THE CONCRETE ROUNDABOUT (TCR)

The Dark Remains by William Mcilvanney & Ian Rankin

William Mcilvanney was my English teacher back in the mid 70's, the same school that Nicola Sturgeon went to, and this was his final novel. Sort of.

Mcilvanney died back in 2015, leaving handwritten notes for this, which fellow Scottish crime writer Rankin took and finished, at Mcilvanney's widow's request.

When he was my teacher, Mcilvanney had just had his second novel published, and soon after he started writing the first of his Laidlaw trilogy. Laidlaw, the antihero of this, is a CID detective in Glasgow of the 70's. A bit of a cliche in all honesty. Hard bitten and hard drinking, but the novels are considered groundbreaking by both fellow crime writers and fans alike. I've never read them, and only read this because it was in the window of a charity bookshop in Stony that I happened to be passing, and at £2 I couldn't lose.

It was a good enough read, which I finished in a day, and to both of the author's credit it evoked the Glasgow of my childhood pretty accurately. Glasgow in the mid 70's was an incredibly violent city, and this tale of warring gangs certainly brought it all back.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

Might have a look at that - I really am a fan of Ian Rankin/Rebus (Though obvs Rebus operates out of Edinburgh) so he was prabably the man for the job.

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Gimme Gimme Shock Treatment

Rankin freely admits to being a massive Mcilvanney fanboy. I read an interview in The Guardian when this came out last year where he recounts meeting Mcilvanney and telling him that he was writing his first Rebus. Mcilvanney signed one of his own books with ‘Good luck to the Edinburgh Laidlaw’. I’m taking it back to the Willen bookshop in Stony if you fancy it. Only £2 for a hardback that’s only a year old.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

Not a book to icepick up then?

No Good Deed by John Niven

I’ve known Niven since we were both teenagers back in Scotland. We were in rival bands, and to be quite honest it wasn’t always a friendly rivalry. So fair to say we have some history.

My life. Started working as an electrical engineer at 16, still working as an electrical engineer at 60. Moved from Scotland to MK in the mid-eighties, still here.

Niv’s life. Went to Glasgow Uni. where he gained a degree in English lit, or some such. Joined a band, The Wishing Stones, who actually did alright, and were pretty good. Went into A&R at various record companies. He signed Travis and The Mike Flowers Pops. He also failed to sign Coldplay and Muse when given the chance. He’s now a very successful author, and screenwriter.

We’re now friends, of a sort! Last saw him at a friend’s funeral a few years ago where pleasantries were exchanged, and only last week he sent me some of his books through the post, this being the first one I read.

The main protagonist in this is me. It starts with a food writer, Alan, wandering through Soho when he stumbles across an old friend, Craig, who’s now a tramp. This actually happened. Years ago when I used to work for Whitbread I was having lunch one Friday afternoon in Leicester Square when Niv walked past. The opening scene of this is an almost word for word (except I wasn't a fucking tramp) retelling of that exchange. Being the bastard that he is, he told everyone back in Glasgow that I was living on the streets, which was quite funny I suppose.

He’s a funny writer Niv, really funny. This bangs along at a fair old pace. Alan takes pity on Craig, invites him to live with him, sets him back on the road to normality, before the inevitable betrayal on Craig’s part sees the roles reversed, before normality is restored. As I’ve already said, he’s a funny writer, and in passages of this I found myself laughing out loud. He has a neat turn of phrase, using that cutting West Coast of Scotland harsh humor that I actually miss.

As I’ve got a pile of his to get through, expect more of the same in the coming weeks.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

Cold Hands by John J. Niven

This was Niv’s attempt to be taken more seriously as an author. The J. being a dead giveaway. He was always slightly pretentious old Niv, but this is actually a rather good crime thriller.

Basic plot. Donnie, an expat Scot living in snowy Saskatchewan, aspires to a screenwriting career, but finds himself writing reviews of DVD’s for his local paper, a paper owned by his wealthy father-in-law, and edited by his wife. He lives an idyllic life, before some horrific incident from his Ayrshire past catches up with him.

It’s a tough read this, with some of the scenes truly horrific, not least the ‘incident’ from his past. He’s very good at invoking the town we both grew up in, Irvine on the west coast of Scotland. Reading him, I can almost picture the assorted characters that we grew up around. I know the person that the bully in this is obviously based on. I avoided the Delta Bar, the roughest pub in town. I know that he went to Ravenspark Academy, and that it features in most of his work. There’s even a fantastic callback to our, sadly, late friend Keith at one point.

Like I say, it’s a good read. Not my, or indeed his, usual genre, but not too shabby. I’m happy to say that the three of his that I’ve still got to read are back to his trademark black humor. Because after this I seriously need some light refreshment.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

Have you read The Amateurs by John Niven? That would give you some light refreshment. It’s very funny.

I'd prefer The Moon's a Balloon by David Niven. Quality.

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I don't need your ill-informed, half-baked, idiotic opinions. I have plenty of those myself.

I have. It's his best work. Once again set in our mutual home town. He really should expand.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.

I read that in the summer of 1976. I spent six months in hospital. I'm guessing the Presbyterian minister that ran the library trolley hadn't read it himself, being that I was 13/14 at the time.

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For those that like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like.