Skip to main content

Tartan Noir

Many great mystery writers choose detectives who are exemplary human beings. Donna Leon's Guido Brunetti is almost relentlessly imperturbable; Reginald Wexford, in Rendell's series, rarely has an untidy inner life; Adam Dalgliesh, in the PD James novels, consistently has himself pulled together.

What a treat, then, to contemplate the mess that is Carol Jordan. Ms. Jordan is Val McDermid's invention. She first appeared in 1995, in "The Mermaids Singing." She isn't even-tempered or fully reliable. She has a serious drinking problem; she is in love with an impotent man, just as damaged as she is; she regularly fails to say the politically sound thing during charged departmental meetings. She is dangling by a thread. I really love her.

McDermid explores depravity a bit more thoroughly than Rendell, Leon, and James. How do you know you're in a McDermid story? A child is made to stand in excrement, in a toilet, for hours on end. A serial killer runs around murdering psychologists and then "scalping" their pubic hair. Someone "spring-loads" a tin of cat food so that it will suddenly shoot acid into an unsuspecting victim's eyes. McDermid's terrain seems closer to the worlds of Thomas Harris and Stephen King than to the world of PD James.

So there's the baroque and gothic and horrifying landscape of the cases. And then there's McDermid's attention to detail. She imagines the indirect ploys that a person attempts in an e-mail, then she shows the recipient decoding those ploys. She pauses to notice when a character is scribbling notes rather than making direct eye contact with an adversary. She points out a character's "dress-smoothing" tic--how that small gesture is part of a sexual code, and how it's more important than anything happening in the reported dialogue.

I don't hunt down serial killers and I don't ever have to assume an undercover identity, but I know how tricky it is to get along in the working world, and I know what it's like to alter one's words and one's tone depending on one's audience. McDermid is really telling the story of holding down a job and attempting to make one's place in a complex community--and anyone can understand this story, even if the surface-level details involve acts of scalping and (in one memorable scene) a decision to set a barn full of horses on fire.

So: not for everyone. Not for the squeamish. But I admire McDermid's intelligence. And I'm generally happy to pick up a spooky story. Food for thought--if you're considering a trip to the library.

P.S. People wondered how the Carol Jordan series could continue after the major twists of "Insidious Intent." We'll soon have answers. 2019: "How the Dead Speak." Alluring title....

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...