Skip to main content

Crime Column

One of my favorite authors is Ian Rankin, who launched his own artistic career while studiously not-writing a dissertation on Muriel Spark. Rankin writes about flawed detectives in impossible situations, in Edinburgh, and he cranks out approximately one extravagantly-praised novel per year.

Around 2008, Rankin seemed to grow tired of his signature creation, Inspector Rebus, so he went in a new direction. He invented a character, Malcolm Fox, who had little in common with Rebus. Rebus is, famously, a drinker--and he is a guy who struggles with authority; by contrast, Fox has renounced alcohol, and he *is* authority, he watches the cops.

Fox made his debut in "The Complaints," in 2009, a novel that won praise from the grand master of European crime fiction, PD James. "The Complaints" refers to Fox's office--he handles and investigates complaints filed about other cops--but it also refers to something broader, more existential: The novel explores things we humans like to complain about. Loneliness, temptation, assholes at work, dishonesty, aging, weakness, gender inequality.

Rankin is known as a great engineer of plots, and in "The Complaints," he doesn't disappoint. Malcolm Fox must investigate a cop who may or may not have an interest in kiddie porn (Breck). At the same time, Breck must investigate Fox, because Fox looks like he may have murdered the tyrannical thug whom his sister had been dating. (Talk about cat and mouse!)

As these two men circle each other, additional stories develop. I'm especially interested in Fox's sister, Jude, short for "Judith," who lies about her boyfriend, Vince, and the injuries Vince inflicts. (I just fell down the stairs.) I'm interested in Fox smelling, and rejecting, an alcoholic drink. And I'm interested in Fox visiting his father in a retirement home, wondering if the "assisted-living" route is the right choice.

Rankin is such a pro, you don't often stop to appreciate his craft. You just feel that someone is watching actual life, and taking careful notes. At the same time, the scenes are more explosive and shocking than actual life tends to be.

I very much like this guy. I'm enjoying "The Complaints."
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more