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deepwinterodd 's review for:
Standing in Another Man's Grave
by Ian Rankin
What a strange book.
It's clear that Rebus' investigation of the string of disappearances along the A9 road between Edinburgh and Inverness and points north are supposed to serve as a metaphor for his inability to let his police career go. He drives back and forth along the road -- mid-day, dead of night, when he's told his fellow officers he's elsewhere -- with a manic determination underscored by the increasing frequency with which he talks to his aging Saab.
And I say it's clear because if you, as a reader, hadn't picked up on the metaphor, Rankin's only too happy to whang it into your head with a shovel. Here the part of the shovel is played by a traveling salesman Rebus shares a cigarette with at a gas station off the A9:
Being on the road, of course, is a metaphor for working police cases, and the two men's preference for a life on the road is meant to explain Rebus' increasingly obsessive focus on his work, despite being retired. Also if you missed Mr Metaphor, don't worry, he'll be back two pages later:
So on the one hand Rebus seems to have some grasp that the way he lives -- taking case files home to the dining room table is standard now, and Rebus only listens to music while he's driving -- he's also in complete denial, thinking himself entirely different from the other retired cops he knows, "treating a stint at the pub almost as if it were a job in itself." Co-investigators comment on Rebus' retired status, and Rebus himself, when pushed, usually while in commission of something flagrantly off-limits to civilians, will admit that's he's now a not-cop.
There's even a brief flirtation with some type of punishment for Rebus' continued obsession, as Matthew Fox from the Complaints Department (and Rankin's other series) takes a crack at putting together a Complaint. But in the end Fox gets his wrist slapped by the higher-ups for his troubles and winds up giving Rebus a melodramatic "I'll get you next time, Gadget, NEXT TIIIIIIIIME" speech that carries him safely into ludicrous territory.
And therein lies the problem with this book: Rebus gets away with it.
He winds up solving the case on a hunch, a gut instinct, and when the evidence doesn't back him up, he sets the criminal up and terrifies him into a confession while Siobhan Clarke looks on, nodding eagerly. He's warned off the case a dozen times but that's all he gets, warnings. One after the other, until he's aiding and abetting kidnap and assault. Well, it's all for the greater good, isn't it, so let's let Rebus keep right on Rebe-ing.
It's an odd angle to take, and while it's certainly new, it shows an authorial indulgence for the protagonist that doesn't really work out.
There's also a subplot about an obsessive mother that Rebus neatly solves and stows to one side halfway through the book, wherein we're supposed to understand the obsessive mother was fine with that and just toddled back down off home and really, people don't work like that. They just don't. I could also get annoyed at the whole Siobhan-Clarke-boycrazy-inappropriate-behavior subplot but it was just too depressing for words.
However, I did continue to adore Rebus' cranky old man friendship with Ger Cafferty (a central theme of the book) and how he uses his history with the Edinburgh underworld to go places more law-abiding coppers can't or won't. And if this series continues (which I hope it does), I'm very much looking forward to seeing more of the new kid-villain on the block.
All in all, a very mixed bag.
It's clear that Rebus' investigation of the string of disappearances along the A9 road between Edinburgh and Inverness and points north are supposed to serve as a metaphor for his inability to let his police career go. He drives back and forth along the road -- mid-day, dead of night, when he's told his fellow officers he's elsewhere -- with a manic determination underscored by the increasing frequency with which he talks to his aging Saab.
And I say it's clear because if you, as a reader, hadn't picked up on the metaphor, Rankin's only too happy to whang it into your head with a shovel. Here the part of the shovel is played by a traveling salesman Rebus shares a cigarette with at a gas station off the A9:
"I have to admit, though, I do like it. Not that I'd tell my wife that. Never feel quite at home when I'm stuck in an office, or even with my feet up in front of the telly." He looked at Rebus. "That probably sounds crazy."
"Not really. When you're on the road, there's always a destination, and you know you're going to reach it one way or another."
Being on the road, of course, is a metaphor for working police cases, and the two men's preference for a life on the road is meant to explain Rebus' increasingly obsessive focus on his work, despite being retired. Also if you missed Mr Metaphor, don't worry, he'll be back two pages later:
"What about you? Are you any closer to catching that madman?"
He was remembering his words to the salesman: there's always a destination, and you know you're going to reach it one way or another...
So on the one hand Rebus seems to have some grasp that the way he lives -- taking case files home to the dining room table is standard now, and Rebus only listens to music while he's driving -- he's also in complete denial, thinking himself entirely different from the other retired cops he knows, "treating a stint at the pub almost as if it were a job in itself." Co-investigators comment on Rebus' retired status, and Rebus himself, when pushed, usually while in commission of something flagrantly off-limits to civilians, will admit that's he's now a not-cop.
There's even a brief flirtation with some type of punishment for Rebus' continued obsession, as Matthew Fox from the Complaints Department (and Rankin's other series) takes a crack at putting together a Complaint. But in the end Fox gets his wrist slapped by the higher-ups for his troubles and winds up giving Rebus a melodramatic "I'll get you next time, Gadget, NEXT TIIIIIIIIME" speech that carries him safely into ludicrous territory.
And therein lies the problem with this book: Rebus gets away with it.
He winds up solving the case on a hunch, a gut instinct, and when the evidence doesn't back him up, he sets the criminal up and terrifies him into a confession while Siobhan Clarke looks on, nodding eagerly. He's warned off the case a dozen times but that's all he gets, warnings. One after the other, until he's aiding and abetting kidnap and assault. Well, it's all for the greater good, isn't it, so let's let Rebus keep right on Rebe-ing.
It's an odd angle to take, and while it's certainly new, it shows an authorial indulgence for the protagonist that doesn't really work out.
There's also a subplot about an obsessive mother that Rebus neatly solves and stows to one side halfway through the book, wherein we're supposed to understand the obsessive mother was fine with that and just toddled back down off home and really, people don't work like that. They just don't. I could also get annoyed at the whole Siobhan-Clarke-boycrazy-inappropriate-behavior subplot but it was just too depressing for words.
However, I did continue to adore Rebus' cranky old man friendship with Ger Cafferty (a central theme of the book) and how he uses his history with the Edinburgh underworld to go places more law-abiding coppers can't or won't. And if this series continues (which I hope it does), I'm very much looking forward to seeing more of the new kid-villain on the block.
All in all, a very mixed bag.