![]() ![]() It helps explain why he understands how people get into awful situations, and why he can slip between the criminal and the cop worlds, though fits neither comfortably. His upbringing makes me admire him for how far he’s come despite – or perhaps because of – the start he got in life. And it makes McCoy flash back painfully to his own youth, which we see several glimpses of throughout the novel. Unravelling how he could afford it made me think briefly of Louise Welsh’s The Cutting Room. Ally, a stallholder at Paddy’s Market, was so scared of going home to his flat that he hid out in a dodgy hostel for single men, but it seems whoever was hunting him caught up. McCoy meets Ally’s sister and finds out there was more to him than met the eye – including his address, far posher than expected. While he’s contemplating this task, McCoy gets another case: an apparent suicide. Other than McCoy, of course, and his boss, Murray, who gives his detective permission to poke around and talk to “all the low-level chancers you call your pals” and find some answers. Three women and two children caught in an arson attack on a hairdresser’s salon and the city, civil and criminal, is united in wanting those responsible to face the most brutal justice. Yet no-one seems too bothered about why the three young men facing murder charges did this. But he has only time to swallow a mouthful of Pepto-Bismol to quiet his ulcer before all hell breaks loose: on its way out, the van is rammed and the three handcuffed youths bundled into a car that speeds off. McCoy – newly back on duty after sick leave – and his colleagues are relieved when the prison van gets through to deposit its occupants. HANG THEM! is the chant, the fury barely contained by a very thin blue line. We open in May 1974, McCoy faced with an angry crowd outside Glasgow Sheriff Court. I was late to the party, starting with The April Dead, and I urge you not to make the same mistake, whether you start at the beginning or jump in here (which you can, all the background you need is on the page). But take a step back in time and you’re spoiled for choice, with the city in the 1970s getting more fictional attention at the moment – Ian Rankin’s “act of ventriloquism” brought a new Laidlaw novel last year, Liam McIlvanney’s The Heretic, follow-up to the award-winning The Quaker, arrived earlier this year, and now Alan Parks is back with the fifth Harry McCoy novel. Yet Glasgow – bigger, brasher, bolshier – is rather reticent in comparison. You can barely swing a cat without hitting a police procedural set in Edinburgh. Time is ticking, and Harry must confront his own past and figures that haunt him still to prevent another body being found on its mean streets. But it also gives him an insight into the soul of Royston and the people who control it. Detective Harry McCoy comes from these streets his feral childhood battling to survive on them still haunts him years on. Days later the body of one is found with a note attached to his mutilated body – “One down, two to go”. When three youths are charged with the crime, an angry mob gathers outside the courthouse, the prisoners are snatched from a police van and disappear. People, more used to turning a blind eye to criminality, erupt now with rage. An arson attack on a Royston hairdresser’s has left five women and children dead, and a community reeling. Many thanks to Anne Cater at Random Things Tours for inviting me to take part in the blog tour.įirst, the official blurb: Glasgow is a city in mourning. I received a copy of the novel from the publisher for review purposes. Published by Canongate Books, hardback £14.99, also available in ebook and audiobook. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |