Why is there a disproportionate number of great Scottish crime writers? Is it their sense of grievance (often against the English)? Their pawky sense of humour? Their superior education system? Or the appalling weather? Whether it be William McIlvanney, Ian Rankin, Denise Mina or Alan Parks (or Stuart MacBride or Chris Brookmyre or Louise Welsh or Val McDermid), the way they view — and depict — the world gives great pleasure.