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Zusatztext Praise for the 44 Scotland Street series: “[McCall Smith] is a pro! and he delivers sharp observation! gentle satire . . . as well as the expected romantic complications. . . . [Readers will] relish McCall Smith’s depiction of this place . . . and enjoy his tolerant! good-humored company.” — The New York Times Book Review “Alexander McCall Smith once again proves himself a wry but gentle chronicler of humanity and its foibles.” — The Miami Herald Informationen zum Autor Alexander McCall Smith Klappentext 44 SCOTLAND STREET - Book 3 The residents and neighbors of 44 Scotland Street and the city of Edinburgh come to vivid life in these gently satirical, wonderfully perceptive serial novels, featuring six-year-old Bertie, a remarkably precocious boy-just ask his mother. This just in from Edinburgh: the complicated lives of the denizens of 44 Scotland Street are becoming no simpler. Domenica Macdonald has left for the Malacca Straits to conduct a perilous anthropological study of pirate households. Angus Lordie's dog, Cyril, has been stolen, and is facing an uncertain future wandering the streets. Bertie, the prodigiously talented six-year-old, is still enduring psychotherapy, but his burden is lightened by a junior orchestra's trip to Paris, where he makes some interesting new friends. Back in Edinburgh, there is romance for Pat with a handsome young man called Wolf, until she begins to see the attractions of the more prosaically named Matthew. Teeming with McCall Smith's wonderful wit and charming depictions of Edinburgh, Love Over Scotland is another beautiful ode to a city and its people that continue to fascinate this astounding author. 1. Pat Distracted on a Tedious Art Course Pat let her gaze move slowly round the room, over the figures seated at the table in the seminar room. There were ten of them; eleven if one counted Dr Fantouse himself, although he was exactly the sort of person one wouldn't count. Dr Fantouse, reader in the history of art and author of The Discerning Gaze in the Quattrocento was a mild, rather mousy man, who for some reason invariably evoked the pity of students. It was not that they disliked him - he was too kind and courteous for that - they just felt a vague, inexpressible regret that he existed, with his shabby jacket and his dull Paisley ties; no discernment there, one of them had said, with some satisfaction at the wit of the remark. And then there was the name, which sounded so like that marvellous, but under-used, Scots word which Pat's father used to describe the overly flashy - fantoosh. Dr Fantouse was not fantoosh in any respect; but neither was . . . Pat's gaze had gone all the way round the table, over all ten, skipping over Dr Fantouse quickly, as in sympathy, and now returned to the boy sitting opposite her. He was called Wolf, she had discovered. At the first meeting of the class they had all introduced themselves round the table, at the suggestion of Dr Fantouse himself ("I'm Geoffrey Fantouse, as you may know; I'm the Quattrocento really, but I have a strong interest in aesthetics, which, I hardly need to remind you, is what we shall be discussing in this course"). And then had come a succession of names: Ginny, Karen, Mark, Greg, Alice, and so on until, at the end, Wolf, looking down at the table in modesty, had said, "Wolf", and Pat had seen the barely disguised appreciative glances of Karen and Ginny. Wolf. It was a very good name for a boy, thought Pat; ideal, in fact. Wolf was a name filled with promise. And this Wolf, sitting opposite her, fitted the name perfectly. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a shock of golden hair and a broad smile. Boys like that could look - and be - vacuous - surfing types with a limited vocabulary and an off-putting empty-headedness. But not this Wolf. There was a lambent intelligence in his face, a light in the eyes that revealed ...
