last night i was discussing with sophie catcher in the rye, which she felt was the most important book she read as a teenager. that book for me, while enjoyable, never had the same impact on me as i think it did many of my peers. for me the most important book i read at high school was the wasp factory by iain banks. never before had a book made me feel physically sick, never before had i had to go over the final chapter several times till it’s startling conclusion i had managed to absorb. 

i devoured his (non- m.) books from the high school library thereafter, all set in gothic black and white abacus designs, dark tales of death, sex, family, drunkenness, religion. whit. espedair street. the crow road. the business. like much good fiction from this country, it spoke with honesty about scotland, never romanticising, but revealing it with a fondness. his work would lead me on to other great scottish authors, alasdair gray, james kelman, irvine welsh, and has left me with a deep loyalty to scottish writing.

i don’t like whisky, so i can’t pretend i’ll be toasting him with a dram. instead i’m going to go back and read my favourites once again. i think that’s a decent enough tribute.