longings, aware of the motivations of the Jekyll and Hyde characters who walk the streets of the city to this very day. An over-the-top summary? Of course it is, but there is something Pied Piper-like in Rankin:people follow him, believe what he says about Edinburgh, its past and its literature, and this is the mark of a good writer. A great writer? Only time will tell.
It is said that you can take the man out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the man. The only problem with that cliché is that it was written to explain the character of a person brought up in a city. Rankin wasn’t, he wasbrought up in the Kingdom of Fife; but Edinburgh did sink its claws into him at an impressionable age, an age when his literary talents and his powers of analysis were growing and, strangely, when asked to describe Edinburgh, Rankin would choose ‘villagey’, so he clearly feels comfortable there. And there lies the beginning of Rebus and Rankin’s fascination for Edinburgh. The city naturally followedhis original hometown. ‘Edinburgh is my spiritual home. I see myself in a line of the city’s writers, in the tradition of Muriel Spark, Robert Louis Stevenson and others…’ 24 It is Spark and Stevenson, more than Burns, Scott and Conan Doyle, that Rankin continues to refer to. He does it in his books and interviews and indeed his PhD was about Spark and his first two Rebus novels were – by hisown admission – his own versions of Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
Yes, Edinburgh provided Rankin with a clear break from his past as well as the catalyst for fulfilling his dream career.
Rankin has said that after he died he ‘would like to be remembered as someone who tried to write truthfully about modern-day Scotland – and as someone who tried to be a good dad’.
I findit fascinating, but not surprising, that he would mention both things in the same breath, because along with his devoted wife, they are the things closest to his heart.
When I ask him what he loves about Scotland, he tells me, ‘I love the people, the sense of humour, the attitude of mind, the landscape.’ These are the wonderful things. Conversely, I asked him what he hated about his country andhe replied, ‘I hate that we carry a chip on our shoulder, a long memory of perceived past grievances. Never mind “Auld Lang Syne” – it’s what’s ahead of us that counts.’ 25
This comment makes Rankin a very modern-thinking man. Yes, he cares about Scottish literature and its place in history, but also its place in current society. What can we learn from the Scottish writers of yesterday? How hasScottish writing changed over the centuries and, more importantly, what does modern Scottish literature say – what can we learn from it?
Rankin has been at the frontline of this exploration. It’s almost become a movement, especially during the Edinburgh Book Festival. Indeed his analysis of Scottish literature has made him world famous, simply because it was needed and I dare anyone to challengethat. Stevenson was an incredible personality, his books classics in a vast collection of genres; and then there is Conan Doyle’s character of Sherlock Holmes – in my opinion the greatest character in all literature.
Did Rankin want fame, though? In Artworks Scotland: When Ian Rankin Met Jack Vettriano , he answered this question. ‘I didn’t get into this [writing] to be famous… nobody teachesyou how to deal with fame.’ Some could cast a cynical eye on this but I truly believe him. On the odd occasion when I’ve praised him to his face (for The Falls , Fleshmarket Close and The Naming of the Dead ), he has physically cringed and stated – as he did in Artworks Scotland – ‘When people tell me I’m good I don’t really believe them.’ (However, I probably wasn’t that forthcoming about the oddbook I didn’t like!)
Rankin is a modest man. A private man. A family man. And this harks back to his statement of wanting