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Val McDermid, 65, is sometimes referred to as the Queen of Crime, and her triumphant Scottish work is known as the ‘black tartan’. She has written four series, the best known starring clinical psychologist Dr Tony Hill. It has sold over 16 million novels and has been translated into 40 languages. His last, Still life, now available in paperback, is terrific, effortless, exciting read.
Why do we love violent crime in fiction that we would be appalled to encounter in real life?
Watching lightning strike in someone else’s house can be almost talismanic – seeing the possibility of evil in your own life. It can be heartwarming to read detective stories where endings offer resolution. I don’t mean to say it’s all tied up with a neat little bow like in Agatha Christie’s novels – there are more flexible and open endings now – but something is resolved.
Part of the fun of Still life is in its Scottish character. How important is being Scottish to you?
I grew up in Fife, in a working-class environment – a totally different cultural background from that of people raised in England. It may sound strange, but when I moved to Oxford at 17, I felt like I was in exile. I am a supporter of Scottish independence – a fitting subject, as you and I discuss in Burns Night. My dad was a great Burns man, a member of the Bowhill People’s Burns Club – he was a lead tenor on their concert night.
You introduce a garnish of Gaelic in Still life – I have learned broken means opposite and Gallus cheeky. Which one are you?
I have both attributes. This is the base level that you start off as a Fifer: you have to be a little bit of a gall to get by.
The women have a pretty bossy attitude towards the men in your book – like the old-fashioned men only worse. Your detective Karen Pirie says of her boyfriend: “It’s time to put Hamish back in his box and focus on his work.” There must be immense pleasure in turning the tables?
There is – even if ‘it’s you back in your box’ is a Scottish idiom. More seriously, however, I wanted to deal with the relationship between the classes [Karen is working class, Hamish privileged middle]. It’s potentially treacherous and full of conflict.
You brilliantly write about what your characters like to eat in your books, and while on lockdown, you made a hilarious YouTube video showing us how to make “hipster Hamish porridge”. You’re rude about his pretentious porridge in the book, but I suspect you like it in real life?
Absolutely! My porridge is close to Hamish’s porridge. My partner [Jo Sharp, a professor at St Andrews] is responsible for the line: “How can you have porridge where oats are a minority ingredient?”
Karen Pirie, meanwhile, is a caffeine junkie. What is your choice of choice?
I don’t think I ever wrote a meaningful sentence without two cups of coffee.
Karen suggests in the book that lesbianism is now common in Scotland. You live in Edinburgh, but the acceptance is no more uneven than it is suggest?
It can still be difficult to be openly gay in a small Scottish village, but the attitude towards same-sex couples has changed. When I returned to Scotland in 2014 it was clear that the country I was returning to was not the one I had left. I started my career in 1977 as a journalist in Glasgow and the misogyny, fear and bigotry in the press room of the Daily check-in was astounding. It was not until six months before my arrival that it was agreed that women could wear pants in the office and work nights. To survive you had to be twice as good as the guys.
In the novel, you describe Boris Johnson as someone whose only experience of poverty is a “lack of imagination and compassion.” And you sadly talk about Brexit.
I want my books to have authenticity, a sense of time and space. I am accused of being political, but all fiction has a political position.
When did you add the Covid references?
I started writing in January when there was no sign that something was going to happen, but the last part was written locked out. I wanted the novel to reflect a progressive realization … I’m now writing a novel that takes place in 1979. I need to be on a solid footing. The present is like quicksand.
You reveal in your gratitudeDid you find / find locking difficult?
I feel guilty for having a relatively simple moment. I’m lucky: my partner is also my best friend, so being locked up isn’t a huge ordeal. And I don’t have small children – my son is in college and I’m in one of the few jobs where my income hasn’t been affected by the coronavirus. However, we all have that low-level thrill of anxiety that gets you down. I found that I was missing out on conversations with friends who were doing creative work, so a few times a week I take the tour – usually Edinburgh cemeteries – with them.
What kind of reader were you as a child?
Voracious. We lived across from the central library and I read my way through the shelves. And since it was Scotland in the 1960s, even if you could put out four books, two had to be non-fiction.
What genres do you like the most now?
I try not to read by genre. I recently read literary documents (Hidden nature by Alys Fowler), a detective novel (Miss Pym gets rid of by Josephine Tey) and a dystopian science fiction novel (Radio Life by Derek B Miller). I enjoyed them all.
Your best lockdown read?
Ali smith Summer. She is the great writer of hope and imagination of our time.
What’s on your nightstand now?
When I was ten by Fiona Cummins.
Your favorite fictional heroine?
VI Warshawski by Sara Paretsky. She made me understand that there was a different way of writing detective stories. Its protagonist had a brain, a sense of humor, of agency.
What is the best book you have received as a gift?
A friend gave me Kate Millett’s Sex policy when I was a student. She said, “It will change your life” and, by God, it has changed.
• Still life by Val McDermid is published by Little, Brown (£ 8.99). To order a copy, go to guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply
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