Tag Archives: Adrian McKinty

The goat

I nearly always read the news one day late, and sometimes not at all. But one morning this week my attention was drawn to the short piece about the goat in a Carrickfergus shop.

Goats are nearly always fun, but I primarily noticed it because of Carrickfergus, where I’ve never been, but which is home to one of my most favourite detectives, Adrian McKinty’s Duffy.

Then, for some reason, I decided to dive into my junkmail, which I hardly ever do. (I ought to really, as it often contains important stuff.) Found a tweet by Adrian McKinty about funny books, and followed the trail to Adrian’s blog, thinking it was odd how he cropped up twice in a morning.

On the blog I followed the trail further to Adrian’s new website where – naturally – there was a goat. In Carrickfergus. In a shop. You couldn’t make it up.

Except Adrian did. The *new, as yet unpublished sixth Duffy (yay!) has a scene where Duffy encounters a goat in Carrickfergus.

Duffy and the goat

The annoying thing about this deliciously funny coincidence will be that in future people will say Adrian borrowed the incident from the news.

*Police at the Station and They Don’t Look Friendly.

Bookwitch bites #137

No, no, no. David Walliams is not ‘the biggest name in children’s books.’ He just isn’t. He’s a famous man, and he writes books many children enjoy, and they sell well. But he is not the biggest, no matter what festivals such as Bath say in their sales emails. I realise they are happy to have him coming, and I’m glad they are happy, but for bigness we need to look elsewhere. Or even in their own festival programme, where surely Michael Morpurgo is a not inconsiderable name.

Michael, since we’ve moved on to him, opened an exhibition at Seven Stories this weekend. I’d have loved to go, but somehow Newcastle appeared to be further away than I had hoped. I’m guessing it’s a similarly informative exhibition about Michael and his work, rather like the Jacqueline Wilson one a few years ago. It should be well worth going to.

Moving on to adult crime, Marnie Riches is yet again in with a chance of winning an award for her George McKenzie books. This time it’s the Tess Gerritsen Award for Best Series, and if you click here you can vote for her. (Or someone else, should you be so minded…) I did, and it was easy. Marnie might want to kiss you for it, or so she says, but if you run fast enough this can – hopefully – be avoided.

There’s no end to awards that can be won, so I’ve got my fingers crossed for Adrian McKinty and his Rain Dogs in the Theakston’s Crime Novel of the Year Award. His publisher has made this page for Adrian, where you can read about when he met Jimmy Savile, as well as Adrian’s future with colouring books. I’m sure it’s going to be bright.

Into Swedish

Stephen Booth, Bron

I read in the paper that Swedish is one of the biggest sources for books translated into English. That’s good, but I also like for books to travel the other way. And generally I feel it’s not that unusual, as Swedes like their Anglo-Saxon fiction, and authors like Stephen Booth find that their first translation is into Swedish.

But then there are the books by people I love who don’t get to make the move and it irritates me. I’m quite good at griping about it. Sometimes it helps, but generally not. The one I go on about the most is Adrian McKinty. Not only are his books terrific, but I reckon that his Sean Duffy series especially would appeal greatly to Swedes.

Adrian McKinty, Kall, Kall Jord

So I was pleased to get a comment on Swedish Bookwitch a week or so ago, on an old post about my interview with Adrian. It was from Nils Larsson, a translator, who told me he was about to start work on the first Duffy book. I looked him up, and he has translated a lot of crime, lots of big names, for thirty years or so. That sounds like recommendation enough.

The publisher is Modernista, and I looked them up too, as I’d never heard of them. That was more interesting than I’d expected. The first links you come to are all about how they annoy everyone else in the business by buying the translation rights to books they don’t have the publication rights for.

That sounded odd, and I don’t lay claim to understanding it, except it seems strange, bordering on the dodgy. They say it’s perfectly all right and that they are very helpful, while their opponents say the opposite. As they would.

James Oswald, Bödelns Sång

Hopefully they are nice and normal most of the time, and simply publish books like anyone else. I had a look at their list and found another favourite of mine; James Oswald. They have three of his books out now, and by sheer coincidence James posted a photo of his latest Swedish translation on Facebook just as I had discovered this new-to-me publisher. James told me that he’d had some contact with his Swedish translator about various timeline inconsistencies that no one else had noticed. He says we are very literal-minded… Bödelns Sång is published this week.

Adrian McKinty’s Kall, Kall Jord won’t be out until October, but anything that good is worth waiting for.

Bookwitch bites #136

The rain is very wet as I write this. There is lots of it. We’ve got men working on making a new front garden and the Resident IT Consultant is feeling guilty for leaving them out in the rain. I told him they must do this a lot, so are used to it, and that they can’t very well put paving down inside the house anyway.

Here is Adrian McKinty reading the first chapter from his latest novel, Rain Dogs. It’s the one where Duffy meets Muhammad Ali. It’s rather nice hearing Adrian’s voice. It brings you closer to Carrickfergus.

Whether the weather was drier in Wexford when Eoin Colfer was a boy, I have no idea. But the photo the Guardian used for their column looks lovely and sunny. Here is the Laureate na nÓg musing about slightly illegal behaviour during his childhood. Me, I use my own photo to avoid argument (other than Eoin being told off for waving at me). It’s from the same occasion as theirs.

Eoin Colfer

Someone else who is very friendly and has a fancy title is the new Scottish Makar, Jackie Kay. I have to admit to being rather hazy on what a makar actually is, as I only encountered the term after moving north (for some reason you don’t talk so much about particularly Scottish things down south). Looking it up on Wikipedia the answer is poet or bard. And Jackie certainly is that. I’m so pleased they chose her as our new Makar.

Jackie Kay

And, there is the Manchester connection, too. Jackie still lives there, while being thoroughly Scottish.

Rain Dogs

Another mid-January, another Duffy review. This is a tradition I’ll happily keep going for much, much longer. I could have sworn Adrian McKinty intended Duffy to be a trilogy. Or perhaps I only imagined it. Suffice to say, when I opened the package and found the fifth Duffy novel inside, I was one happy witch.

Duffy has just been abandoned by his live-in partner (I had a moment of fear that I’d forgotten someone so significant in his life, but she was new, and is already leaving. Because Duffy is too old…), and he has also just shaken the hand of Muhammad Ali (fictitious, but realistic, visit to Northern Ireland by the great man), when he is faced with his second locked-room mystery. This seems like too much of a coincidence, for one policeman, in such a short time. In Carrickfergus.

It is.

He is up against more evil and cunning criminals. In fact, the murderer is who you’d expect, except it’s so obvious, but you can’t work out how it could be possible. And Duffy continues to look for bombs under his car.

Adrian McKinty, Rain Dogs

Our detective travels to Liverpool and to London, as well as to a snowy Finland where the sea freezes over and the policemen don’t talk. He meets Jimmy Savile, who’s nowhere near as friendly off-camera as he seems on television…

McCrabban is a rock as always, and Lawson, the newbie from last year’s book, looks promising, if only Adrian will let him live.

Towards the very end I feared for Duffy’s safety. I could see how his creator might want to finish him off (despite giving him a cat), but luckily he didn’t, so I live in hope of book six. And perhaps even books ten or twelve?

(For probably the first time in my crime-reading life I could tell how the murderer got out of the locked room.)

Harrogate

Now I dream of Harrogate. Me, who has never even made it to Betty’s Tea Rooms. 27 years in the Northwest and not a single trip to Harrogate…

Theakston’s Old Peculier Crime Writing Weekend is not something I have seriously considered going to before, especially as it takes place in mid-July, which is a time fraught with holiday plans and trips to Sweden. And things. Last year I felt dismay when I heard JK Rowling was attending, but quickly dismissed this negative thought.

And now, now there are more people who draw me there and I so want to go. Sara Paretsky will be there, and so early that a day trip is out of the question, and all those Northern Irish boys I’m fond of, including Adrian McKinty back in the Northern hemisphere. James Oswald. Stieg Larsson, except he’s not, of course.

I looked at all the suggested crime hotels for the weekend and they look positively irresistible, straight out of an Agatha Christie novel.

It’s still the middle of July, however. And I know for a fact that when the time comes I will be pleased not to be going to yet one more place, or more events.

But right now I’m at the point where I want to!

Gun Street Girl

Finding Adrian McKinty’s Gun Street Girl – his fourth Sean Duffy novel – in the post was like Christmas coming early. It was unexpected, and all the more wonderful for it. I would like to think it’s still not the last Duffy, but couldn’t say, other than he doesn’t die…

Gun Street Girl is Belfast in 1985, and I’d forgotten most of the big news, like the Anglo-Irish Agreement, and a couple of other ones that help make up the plot, so I won’t name them. But it’s so incredibly interesting to read about it ‘from the inside’ as it were, even if Adrian is helped by hindsight, since we now know how things developed afterwards.

Adrian McKinty, Gun Street Girl

A double murder followed by the – maybe – suicide by the murderer, and another death and some more attempts to kill is enough to make Sean want to solve the crime he can see while others don’t want to meddle too much. They have a new boss in Carrickfergus, as well as two brand new detectives, who are thrust into the mayhem as they learn on the job.

Sean seems lonelier than before. There is a hilarious chapter when he tries a dating service (seems no one wants to get romantically involved with a – possibly – shortlived police officer).

Gerry Adams is back in a cameo, Thatcher is pulling strings in the background and those pesky Americans think they are the boss. (They probably are.)

Gun-running, politics, love and murder. You can’t ask for more when it’s Adrian doing the writing. Personally I want more Duffy, but maybe he has been beaten up too many times for that to be likely. And I was going to say that perhaps it’s not good for me to have all I want, but I felt fantastic reading Gun Street Girl. Just saying.