Yet again MacBride tells a tale of cops and robbers – this time delving (ahem) into the world of BDSM, introducing a pre-pubescent murderer and dealing with the untouchable nature of a sporting star suspected of serial rape.
I have to say, I love this guy. He's sharp, concise and funny. Not ha-ha fall off your chair hilarity (Christopher Moore's Blood Sucking Fiends or Lamb) or given to slap-stick imagery that makes me laugh out loud (Tom Sharp's Wilt series) but he has a gift for finely crafted dialogue that rings so true that you can't imagine a police force without DI Steel and her squad of misfits (“After me: we're not at home to Mr Fuck Up!”)
I find most crime novels set in Scotland dark, menacing and relentless; there's an alcoholic; there's a horrific set of circumstances that leaves you worrying for the state of humanity; by the time you reach the end you are drained – grateful to be apart from the world within and craving something light and fluffy to wipe away the nightmares. Sometimes it's more depressing than entertaining.
That's not to say that the activities in MacBride's books are less that creatively criminal, but his central characters have something more to them. They actually feel real: they get drunk without requiring AA; they make unwise social decisions that leave you wincing in sympathy, and their gallows humour is actually funny.
To be honest, it's not the crimes that I find fascinating, but MacBride's continuing tales of DS 'Lazarus' McRae, PC 'Ball Breaker' Watson and DI (smokes-like-a-chimney-so-of-course-I-can-relate) Steel.
If you want visceral crime without the bitter aftertaste, you can't go wrong with Broken Skin.
Verdict: criminally humorous.
