It wouldn't do to leave pieces of her for another man to collect and repair later.

Raindrops on a leaf. Geilston Bay, November 2020.

It is hard to know where one is to start with this review. The only certainty is the unease with which its success must have brought the Glasgow Taxi Owners' Association.

'Loved' is not really an appropriate word, given the dark and desolate subject matter. Yet as a work of art, it is both affecting and remarkable. Even in the blackest moments – and mark my words, things get mighty black – there is a sense of promise and hope that is never quite snubbed out.

Our titular hero, as oddly aloof and outcast as he is, somehow weathers through a set of circumstances that would do most of us in. His journey puts even the most tormented of Dickens's characters to shame.

The author has done a fantastic job ensuring that even the many villains of the piece have shades beyond the one-dimensional, perhaps aside from Shug Senior and Thatcher herself (although I hold a particular antagonism for the vile Jinty McClinchy). This is none more true than in the case of Agnes.

In not flinching in detailing the realities of poverty, addiction, bigotry, intolerance and oppression, the book is not for the faint-hearted. Vivid and viseral descriptions of violence, sexual assualt, cruelty, self-harm and the raw details of alcoholism are littered throughout, but these are offset from those moments of tenderness and love that occasionally shine through.

I won't say more, other than to advise you to give it a chance and stick with it through the bleakest moments. This one will stay with me for a very long time.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Comments

Mad as hell

So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

Something unpleasant is coming when men are anxious to tell the truth.

This is the moon. Have I mentioned how much I adore the zoom on my camera? It's Theme Thursday you see, and after last week's limp effort, I have been thinking about how I might redeem myself. Then I clicked on the topic and discover that it was BUTTON. We've been hearing a lot about the moon in the past couple of weeks. Apparently some fellas went up there and played golf and what-not forty-odd years ago. The desire to get to the moon, however, was not simply about enhancing opportunities for Meg and Mog titles and skirting local planning by-laws in the construction of new and innovative golf courses. No, all of your Sputniks , "One small steps" and freeze dried ice cream was about one thing , and one thing only : MAD Now, I don't mean mad in terms of "bloke breaks record for number of scorpions he can get up his bum", no I mean MAD as in Mutual assured destruction . When I was a young man you see, there was a lot of talk about the type of m...

This will hurt me...

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