On the face of it, The Dark Remains is an unexpected treat, an unfinished novel by the pioneer of Tartan Noir completed by the master of the form. In reality it falls below the average of either. The story itself has potential: the murder of a front man for one of the local gangs threatens to spark a turf war in 1972, when Glasgow was still dying on its hind quarters.
It is perfectly readable, obviously, but there is a conspicuous lack of darkness, the mordant black humour for which both McIlvanney and Rankin were known in their heyday, even credible violence. The names of the characters - Carter, Thompson - seem like placeholders for something better. I didn't figure out who the murderer was, but then I rarely do. I was neither surprised nor especially interested when it was revealed. There is an tagged-on episode in which the stirrer-up of the turf war gets his comeuppance. I had forgotten who he was, which in a large print novel of less than 300 pages read over two consecutive days is not good.
It's trivial footnote to a significant career. There was a reason McIlvanney left it unfinished. Rankin can still deliver a good novel but it's all about retirement these days, the older man looking back. Canongate would have done better to get Stuart Macbride or one of the younger lions to work on Dark Remains (which is also a poor title, having nothing to do with the plot).
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