The latest installment of Alexander McCall Smith's perennially popular and irresistibly charming 44 Scotland Street series.
When Pat accepts her narcissistic ex-boyfriend Bruce's invitation for coffee, she has no idea of the complications in her romantic and professional life that will follow. Meanwhile, Matthew, her boss at the art gallery, attracts the attention of the police after a misunderstanding at the local bookstore.
Whether caused by small things such as a cup of coffee and a book, or major events such as Stuart's application for promotion and his wife Irene's decision to pursue a PhD in Aberdeen, change is coming to Scotland Street. But for three seven-year-old boysBertie Pollock, Ranald, and Big Lou's foster son, Finlayit also means getting a glimpse of perfect happiness.
Alexander McCall Smith's delightfully witty, wise and sometimes surreal comedy spirals out in surprising ways in this new installment, but its heart remains where it has always been, at the center of life in Edinburgh's New Town.
About the Author
ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH is the author of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels and a number of other series and stand-alone books. His works have been translated into more than forty languages and have been bestsellers throughout the world. He lives in Scotland.
Date of Birth:August 24, 1948
Place of Birth:Zimbabwe
Read an Excerpt
An Invitation to the Elephant House
When Pat Macgregor received an invitation from Bruce Anderson to meet him for coffee at the Elephant House on George IV Bridge, her first reaction was to delete it. That is one of the great advantages of electronic communications – one can simply delete them. And one can do the same to people – in their electronic incarnation, of course; at the press of a button, or the equivalent, one can send them off into some vast soup of disassembled digital data, reducing them to floating ones and zeroes, consigned to a Dantean world of echoes, a shadowy underworld of fading impulses.
And that, thought Pat, was the fate that Bruce so richly deserved. A few years earlier he had played with her affections, as he had toyed with those of so many other young women, believing that to pay attention to this rather shy young student of art history was to confer on her a benison for which, if she knew anything about the world, she should be profoundly grateful. The expression God’s gift to women came into all this – somewhere. It was usually uttered sarcastically, as in He thinks he’s God’s gift to women, but in Bruce’s case this was exactly what he did think of himself. In his view he was one of those people who existed to give pleasure to others – not through anything he actually did – although that, of course, entered into it – but simply by being.
Auden said that the blessed had no reason to care from what angle they were regarded, having nothing to hide. This was true of Bruce: whether you looked at him from the front, the back, or from either side, the inescapable conclusion was that he was egregiously good-looking. As he pointed out to Catriona, a young woman with whom he once visited Florence, “There’s a statue of my double in this city, you know.”
She had looked puzzled. “Your double, Bruce? Here in Florence?”
Bruce smirked. “Yes, right here. Would you like to see it?”
She nodded. This was some sort of game, she suspected; but then Bruce was so playful. That was one of the things that attracted her to him – his playfulness. That and, of course, the way he made a girl feel special; now that was a very considerable talent. And then there was his hair gel, that strange, clove-scented potion that tickled her nose when she smelled it, and added, in such a curious way, an erotic charge to the most mundane of situations.
Bruce and Catriona had already visited the Uffizi and had stood for some minutes before Botticelli’s Birth of Venus before Bruce said, “That’s Venus, you know. That’s her standing in the shell.”
Catriona nodded. “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”
Bruce thought about this for a few moments before he replied. “Her neck’s a bit long, but, yes, she’s beautiful all right.” Then, after a short pause, he had observed, “Beauty’s an interesting thing, isn’t it? You either have it, or you don’t. And that’s all there is to it.”
Catriona looked at Bruce. He returned her gaze with all the confidence of one who knew that he stood on the right side of the divide he had just described.
That was in the Uffizi; now they found themselves in the Galleria dell’Accademia, looking up at Michelangelo’s great masterpiece, the towering statue of David.
“There,” said Bruce. “Feast your eyes on that.”
The contemplation of Michelangelo’s David is not easy for everybody, but Catriona looked.
“Lookalike?” whispered Bruce.
She stared at the line of David’s nose and brow: it was undoubtedly Bruce. Her eye followed the sweep of his arms and the musculature of his torso. And she had to admit it:
Bruce could have been Michelangelo’s young model.
“I don’t tell everybody about this,” confided Bruce. “But I remember when I first saw a photograph of David, I thought: ‘Jeez, that’s me.’ I was about sixteen at the time. In Crieff. I was at Morrison’s, you know, and one of the girls in the class stuck a picture of David up in a corridor and wrote underneath it Bruce Anderson. It was so immature, but somehow …”
Pat, of course, had soon detected Bruce’s narcissism. But in her state of infatuation – for that, she acknowledged, was what it was – she had persuaded herself that his self-obsession was a harmless quirk, a hangover from adolescence, a passing phase. After all, there were plenty of young females who were just as fascinated by their appearance, spending hours in front of the mirror. It was more unusual amongst males, perhaps, but what was sauce for the goose should surely be sauce for the gander. If women were to indulge themselves in the contemplation of their own beauty, then why should men not do the same?
For a few months, she had circled Bruce, caught in his gravitational field as a moon might be in that of a planet, until at last she managed to extricate herself. When that happened, her father’s relief at her escape had been palpable. “Men like that are very dangerous,” he said to her. “The only thing to do is to tear yourself away. Believe me – I’ve seen it in so many of my patients.”
Pat’s father, Dr Macgregor, a self-deprecating and scholarly man, was a psychiatrist, and was particularly close to his daughter. He and Pat’s mother had divorced after she had gone off to restore a walled garden in Perthshire and had never returned. He had done nothing to deserve the desertion, but had been generous in his response. “Your mother has found herself elsewhere,” he explained to Pat. “Il faut cultiver notre jardin, as Candide (I think) pointed out. The important thing is her self-fulfillment – that’s all that counts.”
But there was something else that counted for him, and that was Pat’s own happiness. He doted on his daughter and when he realized that she had taken up with Bruce, he had been tipped into depression. At the end of Pat’s affair with Bruce – an end that he, at least, had realized was inevitable – he had tried to explain to her that however low she might feel after the break-up, it was as nothing when compared with the risk she would take in staying with him.
And that was why, when she received this invitation to meet Bruce in the Elephant House, Pat said nothing about it to her father. And it was also why she almost deleted it from her e-mail in-box without a reply. Almost, but not quite: she moved the cursor to hover over the delete symbol, hesitated, and then moved it to Reply.
“See you there,” she wrote. She added no emoticon – for what emoticon is there to express anticipation of the sort she was feeling?
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
“’It’s good to see you.” Bruce inclined his head, as if to acknowledge an act of homage. Of course it was good to see him; he had been good to see for as long as he could remember. Even as a small boy, he had attracted admiration for his looks; the cherub had become an angel, had become a youth from a Giotto painting, had become a matinee idol…” A Time Of Love And Tartan is the twelfth book in the popular 44 Scotland Street serial novel by Scottish author, Alexander McCall Smith, and in it, the lives of the residents of 44 Scotland Street and those of their friends are, once again, updated for the continuing enjoyment of series fans. So this time we learn that: Domenica wonders about her marriage to Angus; Cyril experiences a tiny pang of jealousy; and Pat Macgregor finds herself again in the sights of the narcissistic Bruce, but for the wrong reasons. Big changes are afoot in the Pollock household: Stuart makes a life-changing decision on the spur of the moment; he worries more than he apparently needs to about Bertie’s reaction to Irene’s latest grand plan; Bertie, still seven, delights in receiving a compass; and his happiness at attending a Scotland/New Zealand Rugby Match, in a kilt, with his father, and his best friend, Ranald Braveheart Macpherson, knows no bounds. Matthew does something silly in a bookshop, is embarrassed and compounds the error with something still sillier, attracting the attention of the police; Elspeth, au-pairless, is at her wits end with exhaustion until the Duke of Johannesburg comes to the rescue. Meanwhile, Big Lou is finding foster-parenthood gratifying. As always, McCall Smith gives his characters plenty of wise words as he lets them wonder about or discuss a wide range of topics including: the various meanings of the word “Aye”; the modern trends in architecture; sexism and political correctness in job interviews; the proliferation of hate; and the disappearance of forest habitats of remote tribes. There are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments, and charming little observations like: “…he was on the committee of the Scottish Artists’ Benevolent Association, the body that distributed largesse (smallesse, as Angus called it, in view of the limited nature of the fund) to struggling artists”. The potential for young Bertie’s ongoing happiness expands exponentially with Irene’s Aberdeen plans, although a fan of the series might worry about the absence of the character we all love to despise. McCall Smith’s work is always a joy to read, and fans will hope for many more instalments of this delightful series.
I start reading them and then they’re done and gone before I’ve even started them, it seems. A Time Of Love And Tartan is no exception to that. I have spent time with my friends, shared their lives, contemplated their thoughts, considered their situations, all the time knowing that Angus’s closing poem was steadily creeping up on me. Then it was there and, oh, what a sense of loss and love.
Like all the other books in this series, McCall Smith has another winner on his hands. Delightful characters and a delightful storyline.
Did not want this book to end, enjoyed it that much.
“A Time of Love and Tartan” is number twelve in the 44 Scotland Street series. It hardly seems possible that readers have been following this interesting and diverse group of people living in contemporary Edinburgh for that long, but we have. Every new episode is like visiting old friends. Everyone wants to catch up with Bertie, who never seems to age, and to find out all about the latest escapades of the rest of the group. McCall Smith’s rich and unique characters drive the story. They are the plot and substance of the book. Readers think of these characters almost as family, and love them, both the good and the not so good. There is of course a lot of comedy, but also emotion and contemporary issues. Some past problems are resolved, but there are plenty of questions for the future. McCall Smith’s books are always a delight to read, and this is no exception. I heard him speak at The Book Carnival in Orange, Ca, and he is as fascinating in person as his characters are in his books. He is a born storyteller I received a copy of ““A Time of Love and Tartan” from Alexander McCall Smith, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group and NetGalley. Seriously, this is an entertaining book, but be careful; you might just laugh out loud as you read. We all hope for many more instalments of this enjoyable series. When Bertie is happy, all are happy.
I hope Stuart finds love in the next book.
As usual I, in my greediness, have read the entire book in short order. Of course I found it delightful and perfect in every way and am now saddened that Its finished. But,at last the pathetic Irene is gone and Stuart and Bertie and Ulysses can have the peaceful life they deserve. Cannot remember when I have enjoyed a book more. Thank you.
Thoughtful and laugh out loud funny. Can't wait to read the next installment.