I came for the marvellous titular neologism, I remained for the demented descent into a 4Chan mindfuck, a screed of trolling edgelord forum posts, fraI came for the marvellous titular neologism, I remained for the demented descent into a 4Chan mindfuck, a screed of trolling edgelord forum posts, fragmented prose-poems, and tragic dispatches from beyond the protagonist’s bedroom door. The forum vomit is the closest thing to an accurate glimpse into Elon Musk’s mind I have read in literary form—a churning moral sewer of horrorporn and tired shitposting—while the novel itself is a captivating drop into the bowels of online radicalisation....more
Kelman’s story collections often contain reheated matter from previous novels (either abandoned or published), and can suffer from too many abstruse BKelman’s story collections often contain reheated matter from previous novels (either abandoned or published), and can suffer from too many abstruse Beckettish stories that spiral on and on indefinitely, which can frustrate the reader, as they are not the most artistically robust part of his literary arsenal, in spite of their calculated difficulty. Kelman is at his best when mining the obsessive, darker depths of the human consciousness, capturing long digressive transmissions from inside the minds of (mainly) men, a perfect example being the title story in this volume (dedicated to Glasgow poet Tom Leonard), an elegiac snapshot inside the mind of an ageing hardman, browsing the stalls at the Barrowlands (a well-known public market in Glasgow), a tremendously touching story that captures the ache of ageing and no longer being seen. Other highlights are ‘Did the Pixie Speak?�, a comedic tale of an arrogant artist provoking a young printer’s assistant, and ‘Oh the Days Ahead�, where the subtleties of intimacy are explored in a story that is mostly dialogue. The curious, exploratory nature of Kelman’s art mean the reader will either engage with his more obscure work, or long for the writer to write to his strengths. Either way, there’s no denying Kelman’s unquenchable thirst for mining more of the vast mysteries of the human mind....more
Author of the cult classic A Day at the Office, Robert Alan is one of Scotland’s least-valued novelists. His most recent novel (this one), is set in BAuthor of the cult classic A Day at the Office, Robert Alan is one of Scotland’s least-valued novelists. His most recent novel (this one), is set in British Columbia and concerns the road trip of an Edinburgh bookseller on a genealogical excursion to locate a relative who founded the fictional town of Cloud Falls (inspired by the many Scots who formed communities like McLeese Lake or McLeod Lake). A breezy, lushly descriptive novel tipsy on the splendour of the Canadian wilderness that explores the fascinating historical relationships between Scottish interlopers and the Native communities, and the extant hostilities that still permeate these remote nooks, nestled within a charming tale of two cancer survivors forming a bond in their darker days. A beautiful tribute to the Canadian-Scottish relationship and a thoughtful meditation on mortality, with a poet’s eye for detail and a light-hearted sense of humour....more
The fact that this collection fails to turn the insipid, turd-tongued ramblings of the Worst President Ever into an amusing poetry-parody is evidence The fact that this collection fails to turn the insipid, turd-tongued ramblings of the Worst President Ever into an amusing poetry-parody is evidence that there is nothing whatsoever remarkable, amusing, or interesting about Trump and his words. He’s merely an overinflated orange cockwomble who hates everyone and everything not Trump, and the rest is babble. He’s a complete mediocrity, the living, walking, wheezing embodiment of meh. He’s a background irritant. He’s white noise, he’s radio static. He’s a whiff of manure in the wind. He’s the green mould on your potato chip. He’s a Covid-19 particle sneakily wafting up your granny’s nose. He’s the residuum at the bottom of a bin. He’s the unending, unrelenting drip of your bathroom tap, slowly driving you insane with the same repetitive sound, drip-drip-dripping in your head until you want to scream. Trump’s words cannot become the stuff of comedy, because Trump’s words are utterly devoid of any linguistic value whatsoever. There can never be any art squeezed from Trump. Trump is where everything wonderful goes to die. ...more
Somewhere, in a heap o� obsolete tech, thrashing around in a pile of motherboards and asimov circuits, is the Maybot, pinned below a series of prototySomewhere, in a heap o� obsolete tech, thrashing around in a pile of motherboards and asimov circuits, is the Maybot, pinned below a series of prototype Asmios, stubbornly attempting to force herself back into action to deliver Brexit. Her mind, having been bruised by several ravenous crowbots, is somewhat on the fritz, as she mutters, in a croaky voice, “strong and r-r-r-exit means st-st-st-exit-it�, and the numbers on her barcode fall off. Overhead, an old P45 wafts from a nearby town, its inhabitants unemployed as a result of 34,000 businesses closing in preparation for no-deal, a sight that spurs the Maybot into more action, as she uses the last of her powers to free herself from the Asimo crush. On her feet, she looks steelily into the middle distance, then steps forward to enact the will of the British people, trips over a loose nut and smashes her asmiov circuits to pieces. She is too toxic to be used as scrap....more
As we have found to our acute pain, satirising the self-satirising balloonful of bull semen that is Donnie Trumkoph is a pointless exercise, although As we have found to our acute pain, satirising the self-satirising balloonful of bull semen that is Donnie Trumkoph is a pointless exercise, although thoughtful attempts to understand the inexorable rise in novel-form are helpful. This fable-like retelling of the rise is amusing and caustic, although never reaches further than the inevitable response, that loveless asshole parents breed loveless asshole children who infect the world with their inflated loveless assholleries. Crediting Donnie with a complex interior is beneath writer of Howard’s calibre, making this novel somewhat unneeded, although a welcome slap around the chops all the same....more
When Cohen reins in his wild verbivoracity, the results are not as explosive. When Cohen tries to wed a middlebrow novel seeking a film adaptation witWhen Cohen reins in his wild verbivoracity, the results are not as explosive. When Cohen tries to wed a middlebrow novel seeking a film adaptation with a freewheeling linguistic beast, the results are a little muddled and annoying. ...more
A riotous comic novella with an arch narrator somewhere between Humbert Humbert and Ignatius J. Reilly, a freeromping verbal fiesta mired in the realmA riotous comic novella with an arch narrator somewhere between Humbert Humbert and Ignatius J. Reilly, a freeromping verbal fiesta mired in the realm of hookups and tinderings and matchings, with a narrator fast sinking into a moral cesspool. Across three short sections, the prose howls, flexes, and pirouettes with the wit and verve reminscent of Stanley Elkin and burns with the fire of the frustrated intellectual lost in a subteen world of uncourtly love. An excellent literary debut....more
An all-too-short series of mordant fables, set in an unnamed macabre suburb, cataloguing the creepiness and horrors inside a medievalish imaginative rAn all-too-short series of mordant fables, set in an unnamed macabre suburb, cataloguing the creepiness and horrors inside a medievalish imaginative realm. The author, a pioneering queer essayist and novelist, whose controversial sexual philosophies (and descriptions of child sexuality) were spurned, causing him in turn to spurn literature for a retreat into a secluded existence, has a brutal wit and caustic worldview, a mere peep of which we see in these stories of skinning children, snot-removal, book mutilation, fat snowmen, and unwarranted nuptial sodomy. Beneath these unhinged nihilistic night-time stories lurks a potent slap in the face of the societal hypocrisy and backward attitudes that Duvert endured....more
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