Ian Rankin wanted to be Muriel Spark. Or someone like Muriel Spark. An august literary novelist. He studied Spark in grad school. But, in his own writing career, he found himself pulled, again and again, toward the crime novel. He stuck with his interest. Maybe eight or nine so-so books came into the world. Then Rankin found his stride--with "Black and Blue." Like Simenon, like Balzac, he has been tireless, producing and producing and producing through a now-legendary career.
My impression is that Rankin's "sweet spot" was right after "Black and Blue"--with "Dead Souls," "Set in Darkness," and "The Falls." But there's really no strong reason to think this. I need to investigate the newer novels, and maybe I'll get to that this year.
In any case, here's what you need to know about Rankin. He actually hasn't given up on the idea of "literary credibility." He feels that the crime novel is just as well-suited to the exploration of deep themes...as the quiet domestic novel, or the big State of England novel, is. He becomes frustrated with pretentiousness. Famously, he has argued that several Ruth Rendell novels were more deserving of the Booker Prize than the actual novels that actually won (and, really, can you disagree?) ...
The thing that draws me to Rankin is his exploration of the gap between speech and thought. Humans are often at odds with themselves; social discourse is a pageant, where we say what we actually mean through our evasions, our ellipses. In a Rankin scene, people are rarely direct. The clumsiness of human behavior: This is what has put a fire under Rankin, and the fire has not gone out.
Take, for example, an early scene in "The Falls." A retiring detective recalls one of his first days on the job. A small, deranged boy came to him, blood on his face. The boy said, creepily: "Why is she in pieces?" (Or something similarly mysterious.) Eventually, it emerged that the boy had murdered his own sister. But, see: That's not what he said. His own awkward choice of words was haunting (and almost beautiful). I love that Rankin invents that gesture, that detail, and I love, also, that Rankin is willing to insert small bits of horror-plotting into the detective genre. (In this way, he resembles the screenwriters for one of my favorite TV shows, "Luther.")
Take, also, a soccer game. (In Scotland, we call it "football.") Inspector Rebus notes the man nearby, who is screaming anxiously, "Easy does it! Easy there! Take it easy!" This is obviously absurd: The man needs to take his own advice. Rebus eventually, gently, asks him to take a deep breath. Obliviously, the man says, "It's good to scream! Good for the soul and spirit! Gets the nervousness out!" And now, comedy: Rebus wants ardently to say, "Good for YOUR health, perhaps, but not for mine." He resists the temptation.
It's such a vivid, funny, and REAL scene--inserted in the middle of a police procedural. I do not think you are likely to find that in "Law and Order."
Someone as interested in subtext would, of course, love codes, and "The Falls" gives us some creepy examples. An online game with stages entitled "Hellfire" and "Quizmaster" requires one inspector to puzzle out what an allusion to "the Queen" might mean. A scattered trail of small, five-inch coffins, near Arthur's Seat, leads one inspector to wonder if the "toys" are in fact calling cards (just as Buffalo Bill uses butterflies, during his killings, in "The Silence of the Lambs").
Any piece on Rankin would also be incomplete if it failed to mention Edinburgh. Rankin's love for the city jumps off the page. Evocative references to the Castle, to Arthur's Seat, to the Parliament Building, to Holyrood, to the Scotland Museum (new and old), to the Oxford Bar make you travel back in time, and across an ocean, onto another continent. You are able to escape your New York life. The experience is enlivened if you have traveled to Scotland--and, if you haven't, please do!
Anyway, tomorrow, Saturday, will be a day of rain. My husband will be on an errand. I have visions of a silent, lazy, gray day; I'm on a couch, and I'm spending all my time with Inspector Rebus. I can think of few more pleasurable activities.
*P.S. On the topic of subtext: One of my favorite moments in "The Falls" concerns Rebus's drinking. The guy is an alcoholic, and who can blame him? His wife is gone, his daughter is permanently disabled, he spends his professional life thinking about death. His former flame, Gill, becomes his boss. To scare him into sobriety, she claims he (semi-blacked-out) made a pass at her after one binge. (It turns out this story is a lie.) "I will make your doctor's appointment FOR YOU," says Gill, another gesture that speaks volumes. When a fictional world is so textured, so layered, so richly-imagined, you have to thank your lucky stars.
*P.P.S. I imagine Spark would approve of Rankin. Spark, too, had little patience for pretentiousness. And she made use of "genre-fiction" conventions in at least one of her novels: "The Driver's Seat."
*P.P.P.S. Rebus has a famous sentence he likes to use in the midst of all the madness of daily life: "Fuck you, too, Pal." He murmurs this under his breath. Try it. A pleasure!
My impression is that Rankin's "sweet spot" was right after "Black and Blue"--with "Dead Souls," "Set in Darkness," and "The Falls." But there's really no strong reason to think this. I need to investigate the newer novels, and maybe I'll get to that this year.
In any case, here's what you need to know about Rankin. He actually hasn't given up on the idea of "literary credibility." He feels that the crime novel is just as well-suited to the exploration of deep themes...as the quiet domestic novel, or the big State of England novel, is. He becomes frustrated with pretentiousness. Famously, he has argued that several Ruth Rendell novels were more deserving of the Booker Prize than the actual novels that actually won (and, really, can you disagree?) ...
The thing that draws me to Rankin is his exploration of the gap between speech and thought. Humans are often at odds with themselves; social discourse is a pageant, where we say what we actually mean through our evasions, our ellipses. In a Rankin scene, people are rarely direct. The clumsiness of human behavior: This is what has put a fire under Rankin, and the fire has not gone out.
Take, for example, an early scene in "The Falls." A retiring detective recalls one of his first days on the job. A small, deranged boy came to him, blood on his face. The boy said, creepily: "Why is she in pieces?" (Or something similarly mysterious.) Eventually, it emerged that the boy had murdered his own sister. But, see: That's not what he said. His own awkward choice of words was haunting (and almost beautiful). I love that Rankin invents that gesture, that detail, and I love, also, that Rankin is willing to insert small bits of horror-plotting into the detective genre. (In this way, he resembles the screenwriters for one of my favorite TV shows, "Luther.")
Take, also, a soccer game. (In Scotland, we call it "football.") Inspector Rebus notes the man nearby, who is screaming anxiously, "Easy does it! Easy there! Take it easy!" This is obviously absurd: The man needs to take his own advice. Rebus eventually, gently, asks him to take a deep breath. Obliviously, the man says, "It's good to scream! Good for the soul and spirit! Gets the nervousness out!" And now, comedy: Rebus wants ardently to say, "Good for YOUR health, perhaps, but not for mine." He resists the temptation.
It's such a vivid, funny, and REAL scene--inserted in the middle of a police procedural. I do not think you are likely to find that in "Law and Order."
Someone as interested in subtext would, of course, love codes, and "The Falls" gives us some creepy examples. An online game with stages entitled "Hellfire" and "Quizmaster" requires one inspector to puzzle out what an allusion to "the Queen" might mean. A scattered trail of small, five-inch coffins, near Arthur's Seat, leads one inspector to wonder if the "toys" are in fact calling cards (just as Buffalo Bill uses butterflies, during his killings, in "The Silence of the Lambs").
Any piece on Rankin would also be incomplete if it failed to mention Edinburgh. Rankin's love for the city jumps off the page. Evocative references to the Castle, to Arthur's Seat, to the Parliament Building, to Holyrood, to the Scotland Museum (new and old), to the Oxford Bar make you travel back in time, and across an ocean, onto another continent. You are able to escape your New York life. The experience is enlivened if you have traveled to Scotland--and, if you haven't, please do!
Anyway, tomorrow, Saturday, will be a day of rain. My husband will be on an errand. I have visions of a silent, lazy, gray day; I'm on a couch, and I'm spending all my time with Inspector Rebus. I can think of few more pleasurable activities.
*P.S. On the topic of subtext: One of my favorite moments in "The Falls" concerns Rebus's drinking. The guy is an alcoholic, and who can blame him? His wife is gone, his daughter is permanently disabled, he spends his professional life thinking about death. His former flame, Gill, becomes his boss. To scare him into sobriety, she claims he (semi-blacked-out) made a pass at her after one binge. (It turns out this story is a lie.) "I will make your doctor's appointment FOR YOU," says Gill, another gesture that speaks volumes. When a fictional world is so textured, so layered, so richly-imagined, you have to thank your lucky stars.
*P.P.S. I imagine Spark would approve of Rankin. Spark, too, had little patience for pretentiousness. And she made use of "genre-fiction" conventions in at least one of her novels: "The Driver's Seat."
*P.P.P.S. Rebus has a famous sentence he likes to use in the midst of all the madness of daily life: "Fuck you, too, Pal." He murmurs this under his breath. Try it. A pleasure!
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