Eva Dolan: Domestic noir goddess
In the Raven Bar on Renfrew Street in Glasgow, crime novelist Eva Dolan is talking over food and drinks. In her early thirties, tall, animated and with a mischievous sense of humour, she is particularly fond of the chicken wings. “You have to mention them,” she says. Later, the cheesecake requires a name check, too. As well as being distracted by what we're eating, our conversation occasionally freewheels into off-the-record territory, which is what happens when you put two writers who have known each other for a while in the same room. When I finally ask my first question about her latest book, she raises an eyebrow and asks, “Is that your professional voice?”