Basically, before I begin, I should probably admit to my unbridled adoration of Brookmyre and everything he creates. He’s a pretty spectacular human being and an even better writer, and pretty much the only author I’ve ever met that I’ve gone all ‘fangirl’ on.
We’ve been to the pub a couple of times, and every time I speak to him I’m astounded by his mind and how it works. He is exceptionally intelligent, to the point that no matter how much I think I know, I’m always two steps behind.
The Sacred Art of Stealing is in my top three Brookmyre’s. It centres around recurring heroine Angelique De Xavia; black Glaswegian cop and kick-ass extraordinaire. She is embroiled in a case when an armed, masked gang walk into a bank in broad daylight, and proceed to crack the safe. I’m telling you - if Brookmyre decides to pack in the writing and turn to devising heists of his own, we’re in serious trouble. Angelique is drafted into the building and comes face to face with the literary love of my life, Zal Innez, a beautiful American showman who’s plots are the work of genius.
Enter the requisite love story between good girl and bad guy, lots of guns, a Mexican drug baron and a couple of magic tricks and you’ve got top-form Brookmyre through and through.
A glorious, glorious book, and the love scenes aren’t even too cringey. Well, not as bad as All Fun And Games Until Someone Loses an Eye, anyway. Fresh linen - need I say more?