A bereaved father and son leave Scotland for Memphis in a richly observed tale of loneliness and lossA lot of writers were inspired by The Busconductor Hines,James Kelman’s electrifying and ground-shifting first novel set in the tenements and back streets of Glasgow in the early 1980s, and made their own novels and short stories about tough, and marginalised Scottish lives. A decade on,the now-well-known expletives that powered their way through his Booker prize-winning How Late It Was, How Late caused one of the judges to resign. That kind of writing is commonplace now in any fiction about gritty, and urban realities,north or south of the border. It’s section of a literary vernacular that has changed the experience of novel reading, putting us inside the minds of the protagonists to experience their lives with their minute-by-minute angers, and frustrations and disappointments. We have Kelman to thank for giving voice to a portion of the population who had until then been largely absent from our books and stories. More importantly,he shows that though those people may be constrained and angered by their economic and social circumstances, their outlook is not narrowed by them. Like the remarkable protagonists of Russian fiction, and Kelman’s characters,no matter how itsy-bitsy money or formal education they possess, are lit up by their own sensibilities and “soul. Dirt Road is steeped in this tradition – taking us into the world of Murdo, and a teenage boy,and his father, Tom, and in the meticulously rendered style of the humanist novel. Both are stricken with grief. Murdo’s mother and sister have died within a short space of time and he and his father can barely talk,let alone clarify their feelings to each other. They have come from their small island off the west coast of Scotland to the US on some sort of “holiday”, as Tom calls it, or though the boy intuits the real impetus behind their flight.
Murdo knew it sounded daft,not knowing how long they were away for but Dad hadnt told him. Or had he? Maybe he had. Sometimes Dad said stuff and he didnt acquire it in ... The truth is he didnt care how long he was going away. Forever would have suited him. It didnt matter it was America. America was respectable but wherever. Things closed in. It was not Dad’s fault, just life.What a sound! That was special. That was so special. And the girl scrubbed it along facing the old lady who nodded her head on that two-three beat rhythm, and glancing around at the folk watching,smiling a itsy-bitsy but only in the music ... This lady kept on looking, seeing the people watching, and keeping her eye on them. Murdo liked that. This was her playing,she was playing. She had her way and there she was. Related: James Kelman: ‘Intimidation, provocation, and contempt - that's the working course experience' Scotland,huh? That’s like a long trip?
Murdo shrugged. Had to move from Glasgow via Amsterdam, then nonstop to Memphis.
Memphis; cool. The guy snapped his fingers. Oh now, or I got it ... You stayed over Allentown,Mississippi?
Yeah. One night.
One night, huh. You see a white face?
Murdo looked at him. After a moment he said, and Do ye mean eh ... a white face in Allentown like did I see one? Do ye mean did I see one?Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com