Iain Banks: Stonemouth (2012)

Edition: Little, Brown, 2013
Review number: 1486

Stewart Gilmour returns to his home town of Stonemouth after years away, following an event which earned him the enmity of the closest that a small town north of Aberdeen has to a gangster family. He has been granted permission to return for a funeral, but do all the family members know (or care) about this? What about the other relationships which were affected by what he did - how will other people react when he returns?

Like many Banks novels, Stonemouth is told with multiple timelines presented simultaneously, though it is one of the simplest versions of this, as Stewart's current visit has his past life in the town interleaved as a series of flashbacks. This is why I've been careful not to say precisely what the event was which led to him being exiled, even though most readers are likely to have guessed well before it is revealed. The biggest problem with this sort of thing is usually that the secret to be revealed near the end of the novel is well known to all the characters throughout, and in the hands of lesser writers leads to some awkward dialogue, as people steer clear from what they would naturally say so that the author doesn't reveal his secret to the readers.

The bridge over the Stoun is an important part of Stonemouth, and bridges have played major roles in Banks' novels before now - obviously in The Bridge, but also in Canal Dreams, where the Panama Canal is like an inverse bridge joining two oceans together across the intervening land. The function of a bridge (or canal) is to connect two things otherwise unconnected, but in the earlier novels the action takes place on the structure itself, which places the characters in a kind of limbo. Here, though, the purpose of the bridge is to act as a transition from one world to another, whether through death (much is made of the bridge as a jumping off place for suicides) or by overcoming the separation between the two sides of Stewart's life. In the outside world, he is successful, and works at a job which brings light to the world, in a literal sense. In Stonemouth, he is a former insider who is now separated from the townspeople by his actions many years ago. So the bridge links to his past, to another world he has been forced to abjure, away from the light. That the gangsters in the town appear to be powerless outside it (they tried to track him down in London) is part of this. Is the novel itself some kind of metaphor for growing up? For leaving the past behind? Or is it even a suggestion that Stewart didn't survive to live his own life, but, like the suicides, crossed the bridge to death?

As well as avoiding the obvious pitfalls, Banks does a good job of winding up the tension until the denouement. Stonemouth is a literary novel structured like a thriller - Banks has always written novels which at the very least flirt with genre fiction, and this is no exception.

The characters are well drawn, the plot is believable, and the background is convincing. So why did I end up feeling that this was not Banks at his absolute best? It's partly that this has been done before by Banks; the prodigal son returning to his roots is the basis of several of his novels, with differences mainly deriving from the nature of the welcome expected. Stonemouth has a particularly stony reception for the returnee, which is perhaps one reason for the name of the town and the title of the novel. The Scottish setting, too, is common to most of Banks' non-genre fiction - superbly well done, but not breaking any new ground. The other problem I had here is that, to me, the characters fail to take off, apart from Stewart, and he himself is pretty similar to other narrators - notably Prentice McHoan in The Crow Road. So it's a good book, but not top class - my rating, 8/10.

Iain Banks: Raw Spirit: In Search of the Perfect Dram (2003)

Edition: Century, 2003
Review number: 1237

Iain Banks' first book length non-fiction writing is on a subject which has little interest to me, and is certainly a book I would not have picked up had it not been for the author's name. The subject is whisky, and I have been a teetotaller for over fifteen years. So a book about scotch is not really one calculated to appeal to me, and indeed I did find the parts of Raw Spirit which are in fact about the drink rather dull (there is clearly a limit to the number of ways that even such an inventive writer as Iain Banks can find to describe the tastes of the different malts - "peaty" is a word rather lacking in synonyms). The book really only takes whisky as one theme among several, as it describes a series of journeys motivated by the idea of visiting every Scottish distillery; it is basically a travel book. So quite a large proportion of Raw Spirit - more than half - is about other things: Scottish scenery, Scottish roads, Iain Banks and his friends, his cars, and how he feels about the Iraq war. This is all much more interesting, if repetitive in places.

So what's in Raw Spirit for the reader? That depends very much on what the reader wants to get from it even more than is the case for most books. A whisky connoisseur would probably have more detailed and systematic information about single malts available from reference books they already own, even though here they have the information recorded in a more individual manner. As a travel book, it could do with illustration - Banks often mentions photos being taken, but only two are used, and a map showing the distilleries and itinerary would make the logic of the journeys easier to see. The trips themselves lack the epic of unusual quality one expects from a travel book. The main interest in the travel sections comes from the various friends and relatives who accompany Banks on his trips, modern car journeys not that interesting to read about. (Scotland is not to me a particularly unfamiliar country; to others, this may be more interesting.) This leads to what is probably what most readers will get from Raw Spirit - autobiographical anecdotes from a favourite writer. In the end, this is a book for fans of Banks' fiction, for those who want to know more about the man behind the novels. Like many writers, the creator is less interesting than his creations. (This is exemplified when Banks compares his own happy childhood with the abuse and neglect many readers expect to have been necessary to produce The Wasp Factory, as though, as Banks points out, people can only write from their personal experience.) This really is a book strictly for the fans.

Nick Aitchison: Macbeth: Man and Myth (1999)

Edition: Sutton Publishing, 2000 (Buy from Amazon)
Review number: 898

Because of Shakespeare's play, Macbeth is easily the most famous Scottish king (Mary Queen of Scots may be the country's most famous monarch). However, the drama's version of his life bears little relation to the small amount of contemporary information about him. Aitchison's book attempts to put what we do know in the context of early medieval Scotland, and then to examine how and why the myth enshrined in the play developed.

Basically, the only fact common to the known facts and the myth is the murder of Duncan, and this is crucial to understanding it. Until about the tenth century, when Macbeth lived, murder was the most common cause of death for Scottish kings. Their system of succession was the reason for this; the kingship alternated between different branches of the royal family, and when a lengthy reign began to make it look as though a turn might be missed, murder was the common and acceptable solution. Macbeth had even more justification, for Duncan was the grandson of the previous king, Malcolm II, who had tried to change the rules to a patrilinear succession of the eldest son. Thus Duncan's kingship (also marked by military failures, not a propitious sign for his regime) threatened the existence of Macbeth's right to the throne.

So if his "crime" was justified by the rules of the period, and given that Macbeth went on to become a successful monarch (having a long reign, and a country stable enough for him to become the only Scottish king to make the pilgrimage to Rome), why did he become the centre of the story of treachery and witchcraft current by the end of the medieval period? The key to this is in the success of Duncan's son Malcolm III in completing the change in the rules of succession; from Duncan are descended all the Scottish kings after 1058. This line had every interest in promoting the legitimacy of their rule, especially as the English were beginning to interfere in Scottish affairs, and so they portrayed Macbeth as an usurping criminal - he was an early victim of political spin. The other elements gradually crept in until the story we know today appeared in the history of Boece (1527) and the chronicles of Holinshed (1577), the source for many of Shakespeare's historical plays.

The story is fascinating, for anyone interested in early medieval history or in the way in which stories develop. Aitchison tells it well, making quite academic points in a clear and easily understood manner. In some places, the book is marred by over-repetition, and the final section about the places associated with Macbeth is dull, but in general this is an excellent book.

Compton Mackenzie: The Rival Monster (1952)

Edition: Penguin, 1983
Review number: 681

When a flying saucer is seen to crash into the Loch Ness Monster, the worst is feared for one of Scotland's greatest treasures. But soon a new monster is seen in the Hebridean Todday Islands, and this causes a great stir - has Nessie abandoned its home in disgust at being the target of extraterrestrial attacks? Or is it a rival taking advantage of Nessie's disappearance?

This ludicrous premise lies behind Compton Mackenzie's funniest novel (at least of those I have read), which is a sequel to both Monarch of the Glen and Whisky Galore. Many characters from both these novels re-appear here, unchanged in the least. This includes the incredibly self important Paul Wagget, who naturally doesn't believe in anything so unlikely as any kind of monster and seeks to persuade eye witnesses that they were mistaken, to their great annoyance.

Wagget's twin daughters make an entrance here, having been away serving in an anti-aircraft battery in Whisky Galore, and they provide the romantic subplot. Their rivalry mimics that between the Todday monster and the Loch Ness monster, though both of these are fairly low key contests; as far as Elsie and Muriel are concerned, it consists mainly of confusing their suitors, who cannot tell them apart. They also provide more evidence of Wagget's awfulness; I'm not sure what the best word is to describe any father who encourages his grown up children to call their parents "daddo" and "mumsy".

Compton Mackenzie: Whisky Galore (1947)

Edition: Penguin, 1983
Review number: 679

The best known of Compton Mackenzie's novels formed the basis for a classic Ealing Comedy - which is, of course, why it remains so well known. Like another of the popular films produced by that studio just after the war, Passport to Pimlico, it is essentially a satire attacking the absurdities of rationing, which continued in Britain for some years after the war.

One of the strange events of the war was the export of virtually the entire production of Scotch whisky to the USA, to the point where there was a shortage in Scotland itself. This was particularly hard felt on the fictional Todday islands, which ran dry of their traditional drink, until the US bound vessel the SS Cabinet Minister ran aground of Little Todday, making the thousands of cases of whisky aboard available for illicit salvage. (This is actually based on a true story, the wreck of SS Politician off Eriskay.)

The wily islanders ha cross to bear, in the shape of officious Home Guard commander Paul Waggett. He is forever trying to inspire them with his own ideas of efficiency and the right attitude to the War. He is one of those people who spend ages telling you how they could have won the war in no time - if only he had been consulted. Hurt by the authorities refusal to make guarding wrecks the business of the Home Guard, he tries to stop the pilfering of the Cabinet Minister; it is hardly surprising that he has little effect.

Less happens in the novel than in the film; like Monarch of the Glen, Whisky Galore is a gentle comedy. Mackenzie is described on the cover of The Highland Omnibus, in which these and a later novel The Rival Monster are reprinted, as "the forerunner of Tom Sharpe"; while there are parallels in their humour (ludicrous situations getting out of hand, subversion of establishment and authority figures), Mackenzie does not have the scatological edge that Sharpe has. It would be hard to see a way in which condoms or blow up dolls could appear in a Mackenzie novel, even if it were updated to the year 2000; his writing is more genial and not as aggressive.

Compton Mackenzie: The Monarch of the Glen (1941)

Edition: Penguin, 1983
Review number: 678

Just about the only connection between this novel and the TV series "based" on it is that both are set in the Highlands of Scotland. (I only watched part of the series, because it seemed more like an attempt to repeat the success of Ballykissangel rather than anything worth watching.) The equivalent of the selfish character played by Richard Briers is the blustering but good hearted clan chieftain, Donald MacDonald of Ben Nevis, usually - and appropriately - called Ben Nevis.

There are two strands to the plot of the novel. Chester Royde is an American millionaire who has recently married, and who has come to Scotland to visit something of his bride's roots (she is descended from crofters evicted by an ancestor of Ben Nevis in the Highland Clearances). He is also accompanied by his young, unmarried sister, and it seems to the MacDonald family that nothing would be better in this era of rising costs for the landed gentry than for Myrtle Royde to marry one of Ben Nevis' three sons.

The second strand begins when Ben Nevis takes his guests shooting on the Twelfth, and discovers that the grouse on one of his best moors have been frightened off by a group of hikers. Furious because the trespassers have spoiled his sport, he carries them off, with the help of his brawny children, and imprisons them in the dungeons of his ancestral castle. When saner counsels prevail and the hikers are released, his action prompts the National Union of Hikers to declare war on the Ben Nevis estate, and this provides most of the comedy of this amusing novel. It is a gentle humour, though as the war escalates it loses some of its restraint.