I had never heard of Val McDermid before reading one of the Stieg Larsson books, and a scene where Mikael Blomqvist sits down and cracks one open. I took that as an endorsement. So this is the first of her I've read, and it has many flaws. The story itself isn't terrible, though quite farfetched (someone furious at the media attention given psychological profilers is killing crime novelists, whom he/she blames for generating the hoopla). There seemed to be a whole bunch of murders at the outset. It took me a few chapters to realize that all of the murders in italics were excerpts from crime novels which are then replicated by the killer. Once I understood what the deal was, reading was facilitated.
The flaws: a very annoying overreliance on the pluperfect tense. Isn't there some way around this? Surely it is possible to visit moments in a character's past without resorting wholescale to a string of she'd, he'd, she'd, he'd, they'd, she'd, he'd, she'd, she'd, she'd, she'd.
There are too many words. Surely by 2000 one could write about computers without invoking clunky phrases like "electronic filing cabinet" and "her favourite metasearch engine, which combed the vast virtuality of the worldwide web at her command." I hope the next serial killer isn't angry at crime novelists who use bloated technology descriptions. "Where can I find Drew Shand?" types profiler Fiona Cameron into her metasearch engine, because apparently her metasearch engine needs a complete sentence.
Smiling: I've noticed in weak writing that characters are always smiling. Oh, there may be variations - "a tiny, tight smile"; "a wry smile"; "managed a frail smile"; and tons of wide grins. I don't think people smile this much in real life, unless they're phony fakers or Tom Cruise. Writers make characters smile and laugh when they don't trust their dialogue to show us what the mood is.
The protagonist, Dr. Fiona Cameron, is completely uninteresting. She feels guilty for surviving the rape and murder of her younger sister years ago: boring. She became a profiler in order to redeem herself: Very boring. She has a perfect, perfectly annoying relationship with her lover, crime novelist Kit Martin. Kit is always rubbing his hands over his bald scalp, and they're always gettin' it on or talking about how much they'd like to get it on. Criminally boring. "Kit had watched Fiona walk up the hill from San Tomas, admiring her smooth stride and the way the cut of her trousers gave emphasis to the gentle swell of her hips. I am a lucky bastard, he congratulated himself, luxuriating briefly in the memory of their leisurely morning in bed." Smooth stride? Trousers? Gentle swell? Could that be any less sexy? I hope it's not a hernia. Why don't these two get married, anyway? I guess Fiona doesn't care about having legal claim to any of Kit's assets from all his bestselling crime novels, but maybe she should take a lesson from Stieg Larsson's lover.