Unlike other crime novels, William McIlvaney’s Laidlaw avoids sensationalism, but rather, strives for reality in it’s writing, effectively depicting an authentic experience for the reader to explore.
It is this quality that makes Laidlaw compelling. In adopting this approach, McIlvaney urges the reader to acknowledge that despite the novel being a piece of fiction, its crimes and characters demand a seriousness that which would guide the reader to question the psychological implications of these actions, and to reflect upon the morality of the perpetrators, victims and even lawmakers.
For this reason, the violence that is portrayed in Laidlaw is brutal and uncompromising. From the get-go in chapter one, McIlvaney grabs the reader by the collar and flings us into a hyper-tense situation of a murderer running away from the crime scene. McIlvaney confronts and forces the reader into the mind of the murderer, addressing us directly in an accusatory tone, “But there was nowhere that you knew about, not even this place where you came and stood among people, as if you were a personâ€, “You were a monsterâ€.
The tension of the novel is sustained through the way the novel is paced. There is violence in the way McIlvaney presents the story, in that it unfolds through direct and rapid chapters, leaving little time for the reader to regroup. There is an urgency in the way the story is structured, which mirrors the actual investigation. The pacing is most appropriate as it focuses on not just the violence, but the violence of the experience, extending it to the reader, which helps in shuffling between the different characters and events, drawing the reader into the story, from spectator to participant.
McIlvaney then emphasizes on the violence of the murder itself, describing in detail what happened through a discussion between Laidlaw and Harkness in chapter 17, “The pathologist’s report’ll