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347 pages, Hardcover
First published November 5, 2015










 Ian Rankin discusses Even Dogs In The Wild
Ian Rankin discusses Even Dogs In The Wild Darryl Christie wasn’t a huge fan of Glasgow. It sprawled in a way his own city didn’t. And there were still traces of the old enmity between Catholic and Protestant – of course that existed in Edinburgh too, but it had never quite defined the place the way it did Glasgow. The people spoke differently here, and had a garrulousness to them that spilled over into physical swagger. They were, as they chanted on the football terraces, ‘the people’. But they were not Darryl Christie’s people. Edinburgh could seem tame by comparison, head always below the parapet, keeping itself to itself. In the independence referendum, Edinburgh had voted No and Glasgow Yes, the latter parading its saltired allegiance around George Square night after night, or else protesting media bias outside the BBC headquarters.
Rebus nodded. ‘What’s the book?’
‘He said, changing the subject. It’s Kate Atkinson.’
‘Any good?’
‘Someone keeps coming back from the dead.’
‘Not a bad fit for this evening, then.
Somewhere deep in the night
There's a child on his own
And his pulse isn't there
And the house is aglow
With the light from outside
Well the house is aglow
There's a mattress downstairs
Full of brown peppered holes
And the hoarse hair is coarse
Not as coarse and as rough
As the rash thoughts that never heal sores