Do you know if your favourite author ever write naked? or if they’re ever jealous of other writers? Why some never write about sex? I read it all here! Neil Gaiman and Haruki Murakami weren’t in the list, so my next choice was Ian Rankin:
How many people have you done away with over the course of your career?
You mean the body count in my books? I’ve no idea. I think it’s quite low – one or two corpses per tome, and each book represents a year in the life of Edinburgh.
Ever dispatched someone and then regretted it?
Often. The prospective member of the Scottish parliament in Set In Darkness – I liked him, but the narrative didn’t. Then there was the old priest Rebus used to hang out with – he died of natural causes, but it came as a bit of a shock.
Have you ever been in trouble with the police?
Back when I was writing the first Rebus, they did add me to their files for a short time. I’d gone into a police station to ask a few questions, and it turned out Knots and Crosses bore some similarities to a case that was ongoing back then.
Why do you never write about sex?
I find it embarrassing.
More embarrassing than violence?
So when were you last involved in a real-life punch-up?
I’m usually the one holding the jackets.
If you were going to commit the perfect murder, how would you go about it?
Pick a victim whose absence from the world is going to cause as few ripples as possible.
You’ve obviously given this some thought.
Keep bugging me with questions and you’ll find out.
Why are you such a pushover for everyone who wants you to do stuff for them?
I was the child who refused to eat her Easter rabbit-shaped cookie because I wanted to talk to it. I should just have learned early to bite the heads off quick. Otherwise the rabbits start telling you their tales, and then it’s game over.
Will you never learn?
Apparently not. I still seem to get into the merde, as a result of being too naïve. I think novelists are the people who don’t really know what people are talking about much of the time. That’s why they write novels – to try to find out.
Do you really go around in a corset, high heels, and a whip, subjugating men, as a 1989 cartoon depicted you?
Not any more. Too old for it. So are the men, poor things.