Val McDermid
The genre of crime fiction has long attracted writers drawn to dark corners of human behavior, and the tradition sometimes called Tartan Noir — Scottish crime writing with a particular edge — produced some of the form's most unsparing voices. Val McDermid, born on June 4, 1955, in Kirkcaldy, is one of those voices. A novelist, journalist, and Scottish crime writer working in English, she has built a body of work that sits squarely within that tradition.
McDermid was educated at Kirkcaldy High School before going on to St Hilda's College. She has written over 30 novels, and her work is associated with Tartan Noir and noted for its uncompromising depictions of violence. Those qualities haven't softened her critical standing — if anything, they've sharpened it. She's a Fellow of both the Royal Society of Literature and the Royal Society of Edinburgh, and she holds an honorary doctorate, recognitions that place her well outside the genre's pulp margins.
The awards her work has attracted are considerable and span multiple categories. She has received the Gold Dagger and the Cartier Diamond Dagger, the Anthony Award for Best Novel, the Barry Award for Best British Crime Novel, the Barry Award for Best Paperback Original, Macavity Awards, the Dilys Award, a Lambda Literary Award, and Theakston's Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year Award. The Cartier Diamond Dagger, awarded by the Crime Writers' Association for sustained excellence in crime writing, is among the most significant honors in the field. It's a fitting anchor for a career that, by any measure of critical recognition, has been consistently rewarded.
Quotes by Val McDermid
I came from a working-class family, but I was supported by a grant system and had my fees paid, so I came out of Oxford with a debt of something like £200.
With the passage of time, people’s memories always edited the past. A lot of details slipped from their grasp, while others that had seemed trivial at the time took on greater weight.
Discovering dedicated mystery booksellers was a bit like going to heaven without having to die first.
Father, everybody has mugs these days. It’s not a sign of debauchery and disrepute to drink tea from a mug.
You are Tadeusz Radecki? I am in the right place?′ ‘I know who I am. What I want to know is who you are.
The nurse looked surprised. ‘You’re a bit high on the totem pole to be taking statements.’ Carol debated momentarily how to describe her relationship with Tony. ‘Colleague’ was insufficient, ‘landlord’ somehow misleading and ‘friend’ both more and less than the truth. She shrugged. ‘He feeds my cat.
They think of policemen as they do of Labradors – noble, loyal, good with children, man’s protector and friend. In.
The Glasgow accent was so strong you could have built a bridge with it and known it would outlast the civilization that spawned it.