Canongate, 2026, 316 p.

A third outing for Welsh’s Rilke, auctioneer at Bowery Auctions in Glasgow – and sometime private investigator. On page 1 – no messing here – he discovers a body on the auction rooms’ back premises. This is Mandy Manderson, a Bowery Auctions client, killed with a hatpin pushed through his eye; a hatpin which Rose Bowery, the auction rooms’ owner, had been brandishing before television cameras as a potential murder weapon only hours earlier. To protect Rose, whom he knows is not a killer, Rilke removes the hatpin, cleans it up and restores it to the auction lot before calling the police.

Rilke thereafter is treading a fine line between the SIO, Inspector Murchison, son of a well-known judge, and crime boss Ray (Razzle Dazzle) Diamond, who has taken displeasure at Rilke’s childhood pal Les, recently out of jail, but wants Rilke to find the killer since Manderson had been on his payroll.

Throw in Rilke’s homosexuality, dodgy cop Thurso Scanlon (Les’s nemesis and also on Rilke’s case,) a connection to Gallowhall, a former boys’ home with a bad reputation, and the pot is well stirred.

This is the usual accomplished offering from Welsh, with rounded characters, a cast of suspects, the sense of Glasgow as a city, a well-placed hint of the perpetrator and some red herrings to follow up.

Pedant’s corner:- “A table of actors …. were engaged in” (the subject of the verb here isn’t actually actors but table; ‘a table of …. was engaged in’,) “Jetpacks’ ribs” (Jetpacks’ several times; Jetpacks’s.) “A selection of sandwiches and shop-bought cakes were sweating beneath clingfilm” (a selection … was sweating,) “Mary, Queen of Scots’ final walk” (Scots’s,) “Tam Shepherds Trick Shop” (Shepherd’s, surely?) sat (x 2, sitting,) Panetella (x 3, that type of cigar is a Panatella, panatela or panetela.)

Little, Brown, 2020, 442 p.

The sixth Karen Pirie book and again she is juggling two cases.

The first is when a skeleton is discovered in a campervan stored in a house’s garage for years. Suspicion falls on the deceased owner’s former lover, who abandoned her for a life as an artist. The second is a live case of a body hauled up along with a creel by a fishing boat off Elie. Since the dead man is one James Auld, whose brother Ian, a high-up civil servant in the Scottish Office, disappeared ten years before, and Karen had recently reviewed his case, she is given the remit.

James had fallen under suspicion of murdering his brother and to escape that had made a new life for himself by joining the Foreign Legion and then settling in France as one Paul Allard. Since the initial investigation was carried out in Fife DS Daisy Mortimer out of the Kirkcaldy Police office ends up seconded to Karen’s Historic Cases Unit. (This becomes semi-permanent when Karen’s assistant DC Jason Murray – aka the Mint – suffers a broken leg during the investigation.)

Connections in both cases are soon made – though not between them – but take time to tease out. In the meantime Karen is still grieving over the death of her former lover Phil Parhatka and worried about the direction her new relationship with Hamish, owner of a small chain of coffee shops in Edinburgh and a cottage up north. He does perform a useful function here though by identifying a mysterious male in a photograph of Ian Auld found in James’s French apartment. This is David Greig, once an enfant terrible artist, who committed suicide not long after Ian Auld’s disappearance. When Karen learns six well-known Scottish paintings were stolen from the Scottish Office and replaced by forgeries in the years immediately prior to the Toy/Lib Dem coalition government she begins to join the dots.

Pedant’s corner:- Plus points for “amn’t I?” “There were a handful” (there was a handful,)  “James’ message” (James’s.)

Tor, 2025, 123 p.

Rose House was deceased architect Basit Deniau’s greatest creation, “curled like the petals of a gypsum crystal in the shadow of a dune” in the Mojave desert. Rose House is the house where he died – and his mausoleum, his compressed remains fashioned into a diamond displayed on a plinth. It was left in his will to Deniau’s one-time student turned critic Dr Selene Gisil. Only she can have access – and only for seven days a year.

Rose House is a haunt, embedded with artificial intelligence. Selene hates it so much she left after only three of those days and fled to Turkey to pursue her career there.

Rose House has just telephoned China Lake Police Precinct to inform its officers there is a dead body inside it, as it was legally required to do.

The novella Rose/House is a locked room mystery, whose subject matter lies at the intersection of Science Fiction, horror and crime. A locked room (or locked house) to which the police cannot gain access.

A neat premise, certainly, and a book densely, even philosophically, written.

So, how did someone gain entry to Rose House only to be killed? And how can the police solve a crime or even assess the scene in such a restricted building?

To Detective Maritza Smith – forced to identify as the inanimate China Lake Police Precinct in order to gain entry along with Selene, recalled from Turkey – the house has a pervading sense of menace. To the reader it comes across like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Martine handles all this well. But the novella’s setting in the late 22^nd century seems much too far off.

Pedant’s corner:- “which oughtn’t have surprised her” (oughtn’t to have surprised her,) “Torres’ offer” (Torres’s,) “amongst Los Angeles’ most distinguished” (Los Angeles’s,) “sat in the back seat” (seated; or sitting,) a sentence ending in ‘did they’ but without a question mark, “chile enchilada” (chili enchilada,) putrescene (putrescine – used later.)

Little Brown, 2018, 428 p.

This is the fifth outing for Karen Pirie, head of Police Scotland’s Historic Cases Unit, at the start here still trying to come to terms with the death of her romantic partner, Phil Parhatka, unable to sleep until she has walked herself to exhaustion in the streets of Edinburgh late at night.

She is juggling three cases, two hers, one not. The HCU is working on a series of brutal rapes from the 1980s whose perpetrator’s make of car they have a new lead on when a murder in Wester Ross, linked to the burial there of two Indian motorcycles left behind by the US Army after World War 2, turns up. Karen also has a peripheral involvement in a murder case she takes an interest in after a conversation between two women she overheard in a café twitched her police instincts.

Her hopes at the replacement of her old boss by the new one being a woman – female solidarity and all that – are swiftly extinguished. Assistant Chief Constable Ann Markie has saddled Karen with a new DS, Gerald McCartney, mostly in order to spy on her. My suspension of disbelief at this second boss in a row wanting rid of Karen was not quite assuaged by the reasons given for it, which seemed altogether too programmatic. But fiction is all about conflict. And Karen’s approach to her work is unconventional and occasionally confrontational, if not downright bolshie. Not qualities likely to endear you to a boss sensitive to public and political scrutiny.

There are ongoing updates on Karen’s background, the café Aleppo she helped Syrian refugees to establish in the previous book has been a success and her assistant DC Jason ‘the Mint’ Murray is growing into the job while the tedium of some police work is not ignored.

But the duty of the detectives in a novel is to set the world to rights by finding the perpetrators and calling them to account. So job done. Inasmuch as a murder can be set to rights.

Pedant’s corner:- “River’s voice was a clear as” (was as clear as.) “There were a handful of Lanarkshire towns” (There was a handful,) scoffed (various characters do this at various times; e g ‘Jason scoffed.’ Scoffing usually requires further elaboration,) “a pair of gin and tonics” (the main noun here is gin; it is that which should be plural: ‘a pair of gins and tonic’.)

Head of Zeus, 2023, 397 p.

This is the second in Tidhar’s Maror sequence, in which he examines the history of Israel. I reviewed the first here. In Adama (the name is Hebrew for earth, and here is used as a synonym for homeland) the focus is on the setting up and evolution of the Israeli state as seen through the experiences of the members of one family. The book is episodic in nature, ranging in time from Haifa in 1946 and a displaced persons, DP, camp in Germany in 1947 via the war to establish Israel (what Palestinians refer to as the Nakba,) the aftermaths of the Six Day and Yom Kippur wars, events in Kibbutz Trashim in intervening years, to Florida in 2009; not necessarily in date order.

Told in fifteen parts starting with one titled The End and with the last called The Beginning, our viewpoint characters are matriarch Ruth, her sister Shosh, their children Yoram, Ophek and Yael, grandchildren Lior and Esther, fourth generation Hanna and Shosh’s husband Dov.

As a staunch believer in a Jewish homeland, Ruth made her way to Palestine early, leaving behind in Europe her family who were apparently betrayed to the Nazis by Shosh’s then boyfriend Nathan Deutsch – upon whom Ruth later wreaks an extended revenge. Only Shosh survived. Unlike her sister, Shosh was not invested in the dream of Israel, only ever wanting to make her way to the US. Their descendants navigate the vicissitudes of the Israeli experience, the souring of the kibbutz ideal of socialism, its failure (and by extension Israel’s) to live up to its promise, the compromises and accommodations necessary to keep things going.

Ruth does what she has to as a member of the Jewish underground during the British mandate; as does Shosh in her efforts to be away from the DP camp. Only Ruth has some success. Dov’s tale relates to the 1948 war and shows its unforgiving nature. Kibbutz life is illuminated in passing as the book’s incidents unfold.

In 1989 Lior returns to the kibbutz from Tel Aviv for the funeral of his friend Danny, not believing the story he is told about Danny’s apparent suicide, and finds something rotten in its state. “Lior knew what hash smelled like, it smelled like Lebanon, there was so fucking much of it.” In this section Chief Inspector Cohen from Maror makes a brief appearance, reminding the reader (if any such were needed) of the murky underbelly of Israeli society which Tidhar is exploring.

A prominent recurring reference in the novel is a fictional film called The Vultures, starring actor Bill Goodrich, a film shot partly in the kibbutz, perhaps here intended to show the founding of Israel as Israelis would like to see it: but extortion, drug running and violence are never far away from any of the characters in this book.

Tidhar’s writing is immediate; sharp, abrasive and to the point. Despite its tight focus, Adama contains multitudes.

Pedant’s corner:- “Ruth was sat in front of the television” (‘was sitting in front of the television.) “They were sat in the Casino” (They were sitting,) “where there were nothing but camels” (where there was nothing but….,) “the metaplot” (elsewhere spelled metapelet.) “‘Did he, fuck,’ he said.” (no need for that comma after ‘he’; plus it actually changes the meaning.)

Robinson, 2019, 377 p.

Following on from Life For a Life I would most likely never have looked at this, crime fiction not really being my thing, except that  the good lady had borrowed it from the local library so I thought I might as well.

A fishing boat washed up on Tentsmuir beach is found to contain a body restrained by wire in such a way that any movement would have resulted in a slow death. The boat belonged to Joe Christie who had disappeared – along with the boat – several years ago. The victim isn’t Christie though but Stooky Dee, an alleged associate of big Jock Shepherd, Scotland’s criminal kingpin. Muir makes much use of italicising alleged in the book in relation to Shepherd’s activities. DCI Andy Gilchrist, based in St Andrews, investigates the case.

Gilchrist has problems with his adult children and difficulties with the forensic pathologist Dr Rebecca Cooper whose brief liaison with him she cut off when she decided to reconcile with her husband. These attempts to humanise our hero are something of a distraction from the main plot. There is a nice moment, though, when Gilchrist tells his daughter when she says he knows how to talk to women as if he knows what they’re thinking, “No man knows what any woman is thinking.”

It soon turns out others of Shepherd’s henchmen, Cutter Boyd and Hatchet McBirn, have been killed recently but it seems the police in Strathclyde, Shepherd’s main area of operations, do not want Gilchrist muscling in on the case.

Further complications arise from Gilchrist’s DS Jessie Janes’s brother Tommy – on the run accused of murder, though Jessie doesn’t think he did it – contacting her about information he wants to give her.

All is mixed up with a big drug deal the Strathclyde force – along with HM Government – is hoping will lead to the arrests of major dealers, for which they send DI Fox, a supercilious creature to retrieve the case files from Fife.

Things become a bit too conspiracy laden when Gilchrist and (Jessie) Janes are tied up in a lock-up garage in Anstruther before a shoot-out resolves their problem.

This book confirmed that modern crime fiction is not for me. I doubt I’ll sample Muir’s work again. (It’s also enough to give anyone an aversion to visiting Fife.)

Pedant’s corner:- “to go back onboard” (back on board,) “a dumpster” (not a UK term. Muir’s sojourn in the US has got to him. We say ‘skip’, or [maybe] ‘wheelie-bin’,) “as if everyone …. were indoors” (as if everyone  … was indoors,) “driven to the scrappies and dumped” (not a plural; a possessive: ‘to the scrappy’s’.) “Capisci?” (it’s spelled ‘Capisce’,) “right from the get-go” (‘right from the start’; please,) “when the caller finally gave out” (gave up,) “that all was not well” (that not all was well.)

Little Brown, 2016, 440 p.

In this (fourth) instalment of the cases of DCI Karen Pirie she is still trying to get over the death of her romantic (and former professional) partner Phil Paratka, murdered in the line of duty in The Skeleton Road. Unable to sleep properly she strolls the backways of Edinburgh at night, particularly the Restalrig railway path.

We start, though, with Ross Garvie, a joyriding teenager, whose exploits lead to him killing his three passengers in a crash and only surviving himself in a deep coma.

Then we meet (briefly) Gabriel Abbott, an obsessive about exploitation in the third world unburdening his worries about a Thai correspondent of his to a friend in a pub in Kinross.

Garvie’s DNA provides a familial hit to the murder of Tina MacDonald in Glasgow years before, thus giving Pirie’s cold case unit a lead, but complicated by the fact Garvie was adopted and accessing the original birth certificate is all but legally forbidden.

Then Abbott is found murdered on the path by Loch Leven from Kinross. It turns out his mother was killed by a bomb on a light aircraft years before – an atrocity blamed at the time on the IRA despite the crude MO not being a fit. Pirie does not believe in such coincidences but the local officer has dismissed Abbott’s death as a suicide.

Cue much treading on toes as Pirie sets out to solve both cases and the aircraft bombing, ignoring protocol as is her wont.

A sub-plot involving Syrian refugees she meets on the railway path who have nowhere they can meet up manages to entwine with the main one near the end.

I suppose this is pretty standard police procedural (or in Pirie’s case non-procedural) fare but McDermid keeps the pages turning.

Pedant’s corner:-  “none of them were worried” (none of them was worried,) “Lees’ reward” (Lees’s reward,) “macaroon bars made traditionally with icing sugar and mashed potatoes” (McDermid is here misrepresenting for comic effect, macaroon bars are not made from mashed potato,) congratulations for the subscripts in H₂O and H₂SO₄, “where the leak sprung from” (sprang from.) “Noble shook head” (shook his head,) snuck (horrible USianism; ‘sneaked’, please.)

Constable, 2013, 394 p. First published 2007.

There is a certain sameness to modern crime fiction; which is to say modern detective fiction. Gone are the days of the gentleman sleuth such as Poirot or Wimsey, and the even more gentle woman, Miss Marple, solving crimes almost at leisure and in relatively salubrious surroundings. Now we have the hard-bitten, hardened police detective dealing with contemporary (well, in this case twelve years old) psychopathic criminality in all its grisly detail.

I would not normally have read this but it is set almost exclusively in Fife, where I live, (with such familiar locations as Boarhills, Kingsbarns, Crail and St Andrews,) and was recommended by our nearest local librarian as an introduction to the author prior to his visit to the library this November. Suitably enough it was published by Constable.

The short Chapter One features a young woman fleeing from a brutal captivity along a Fife coastal path on a freezing night. That is the last time we are given her point of view. It is her body DCI Andy Gilchrist, a widower, and his new DS Jessica (Jessie) Janes, are called to investigate a few days later, dead from a blow to the head, possibly after a fall from the path, and subsequent exposure. They trace her back to a cottage in Kingsbarns where they find two more young women dead, decapitated, and evidence of enslavement into prostitution.

Janes has a sideline in stand-up comedy which she undertakes to try out jokes written by her deaf son, Robert. Her mother has a criminal record but is a constant thorn in her side trying to gain legal access to Robert.  Gilchrist and the forensic pathologist Dr Rebecca Cooper have a mutual attraction complicated by the fact that she is married to someone else (albeit not happily). One of the other female detectives has a problematic relationship with a man who turns out to be unknowingly involved in the case, another has a booze problem.

I thought Janes’s background as teased out by Gilchrist in their conversations and his investigations into her mother’s origins would have made it unlikely for her ever to have been accepted into the police but maybe their standards aren’t too high these days.

This is pretty much the standard police procedural offering but some of the details were perhaps unnecessarily gruesome (of course this may be what the crime fiction market now demands) and there was a cliffhanger scene which stretched credulity by being kept going too long.

On putting this book onto my Library Thing account I found this was actually DC Gilchrist’s fourth appearance in print. I may try one more to confirm my thoughts that it’s not really my thing.

Pedant’s corner:- In the Acknowledgements “whne” (when.) Otherwise; “change in tack” (x 3, the phrase is usually ‘change of tack’,) “chaffed and reddened by a cold Scottish wind” (chafed and reddened,) “all was not as it seemed” (not all was as it seemed,) “oblivious of his presence” (it’s ‘oblivious to’ not ‘oblivious of’,) “as his drove on” (as he drove on,) “the Kingsbarns’ killings” (Kingsbarns here is adjectival, not possessive; ‘the Kingsbarns killings’,) two police acronyms used and immediately explained within two lines (both could have been avoided or worked around without loss of clarity,) “not to help him breath” (help him breathe,) facia (fascia,) “and looked at Gilchrist’s way” (and looked Gilchrist’s way,) “seemed to be order of the day” (to be the order of the day) “toodle-do” (the formulation is usually ‘toodle-oo’.)

Zaffre, 2024, 391 p.

The author is of course the doyenne of Countdown’s Dictionary Corner and the title of this, her first novel, plays on that connection. As do the book’s contents. It is set in Oxford among the lexicographers of the Clarendon English Dictionary (presumably a thinly-disguised OED,) and each chapter is prefaced by a word – some obscure, others not – along with its definition, which encapsulates the events depicted. In addition most of the characters at one time or another think of the derivation of a word that comes into their thoughts. In this respect Guilty by Definition has similarities with Eley Williams’s The Liar’s Dictionary though here the insertion of such definitions seemed more intrusive. It is however likely to be exactly what readers might expect from a novel by Dent.

The plot relates to the sudden disappearance ten or so years earlier of Charlotte Thornhill, sister of this story’s main character Martha. After a long sojourn in Berlin Martha was appointed senior editor at the CED six months before the novel’s events, to the chagrin of her colleague Simon who had coveted the job.

The action kicks off when mysterious letters written in a cryptic style from someone calling themselves Chorus begin to arrive at the CED and at the homes of various people connected to it. They seem to point at a mystery involving Charlotte’s disappearance and hint that she was murdered.

The rest of the novel consists in the team trying to unravel the clues the letters from Chorus contain in order to discover what Charlotte had been doing in the months before her disappearance, what became of her and, finally, just who Chorus is. This involves a dealer in antiquarian books for whom Charlotte did some work before branching out on her own and the existence of a commonplace book compiled by Shakespeare’s sister Joan Hart for whom Guilty by Definition may be an attempt to reclaim for history.

Dent’s writing is efficient enough but nothing out of the ordinary. I suppose the book might be classified as cosy crime since any nefarious activities occur offstage

Note. One character uses the Scots term whisht – used in the imperative as an injunction to stop talking (though it’s more often pronounced and spelled as wheesht.)

Pedant’s corner:- whiskey (many times; whisky,) half-silouetted (silhouetted,) “casting a prism that danced and flickered on the wall” (prisms aren’t cast. Light is cast through them and is thereby refracted,) “lying prostate on the ground” (prostrate, surely,) “Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” (Douglas Adams’s,) “‘perhaps that’s one of reasons’” (one of the reasons,) the digit ‘8’ appears several times, sometimes within a larger number; in each case it looks upside down – with the larger piece of its hour-glass shape to the top, not the bottom,) “a slip … bearing the name of the lender” (this being a system for allowing books in the Bodleian Library to be consulted, ‘of the borrower’ makes more sense.)

Head of Zeus, 2022, 558 p

The author has previously displayed his middle Eastern background in a couple of books, Central Station and Neom, and his Jewish heritage in A Man Lies Dreaming but as far as I know he has not up till now examined the state of Israel. As I was typing it I intended that that last sentence contains a pun. Because here we have a kind of history of Israel from 1974 to 2008 – of its existence as an entity and of its situation as a nation. For as much as it is anything this is a “condition of Israel” novel, or at least the condition of Israel between those dates. Then again, it seems from the outside that its circumstances as depicted here have only been exaggerated in the times since.

In a series of incidents taking in a set of beachside rapes and murders, forced confessions, observations on venal or predatory (or both) politicians and army high-ups, kidnappings, extortions, drug running from Lebanon’s Bekaa valley with the apparent connivance of the Israeli Defence Force, networks extending to Colombia and the US, accompanied by a host of murders/executions, a varied cast of flawed characters, Chief Inspector Cohen, who talks in quotations – usually biblical but sometimes Shakespearean – fellow cop Eddie Raphael, small-time crook Benny, budding journalist Sylvie Gold, cop’s son Avi Sagi plus Nir Yarom, navigate their ways through an underworld of violence, mayhem and exploitation of the surrounding land. All is interspersed with details of prevailing styles of music on the radio or TV and underpinned by the overwhelming presence of drug dealing and gangsterism.

As it says on the backcover, Maror is a Jewish ceremonial dish of bitter herbs which is eaten during the Passover, symbolizing the bitterness of the Israelites’ enslavement by the Egyptians. The long history of the Jews since has emphasised that they have little need of a ceremonial dish to remind them of persecutions through the ages; engendering a natural desire to return to their roots and have a homeland of their own – with all that that means.

At one point Benny thinks of the quote from Ben Gurion, “We shall only have a true state when we have our own Hebrew thief, our own Hebrew whore, our own Hebrew murderer.” Maror indicates Israel has those in spades, a bitter harvest indeed.

Towards the end of the book Avi hallucinates a man saying, ‘In every time and in every place there must be someone to speak for the soul of their nation.’ The overall narrative here might imply that the utterly compromised character of Cohen is actually that man. (Or is it Tidhar who in this book is trying to fulfil that role?)

The epigraph to the last chapter, as if said by Cohen, is, “Fashioning a new nation demands sacrifice.” Here there are sacrifices aplenty. Maror, the novel, could be read as a warning to be careful what you wish for.

Pedant’s corner:- Written in USian. “‘What this?’” (‘What’s this?’,) “‘Did you use to do that, too?’” (‘Did you used to …’,) non-descript (one word; nondescript.) “He felt hands envelope him” (envelop him,) “Esther Landes’ private diaries” (Landes’s.) “‘What did you do with?’” (‘What did you do with them?’.) “The clock on the well” (on the wall,) Yitzak (Yitzhak,) Offer (elsewhere it’s spelled Ofer,) Genghis’ (x 2, Genghis’s,) “attached to it was brand new Brutalist building” (attached to it was a brand new…) “I’ve had gun pointed at me before’” (‘I’ve had a gun pointed at me before’,) “the sound of mortar” (of a mortar, or, of mortars.) “Then then car slowed down” (Then the car slowed down,) “laughing at though the idea was absurd” (laughing as though,) “official stationary” (stationery,) “plate of humous” (x 2, plate of hummus,) Yosef (elsewhere always Yossef,) Pincohet (Pinochet,) “in a dark clouds” (in a dark cloud.) “She folder her notebook” (folded.) “Even in in the Soviet Union” (has one ‘in’ too many,) “back in Israel had had detested that time between two and four when the shops closed” (has one ‘had’ too many.)