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His Bloody Project Paperback – January 1, 2015
| Graeme Macrae Burnet (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
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- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherContraband
- Publication dateJanuary 1, 2015
- Dimensions7.8 x 0.75 x 5.2 inches
- ISBN-101910192147
- ISBN-13978-1910192146
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| Case Study | The Disappearance of Adele Bedeau | The Accident on the A35 | |
| New from Graeme Macrae Burnet | From the Gorski series | From the Gorski series | |
| Description | London, 1965. A young woman believes that a charismatic psychiatrist, Collins Braithwaite, has driven her sister to suicide. Intent on confirming her suspicions, she assumes a false identity and presents herself to him as a client. | Baumann is a loner who spends his evenings surreptitiously observing Adèle Bedeau, the waitress at his local bistro. But when she mysteriously vanishes, Detective Georges Gorski has questions for Baumann. | There does not appear to be anything remarkable about the fatal car crash on the A35. But one question dogs Inspector Georges Gorski: where has the victim, an outwardly austere lawyer, been on the night of his death? |
| Format | Hardback, Kindle, Audio | Paperback, Kindle, Audio | Paperback, Kindle, Audio |
Product details
- Publisher : Contraband (January 1, 2015)
- Language : English
- ISBN-10 : 1910192147
- ISBN-13 : 978-1910192146
- Item Weight : 5 ounces
- Dimensions : 7.8 x 0.75 x 5.2 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,560,255 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Graeme Macrae Burnet is the author of the 'fiendishly readable' His Bloody Project, which was shortlisted for the 2016 Booker Prize and the LA Times Book Awards. It won the Saltire Prize for Fiction and has been published to great acclaim in twenty languages around the world.
His latest novel, Case Study has been longlisted for the 2022 Booker Prize, shortlisted for the Ned Kelly International Crime Prize and longlisted for the Gordon Burn Prize. Hannah Kent (Burial Rites) has called it 'a novel of mind-bending brilliance.'
He is also the author of The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau and The Accident on the A35 both set in the unremarkable town of Saint-Louis in the Alsace and featuring the downtrodden Inspector Georges Gorski.
"If Roland Barthes had written a detective novel, this would be it." - Literary Review
Case Study is set in London, 1965 and tells the story, through a series of notebooks, of a young woman who believes that a radical psychotherapist called Collins Braithwaite has driven her sister to suicide.
“A page-turning blast, funny, sinister and perfectly plotted," said The Times
Born and brought up in Kilmarnock, Graeme now lives in Glasgow.
You can find him on twitter at @GMacraeBurnet. Do say hello - he's quite friendly really!
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little about my grandfather, Donald 'Tramp' Macrae, who was
born in 1890 in Applecross, two or three miles north of Culduie.
It was in the course of my research at the Highland Archive
Centre in Inverness that I came across some newspaper clippings
describing the trial of Roderick Macrae, and with the assistance
of Anne O'Hanlon, the archivist there, discovered the manuscript
which comprises the largest part of this volume.
Immediately upon finishing this latest Man Booker nominee, I turned back to the author's introduction to check whether I had been reading genuine documents about a true case, or the imaginative products of a clever author with an uncanny sense of style. I think the latter, but even now I cannot be quite sure. The larger part of this book is, as Macrae Burnet tells us, the memoir written in 1869 by 17-year-old Roderick John Macrae at the request of his solicitor while he is awaiting trial in Inverness Castle. He freely admits to killing Lachlan Mackenzie (commonly known as Lachlan Broad) and two other people in the former's house in Culduie, Wester Ross, in order to relieve his father of the persecution he was suffering at Mackenzie's hands. From beginning to end of the book, there is no dispute about these facts; all that remains to be filled in are the details, motivation, and the question of moral guilt.
Roddy Macrae's memoir takes up the first half of the book. It is preceded by various written statements made at the time by neighbors, the local schoolteacher, and the Presbyterian minister, which show a wide variety of opinions, revealing the character of each writer quite as much as that of their subject. It is an extraordinarily compact way of depicting the small crofting community, the various rivalries within it, and the constricting power of the Kirk. The latter part of the book consists of reports of the trial and its aftermath. Burnet is pitch-perfect in capturing the tone of depositions, official documents, and newspaper reports, but nothing is astounding as Roddy's narrative itself, which not only nails the style of 19th-century Scots prose* (think Stevenson) but also recreates the social and moral world in which the tragedy plays itself out.
Culduie is a real place, on the west coast of Scotland a little bit north of the Isle of Skye. Beautiful though it seems to tourist eyes, in the 19th-century it must have been a place of feudal squalor. Here and elsewhere, huge swaths of coast and mountain would be owned by a Laird, and used largely for the purpose of hunting and fishing. The lands would be managed by a Factor, who would assign local jurisdiction to a Constable elected from each area. The crofters lived in little more than hovels, occupying their houses and farming their land at the pleasure of the Laird, and subject to arbitrary rulings on the part of the Constable. Reading this portion of the book made me very angry indeed, not only at the grossly unfair exercise of class privilege, but at the bovine acceptance of it by most of the local people. Here is a snatch of conversation overheard by Roddy at the annual Highland Gathering:
I fell in behind two well-dressed gentlemen and eavesdropped on
their conversation. The first declared in a loud voice, 'It is
easy to forget that such primitives still exist in our country.'
His companion nodded solemnly and wondered aloud whether more
might be done for us. The first gentleman then expressed the
view that it was difficult to assist people who were so incapable
of doing anything for themselves. They then paused to drink from
a flask and watch a knot of girls pass by.
This attitude is echoed by that of the Presbyterian Minister, Mr. Galbraith, who speaks of "a savagism" that the Church has only been partially successful in suppressing. He has no difficulty in asserting that Roddy is a throwback to the primitive type, a noxious individual, enslaved to the Devil. Burnet may have used Galbraith as a scathing example of religion at its worst and least compassionate (he based him, apparently, on a real figure), but there is another aspect to his Presbyterianism that is not much developed in the novel, but which I see as centrally important. The willingness of Roddy's father and his sister Jetta to submit to Lachlan Broad's tyranny is the Calvinist doctrine of Predestination in its crudest form:
You must not say such things, Roddy. If you understood more about
the world, your would see that Lachlan Broad is not responsible.
It is providence that has brought us to this point. It is no more
Lachlan Broad's doing than yours or mine or Father's.
Jetta, who has second sight, tells him that she has foreseen Lachlan's death. The combination of Gaelic superstition and Presbyterian fatalism finally propels Roddy to his act. So we see two theories of his crime: class and religion. The trial, however, will focus on the question of mental confidence. But here we discover something else: that Roddy is not the trustworthy narrator we had thought.** All along, we have been proceeding towards understanding and even sympathy—but then something happens to kick us in the gut. From this horrendous point on, halfway through the book, neither Roddy nor the author is any more to be trusted. The novel becomes a genuine cliffhanger, even as it sinks deeper into tragedy. It is really a superb achievement.
======
*
Also as in Stevenson, the text is scattered with dialect Scots words—including the two murder weapons, a croman and a flaughter. Oddly enough, Burnet places his glossary halfway through the book (54% in my Kindle edition). Sassenach readers would be well advised to bookmark it!
**
In terms of the combination of unreliable narrator with a 19th-century Scottish crime drama, I thought of the novels of Jane Harris, GILLESPIE AND I and THE OBSERVATIONS. Reviews have also compared HIS BLOODY PROJECT to books such as Margaret Atwood's ALIAS GRACE and James Robertson's TESTAMENT OF GIDEON MACK. I am sure many other comparisons are possible. But that does not lessen the stunning originality of the book we have.
This riveting bag of treats and tricks give the reader an ostensible advantage: with all the advances of contemporary criminology, anthropology, and psychology, we of the 21st century should feel superior to what passed as expertise back then, when criminals were primarily classed based on their heredity, mentality, or physiology (such as size of head, brow, or “low” physical attributes). But Burnet has some surprises in store for us, as we are led to the end, perhaps to one conclusion, only to fall into a trapdoor that the author so cleverly placed at our feet. He can get away with it because it is we, the readers, who make the deliberate choices based on each discovery and reveal.
The cast of unreliable narrators and the author’s talent to manipulate perspective upend us with its many contradictions. The reader is given clues to Roddy’s nature, but never a consistent picture. This requires a surgical insight into another person’s mind, which we do not posses, and can only strive to connect the dots. “One man can no more see into the mind of another than he can see inside a stone...”.
We know early on that Roddy killed his neighbor, Lachlan Mackenzie (known as Lachlan Broad), a malicious, mendacious man who abused his power as village constable to personally persecute the Macrae family. When I started this book, I had zero understanding of 19th century crofting (tenant farming) in the Highlands, but came away with a vivid picture of the patriarchal, hierarchical structure, and the effects of this essentially feudal system--harsh physical labor and deprivation on the poverty-stricken citizens of Culduie (near the Isle of Skye, as I understood it). It was a sociological 360 view of a community in metaphorical chains.
I could read this book repeatedly and continue to ponder the veracity of witnesses and experts alike. For example, Roddy was described as a moron; particularly intelligent; a shy child; an idiot who talks to himself; a sexual deviant; an animal lover, an animal abuser.
We are asked, as the witnesses are in court, to speculate and conclude what was going on inside Roddy Macrae’s head, and whether he was morally sane when he committed the three murders—“his bloody project.” He admits his guilt to all who ask, and writes a personal account of his crimes at the behest of his consul, Mr. Sinclair, which itself takes up half the book. The rest of the case files includes police reports; medical reports; testimony of some of the nine families that live in this tiny, impoverished community; his father; his schoolteacher; the minister of the parish; so-called expert testimony from a Perth prison surgeon; documents of the trial itself; the whims of the publishing industry; editorial columns in the newspapers; and a short epilogue.
The reader is taken on a harrowing journey until the bitter end. And, yet, it is often mordantly comic in tone, despite the heinous accounts of the murders. There’s a chilling Kafkaesque scene where all the crofters are gathered to collect seaweed from the loch to spread on their lots to help nourish the soil, a ceaselessly tiring job that takes all day and is a regular event in the village. After it is completed, Lachlan Mackenzie (Lachlan Broad) directs Roddy’s father to return his seaweed, arbitrarily declaring that, since it was done without permission, he must put his seaweed back into the sea.
Another time, Roddy is forced to accompany his father, John, to see the factor, the constable’s overseer. The picture of diminishment is complete here, when John asks to see the rules and regulations, and is thus accused by the factor of trying to subvert the rules and regulations by attempting to familiarize with them. The absurdity of this arbitrary abuse of power by the factor engulfs the Macraes, and leaves them nowhere to turn for justice.
HIS BLOODY PROJECT gives so much meat to chew on—the justice system, father-son relationships, the class system, how urban perceives rural in the mid 1800s Scotland, sexual power, propaganda, and much more. Read this more than once!
As someone who works on my own family history, I was interested in how each document can be interpreted in varied manners, each putting a different spin on Roddy and the crimes. The author does a fantastic job in telling a story with multiple unreliable narrators.
Roddy's memoir, which makes up a large section of the book, especially is well written in describing the lives of the Scottish crofters. It's a book well worthy of the Man Booker prize and very interesting reading.
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On that assumption, Booker-shortlisted “His Bloody Project” is clearly Type 1. The author describes how he found a manuscript in the Highland Archives Centre while tracing his family history. The document was an account by a Macrae ancestor, teenager Roderick Macrae, and it told how he brutally murdered a neighbour in 1869, after years of vindictive pressure - but the confession showed no remorse, no attempt to justify the deed. Curiosity sparked, the author tells how he tracked down witness statements, police and post-mortem reports, and, unusually, a detailed study of the young killer's mental state at the time by a distinguished early criminal psychologist, James Bruce Thomson. All these records are here, along with an account of the trial from contemporary records.
The story offers a view of the harsh realities of crofting life in the remote highlands of Scotland – as if a hand-to-mouth life relying on a smallholding isn't enough to cope with, there's the rigid class system dominated by a distant landlord, his factor (estate manager), the malicious village constable (the victim of the killing), and the dead hand of Presbyterian doctrine and morality. No wonder that young Roderick Macrae felt he was obliged to kill his neighbour and that the neighbour should know that Roderick was killing him “in just payment for the tribulations he had caused my family.”
So, is it Type 1 (true story based on fact) or Type 2 (fiction with the ring of truth and a close link to reality) ? Well, it stood up to the inevitable internet checks – the Macrae croft in Culduie is there on Google maps, the Highland Archive Centre has an attractive website, the footnotes to the text check out, James Bruce Thomson is in the Dictionary of National Biography, and one of his books is for sale on the ABE Books website. Even Wikipedia talks of the real-life Roderick Macrae. Enough there to convince you of that ring of truth ?
Well, I'm not going to commit myself beyond the clue above, and you have to read to the very last page of the book, at the end of the detailed references and acknowledgments, to learn more. Either way, it's one of the most enjoyable reads I've encountered in the last few months. (Review originally published in the Chesil Magazine, Dorset)
Very evocative descriptions of township life, detailed and interesting. The story is intriguing and sometimes uncomfortable (in an edge of the seat, suspenseful kind of way). Good historical fiction in a refreshingly different place and time than usual (Tudor England has been done to death, for example- great to see a traditional Highland township instead), also works really well as a psychological thriller.
The story of daily life for Roddy and his family in Culduie, in the highlands of Scotland, in the 1860s is so vividly told through his memoirs. The Laird of the village has appointed Lachlan Mackenzie his constable, a role he adopts with great vigour and ruthlessness, especially with those that he would take umbrage against. The Macrae family are one such family and you feel so frustrated with a stubbornly principled father in a time when survival is more important. The harms that befall the family from the early death of the mother to incidents with Roddy’s sister and the transgressions or misunderstandings from Roddy himself, make you feel the despair and misery that Roddy must have felt and maybe what drove him to commit these murders. How is it that you can feel sympathy for a murderer when the victim is a cruel, vindictive man like Lachlan Mackenzie and also be sickened with the death of an innocent infant? The story is masterful and no surprise it was shortlisted for the Man Booker prize.
The story finishes with the trial of Roddy Macrae and there is an interesting twist as to who the main target of the attacks was that day. What was his bloody project?
However much as this is an interesting, and presumably accurate portrayal of Scottish Highland crofter life in the 1860s, I ultimately found it boring and too long. We know about the murders, we know he confessed and there seems no reason to doubt this - so what's the point of the book? It's not a murder mystery but a work of literary historical fiction and in that respect no better than others I've read. It didn't grip me, but I was determined to read to the bitter end, which I did and was unsatisfied.









