It’s now 1850, and Will Raven – in the earlier novel an apprentice with Dr James Simpson – is now a qualified doctor studying in Europe when he is offered the post of assistant to Dr Simpson and returns to Edinburgh. Meanwhile, Sarah Fisher, a maid when we first met her, has become a nurse – albeit unqualified – helping with Dr Simpson’s patients in the clinic he runs from the house. There is plenty of awkwardness, by turns amusing and touching, as Will and Sarah adjust to their new roles, and to each other after two years with no contact, especially as Sarah is now married.
Dr Simpson has his own problems, having been accused of recklessness after the death of a patient, and Sarah is adamant she and Will must clear his name. Meanwhile, four members of the same family in a wealthy area of the city have died within two weeks, and the reader is shown that a figure trusted by the household was responsible. So Brookmyre and Haetzman set us on an intriguing path within a few chapters. The reader may need a tiny dose of chloroform to relax after all these thrills.
After a patient Will is called to see for a second opinion dies, he and Sarah link the case to Dr Simpson’s patient and to the family in Trinity, as all exhibited similar strange symptoms. Will pours cold water on Sarah’s theory, but she is proved dangerously correct in both the method and the identity of the killer.
However, the reader is several steps ahead, because we are given brief glimpses into the mind of our murderer – based on a real 19th century figure – throughout the novel. Giving this backstory offers us the opportunity to understand how they embarked on their destructive path, but simultaneously ensures we do not sympathise with them.
There are fewer in-depth medical cases in The Art Of Dying than we might expect, but those that feature are afforded more emotional weight and urgency. Wider medical and ethical issues are also touched on, particularly surrounding the use of chloroform.
Just as we think we have things figured out, Brookmyre and Haetzman throw in a series of smart twists which had me holding my breath at several points, and we come to an intriguing and far from clear-cut conclusion at the end of the epilogue.
The Art Of Dying is a more complex book than its predecessor, the strands are woven together in a more assured way, and the sentences flow more easily. There is sharp humour – I laughed out loud at Will fending off a would-be cutpurse with a line from Crocodile Dundee – and heartfelt emotion, particularly in several scenes involving Sarah’s husband. For any reader in need of a swift-acting tonic, I prescribe picking up this thriller as soon as possible. Louise Fairbairn
The Art Of Dying, by Ambrose Parry, Canongate, £14.99. “Ambrose Parry” will be at Bloody Scotland on 22 September at 2.30pm