at the Hearing Clinic this week…) But, as always, great fun to listen to these two talk.
The evening ended with the only slightly delayed event of CrimeMaster, very ably run by C L Taylor and ‘Little’ Luca Veste. (Because Vaseem [Khan] wasn’t there.) The five contestants were Abir Mukherjee, Gytha Lodge, Mark Billingham, Mark Edwards and Susi Holliday. They all brought bribes; some better than others. Then we were treated to the sight of them competing on a sunny Stirling square (last year), proving it’s not really possible to write a – very – short story while running. As for the running in general and crawling through tunnels and jumping over obstacles; well that didn’t go well either.
But the worst came at the end. They had to spell the title of a book with the help of alphabet pasta in tomato sauce, without using their hands. It was disgusting but they all lowered their little faces into the troughs, I mean plates, of pasta. A couple cheated by using each others’ hands. Yeah, I know. It was fun. Even without Vaseem. At least for the audience. I think there was a winner. Possibly Mark Billingham.
This kind of thing is not terribly literary. But it has entertainment value.
Let’s hope Vaseem will be back next year.
The next day was ladies’ day. As chair Jenny Brown pointed out, there were more of us in the audience. On stage we had three ladies; her and Karin Smirnoff and Denise Mina. Both Karin and Denise have recently written books featuring detectives originally invented by men, Stieg Larsson and Raymond Chandler. Similar idea, but they came at it quite differently. Denise of the weird clothes (they are glorious!) likes research and has looked very carefully into LA and all that she needs to know. She also mentioned a Nordic coach trip ( sounds unlikely, I know) where people were told to get off to admire the views and engage in small talk. In Glasgow everyone talks to everyone.
Karin, on the other hand, did no research. She paid someone to do it for her. Although that might have backfired. Being a Swede and from the north of the country as well, she doesn’t like chatting. In her own quiet, non-assuming ways, Karin was actually quite funny. I’d been intending to introduce myself to her at the signing, but felt disinclined to disturb Karin’s Swedish silence, and left her to her queue of fans. After all, why would two Swedes chitchat such a long way from home?
The last day, Sunday, we went to the last panel of the weekend. The ballroom at the Golden Lion was packed to the rafters; a complete sellout. Barry Hutchison, aka J D Kirk, appeared with Marion Todd and Colin MacIntyre, chaired by Caro Ramsay. I’ve never seen quite so many seats in there, and was grateful for my chair in the far corner next to the marble column. I may have rested my head on it when things got a little too ‘Jo Nesbø-ish’ at times.
Marion was a fun new acquaintance for us, who seems to like murdering people in St Andrews. And Barry – aka J D – was pretty relaxed about his writing. He does no research, which is why he murders on home ground where he knows what’s what. He writes 4000 words doing 12,000 steps (he writes on a treadmill thingy). Or some such numbers.
It was clear quite a few people were there for him, issuing stern instructions on not killing any [more] dogs. After some parting words from Gordon Brown, we went to queue outside. The first man in line for Barry hauled six paperbacks out of his rucksack. That’s proper dedication, that is. The queue was long, so I had to wait for my hug, but I got it in the end.
So that was a pretty good Bloody weekend in Scotland, and with some luck Vaseem will be back next year…
I can’t make my mind up. Kindle? Or dead tree book? Which will it be? Vaseem Khan’s fourth novel about Persis Wadia is out in early August. And I need to decide.
The third one, The Lost Man of Bombay, came with me on my travels last year as a Kindle book. It saved me then, but perhaps I don’t need saving now? I loved it and it was terribly reassuring to have easily to hand. Because I had packed the wrong books. And when space and weight is an issue, the Kindle is no heavier even with the collected works of Sir Walter Scott. But you know that already. (And Scott is purely courtesy of the Resident IT Consultant, sharing his ebook selection with me. And I dare say, if things got really bad, Scott would do nicely.)
So, there I was, having picked what I thought would be a fun and romantic novel, but it turned out to be quite dire and at times like that you need a swift move onto something else. Hence my gratitude to Vaseem and his detective.
If you haven’t read his books about the first female detective in Bombay, then it is high time you did. Meanwhile, I must decide on ebook or paper. This is not made any easier by me having branched into Kindle on the iPhone for those very urgent reading emergencies that I am afraid of experiencing. And then a witch has to have a book made from paper, in case the tech fails her.
There is a new J D Kirk coming your way. It’s about his 58th by my reckoning. (I obviously haven’t counted. It just feels like it.)
Publishes in May, so you have to exercise a little patience (but that’s all right because in the mean time there are all those other Kirk crime novels).
New detective, D I Heather Filson. I like women detectives. And she gets to be published as a conventional book, printed on actual paper. Thank you, Zertex. You’re a good publisher.
I haven’t read this one. But I’ll take a giant leap of faith and say I expect it to be great. And successful. After all, appearing on the cover of The Bookseller must bring it to the attention of quite a few booksellers.
A year ago Bookwitch ruminated on what sells and what she reads and why.
Today I’m – because we are the same, Bookwitch and I – thinking about the effect Bookwitching has had not just on me but on the young and innocent, like Daughter. We have both put sixteen behind us – but only just. Obviously. Today it’s Bookwitch’s turn to hum ‘She was only sixteen…’
As you may have gathered, Daughter has recently moved and has some vintage shelves to arrange with books. And, it seems, a polar bear. Also two bookmarks, one of which I was intrigued to find personally dedicated and signed by Michelle Magorian.
This is the effect I mean. Somehow a lot of young literature has happened to Offspring. The vintage shelves I mentioned seem to contain mostly books by people I ‘know’ and who Daughter has met through being dragged on bring-your-child-to-work days.
There are an inordinate number of Cathy Hopkins books, and that’s as it should be. Likewise Caroline Lawrence and Liz Kessler and Jacqueline Wilson. Although the latter has had to be pruned down to more manageable numbers of books.
I won’t list them all, but basically, the story of Bookwitch can be seen on these shelves. There won’t be so many new ones, as the e-reader has taken over. This is just as well, because however lovely the vintageness from the local auction-hunter, a flat has only so much space.
Apologies for the tile samples. There is a kitchen splashback to deal with. And I would like it to be known that that book by Vaseem Khan has been ‘borrowed’ from a kind parent.
What a relief it was to be back with J D Kirk and his DCI Logan! Bad language and bad diet in Inverness, and some bad killings, obviously. They are gruesome, true. But he’s quite kind, with it, is J D. We don’t get to know the victims all that well, which helps, when they die a few minutes after you’ve met them. Yes, we care, but it’s not a personal loss.
You can tell I’m slow, can’t you? This is only my third J D Kirk. But it’s kind of nice to know there is a whole bunch* of them, still to be enjoyed, as and when I need them. And I think I’ve now learned that the peril that we know is coming to one or more of the regular characters, somewhere towards the end, is not going to be too bad. J D’s characters will come out of that danger, and the reader’s heartbeat can return to normal.
In The Killing Code someone goes round murdering people around town, including at the hospital, of all places. You can generally work out who – probably – did it, even when it seems somewhat farfetched, and the thrill is in reading on as Logan and his detectives bark up the wrong trees for a while, and wondering when they will see the light.
And Inverness comes across well. I’ve not been for many years, but I can tell it has changed a bit.
*I recommend the ebooks. If not, the way he’s going, you may well end up with a shelf with nothing but J D’s books on it. (Which, I suppose, is not a totally bad thing, but…)
It will be some time before I relax when we go to the park again. All those dogs running around.
Bad Dog is Alex Smith’s second book featuring DCI Kett, and he is no more sensible this time round. He risks his life, while his three young daughters are at home, missing their mum, but thankfully being looked after by someone who is good at it.
This one, as you might have gathered, is about dogs. And I’m sure you can work out what a bad dog might do. (Don’t read this with a meal!) But I like Robbie Kett and his fellow detectives, and even the boss, Clare, when I can remember that he’s not a girl, and that Clare is his surname.
There are dog attacks in the woods. There are some quite unsavoury characters living nearby. In fact, there are a number of neighbours, and you need to take your pick as to which way to direct your suspicions. (I was mostly right. But that only makes you even more worried about how things will develop.)
The girls are lovely, if somewhat wild and noisy. They, and I, would like DCI Kett to stay at home in a calm and orderly fashion for a little while, but that will never happen. Especially not after that cliffhanger.
We rolled up our sleeves and started chucking books at the sofa. Although first Daughter and Hetty dusted off the very worst, and let me tell you, the worst was pretty bad. Maybe dusting twice a year isn’t often enough?
There were books I felt really could go, because if I’m not getting any younger, I probably won’t reread them. And another thing about age; we find we don’t see so well when we [try to] read the classic Penguin Classics. The print is very small, isn’t it? The Resident IT Consultant is a firm believer in the e-reader, and the fact that if the author is long enough dead, then financially it makes sense – and sensibility – to go for the classic ebook experience. Out went Austen and Brontë. Gaskell is still here, but she can leave next time.
But yeah, we can both carry the complete works of – insert name of old author here – in our pockets. All at once.
And Daughter says we haven’t got rid of nearly enough books, but as I said, there can be a next time, or so I hope.
The odd thing about all this is that for all the books on the sofa – now in carrier bags for the charity shop – the gaps on the shelves are nowhere near as large as one would expect…
(And with the Edinburgh International Book Festival opening its doors tomorrow morning, I am rubbing my hands in anticipation of the bookshop experience I might have there!)
The second DCI Jack Logan thriller, by J D Kirk. This is what I went for last week, abandoning something that wasn’t doing it for me, opting instead for what Kirk’s alter ego Barry Hutchison cheekily describes as ‘quantity before quality.’ (This was ‘my’ second of the Jack Logan books, whereas in real life there are now about ten, unless he’s got to no. twenty without letting me know…)
It is quality. Yes, these are comfortable length, fast paced crime stories, but they are good. I’ll have to buy the next one(s) now.
I worked out, or rather, I sensed, who had done it from very early on. I just didn’t know how, or how the team would work it out and what impact it would have on them. That’s what makes you sit there as they chase after all the other potential suspects, until soon there is only one left. And you wonder how much peril there will be as the police discover their mistake.
Nicely set in and around Loch Ness, I can see how tourists might want to come and sightsee the murder scenes or picnic where the bodies were found. It all rings so true, too. I know very little about murderers and the police, but the books have got a nice Scottish feel to them.
The Occasional Bookwitch 