Rankin overdoes it with some of what happens leading up to the resolutions -- Oakes, in particular, is just too bad to be true -- but everything is tied up particularly well, making for a satisfying (if not exactly happy) end. There is a powerful underlying theme. Each subplot echoes the idea that our past moulds our future, and questions how much control we have over our destiny. The paedophile Darren Rough was abused in a care home as a child. How much of his adult behaviour is caused by that experience? Rankin echoes that question in each plot line, questioning how much of our future is predetermined. And Janice threatens to allow him a nostalgic wallow that probably wouldn't be good for him either. Rebus is one of the men assigned to watch him -- a job that's all the more fun because the exclusive rights to Oakes' story have gone to none other than the old Rebus-foe, journalist Jim Stevens. One thing is that, after reading a John Rebus' book, I have an anguished feeling of visiting Edinburgh, see all those places describe the author with my own eyes. The series is set in Edinburgh and Rankin displays an unnerving knowledge of, seemingly, how crime works there. Rankin has a very unique of displaying simplistic events. His engrossing words will get under your skin.

There's very little light in this novel, there's introspection, there's despair, there's hatred, fear, prejudice, and opportunists taking advantage of all of that. But somehow the book never seems slow or ponderous -- just Rebus chugging along, doing his thing. There's also some strong action -- some we see as it happens, but most we hear about after the fact (years or days alter). If you stop and think about how many criminal seem to "get away" with their crimes (as defined by not being charged/tried), it's not that satisfying. If you think about the book in terms of Rebus (and through him, the reader) understanding what happened and why -- it's satisfying, not really cheerful, but satisfying in that regard. Rebus investigates when the wife of a millionaire philanthropist, who is due to lead a conference on poverty in Africa, is found dead in the river, the morning after he was discovered having sex with a prostitute in a local brothel during a raid by divisional CID. Forget about solving all these crimes; the signal triumph here is (spoiler) the heroine’s survival. Damon Mee is the nineteen-year-old son of an old flame. He disappeared one evening whilst nightclubbing with his friends. Rebus investigates when a number of women are killed with the same modus operandi as that used by 'The Preacher', a prolific serial killer active in Edinburgh during the 1980s. But is a copycat killer at large, or has 'The Preacher' returned to finish what he started?

Ian Rankin

Ian Rankin has created a compelling fictional figure in John Rebus. He is, at his core, a deeply moral character, but he has lost much of his faith, along with many friends and family members, along the way. Drink is his anesthetic of choice and he seems to require more and more of it to ease his pain. This cannot be leading to a good place. Another sweltering month in Charlotte, another boatload of mysteries past and present for overworked, overstressed forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan.

There are more deaths, and the various cases -- Margulies' suicide, Rough, Oakes, and the missing teenager -- are all resolved.

Success!

I was surprised and touched to read in the intro that the title is a reference to a Joy Division song - I had assumed that it referred in some way to Gogol. This is one of the darker Rebus tales (not that any of them are especially light!) involving, as it does, pedophiles (who may or may not be linked to the Church), the suicide of a colleague, a psychopathic serial killer, and a bittersweet trip down memory lane as he is drawn into the search for a missing person, son of two of his classmates in school. Scotland is a small country and Edinburgh still has something of a village culture. You just know that somewhere along the way all these disparate stories are going to intersect and the result will probably not be pretty. But it will be entertaining. Finally, Rebus also gets drawn into a missing persons case: the nineteen year-old son of Janice and Brian, an old flame and a friend from the old neighbourhood, has simply disappeared. Leigh Holmwood (22 February 2008). "ITV ditches Rebus as axe looms over several underperforming shows | Media". The Guardian . Retrieved 21 July 2017.

My only criticism of the book is Rebus himself. He drinks too much, breaks the rules, challenges authority, and is loved and loathed by his superiors. He also carries more than his fair share of Demons. That doesn’t make him a bad character, but the pencil portrait could just as easily be applied to Dave Robicheaux, Matthew Scudder or Bernie Gunther.In addition, a convicted murderer who spent 25 years in an American prison has been released and deported to Edinburgh, where he grows up. He is seeking to settle old scores but not until he spends some time with a local reporter talking about his life for a series of articles. Dead Souls was written in 1999 and depicts a John Rebus who is increasingly feeling dead inside and wondering if he should continue as a police officer. In the beginning of the book he is part of a stakeout of the Edinburgh zoo trying to find the person who is poisoning the animals. When he sees a known pedophile taking photos, he gives chase and, while he is going after the pedophile, the poisoner almost is able to do the deed yet again. The first series starred John Hannah as the title character; and was co-produced by Hannah's own production company, Clerkenwell Films. After Hannah quit, the role was re-cast with Ken Stott appearing in three subsequent series, produced in-house by STV. A suspenseful, professional-grade north country procedural whose heroine, a deft mix of compassion and attitude, would be welcome to return and tie up the gaping loose end Box leaves. The unrelenting cold makes this the perfect beach read. Fortunately, Rankin doesn't get over-explicit like this too often, generally conveying Rebus' tormented inner self more subtly (and effectively).