A few days ago, Ian Rankin told a reporter that his wife had seen JK Rowling hard at work in an Edinburgh cafe. Her subject matter? A crime novel, the sort of thing Rankin himself writes, and very well, I might add. (Check out his most recent John Rebus novel The Naming of the Dead, for example.) Potterites were alternately agog and aghast. Was it Professor Everard in the Quidditch stadium with the Liquorice Wand?
Sadly, no. It turns out Rankin was just pulling the scribe's leg. "This is a joke that got out of hand," Rankin told the Guardian. You can see the full confession here.--David E
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