I've just finished reading this wonderfully laddish book, and despite being a bit long in the tooth for laddishness, to say nothing of a small matter of gender, I enjoyed it immensely. Perhaps I was influenced by the main character's being (a) a woman and (b) a grandmother (she had her own daughter early, so don't picture grey hair and arthritis). This character, Jane, does the most satisfyingly dreadful things when compelled by the mother lioness bit of all our natures to defend her family - and in so doing escapes a life of extreme hoovering and avoiding making footprints on her wet floor.
Whenever I start reading one of Brookmyre's books - and for familial reasons I've actually read all but the most recent which is being saved for a holiday - I feel I can't be bothered. Perhaps it was the piling on of techy detail in the opening chapter which put me off this time, or the tendency to stockpile adjectives - "The blase and cocky figure who was so nonchalantly leaning ..." - but I'm glad I persevered. The story is, as usual, wonderfully filmic, and results in unputdownablity. The dialogue is slick, the Glasgow bits authentic and the violence often extreme. And he does women pretty well, actually - if you like women to play with the big boys.
All fun and games until somebody loses an eye. Indeed.