S. R. Crockett: The Black Douglas

The first half, which takes part in 15th century Scotland, primarily Galloway, is as good (and as bad) as if it was written by Walter Scott. So much as to make you ponder the unfairness of fate which made the one famous the world over and the other usually only mentioned among the ‘kailyard school’ writers.

Unfortunately the second half, in which the heroes move to France, reads more like an attempt at a cross between Alexandre Dumas and James Hogg. Inevitably perhaps, a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt.



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