What do you think?
Rate this book
Busted Scotch
Set in working-class Scotland and England, a selection of stories mixes bleak comedy, everyday tragedy, and the vicissitudes of romance
262 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1997
6 people are currently reading
116 people want to read
About the author
James Kelman
84 books271 followersKelman says:
My own background is as normal or abnormal as anyone else's. Born and bred in Govan and Drumchapel, inner city tenement to the housing scheme homeland on the outer reaches of the city. Four brothers, my mother a full time parent, my father in the picture framemaking and gilding trade, trying to operate a one man business and I left school at 15 etc. etc. (...) For one reason or another, by the age of 21/22 I decided to write stories. The stories I wanted to write would derive from my own background, my own socio-cultural experience. I wanted to write as one of my own people, I wanted to write and remain a member of my own community.
During the 1970s he published a first collection of short stories. He became involved in Philip Hobsbaum's creative writing group in Glasgow along with Tom Leonard, Alasdair Gray and Liz Lochhead, and his short stories began to appear in magazines. These stories introduced a distinctive style, expressing first person internal monologues in a pared-down prose utilising Glaswegian speech patterns, though avoiding for the most part the quasi-phonetic rendition of Tom Leonard. Kelman's developing style has been influential on the succeeding generation of Scottish novelists, including Irvine Welsh, Alan Warner and Janice Galloway. In 1998, Kelman received the Stakis Prize for "Scottish Writer of the Year" for his collection of short stories 'The Good Times.'
http://www.contemporarywriters.com/au...
My own background is as normal or abnormal as anyone else's. Born and bred in Govan and Drumchapel, inner city tenement to the housing scheme homeland on the outer reaches of the city. Four brothers, my mother a full time parent, my father in the picture framemaking and gilding trade, trying to operate a one man business and I left school at 15 etc. etc. (...) For one reason or another, by the age of 21/22 I decided to write stories. The stories I wanted to write would derive from my own background, my own socio-cultural experience. I wanted to write as one of my own people, I wanted to write and remain a member of my own community.
During the 1970s he published a first collection of short stories. He became involved in Philip Hobsbaum's creative writing group in Glasgow along with Tom Leonard, Alasdair Gray and Liz Lochhead, and his short stories began to appear in magazines. These stories introduced a distinctive style, expressing first person internal monologues in a pared-down prose utilising Glaswegian speech patterns, though avoiding for the most part the quasi-phonetic rendition of Tom Leonard. Kelman's developing style has been influential on the succeeding generation of Scottish novelists, including Irvine Welsh, Alan Warner and Janice Galloway. In 1998, Kelman received the Stakis Prize for "Scottish Writer of the Year" for his collection of short stories 'The Good Times.'
http://www.contemporarywriters.com/au...
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
January 24, 2009
As is the case with most collections, there's a lot of variety in this one, differences in tone from comic to the tragic. The good stories are masterful, especially "By the Burn." One of my all time favorites.
May 28, 2023
"The publication of the selected stories of James Kelman, acclaimed author of the Booker Prize-winning How late it was, how late is a literary event. This collection of 35 short stories -- most of them being published in this country for the first time -- has been selected and arranged by James Kelman himself from over two decades of his work. It reveals the author as a tough-minded master of the short form, which he infuses with his unique brand of bleak comedy and his absolute belief that language, not literature, makes the culture.
"The stories in Busted Scotch are set in the working-class milieu of Scotland and England -- the pubs, betting shops, tenements, bedrooms, snooker parlors, and decaying industrial workplaces. They range widely ... in style from the deceptively offhand to the highly farcical, and in subject matter from the casual everyday tragedies to the heartbreaking vicissitudes ..."
~~front & back flaps
Did you get the hint that these stories are grim, hopeless, heartbreaking? You don't have to read the book, you can take my word for it -- they are. Desperately bleak, uncompromisingly hopeless, etc. I read the first one, skimmed the second, tiptoed through the third . . . and gave up.
"The stories in Busted Scotch are set in the working-class milieu of Scotland and England -- the pubs, betting shops, tenements, bedrooms, snooker parlors, and decaying industrial workplaces. They range widely ... in style from the deceptively offhand to the highly farcical, and in subject matter from the casual everyday tragedies to the heartbreaking vicissitudes ..."
~~front & back flaps
Did you get the hint that these stories are grim, hopeless, heartbreaking? You don't have to read the book, you can take my word for it -- they are. Desperately bleak, uncompromisingly hopeless, etc. I read the first one, skimmed the second, tiptoed through the third . . . and gave up.
Read
December 1, 2021Beautiful stories about boozehounds, gamblers, and the assorted unemployees of Glaswegian society. Nae bad Jimmy, nae bad.
February 28, 2017
A book of Scottish short stories - some leaning more towards the vernacular than others - which span this writer's career. He's got a great way of conveying how lonely you can be in a crowded bar, or in a car full of friends. Sometimes the stories go nowhere, sometimes they are dour and humorless, sometimes hilarious, but they often end up being warm, like a glass of whiskey and a comfortable barstool. Yes, everyone is as miserable as you are.
Want to read
January 2, 2021#4
Old Porter ducks beneath the counter right away and comes up with Danny's jar. He used to keep his money in a jam-jar in those days. And he had a good few quid in there at times. Right enough sometimes he had nothing.
#6
Fine if I had been drunk and able to join in on the chants but as it was I was staying sober for the Brag ahead. Give the scotchman his due but—he stuck it out till the last and turning his back on them all he gave a big boo boopsidoo with the kilt pulled right up and flashing the Y-fronts.
#17
It takes 4 bogey loads to replenish the bunker. I could manage it with 3 but the incline up into the factory is too steep to push the bogey comfortably if fully laden. And there is no need to rush. This is a part of the shift I like.
#18
Instead of answering him the first bloke just watched Frank, not showing much emotion at all, just in a very sort of cold manner, passionless. If he had been unsure of his ground at any time he was definitely not unsure now. It was him that was dangerous. Of the trio, it was him. Best just to humour him. Frank muttered, I’m skint. He shrugged and gazed over the path towards the burn.
#19
There's this dog started following me. It used to go with that other yin, the quiet cunt. It tagged behind him across in the park one morning and me and the gab told him to fucking dump it cause it must belong to somebody but he didnt fucking bother, just shrugs.
#29
A woman was walking along towards them, leading two small terrier dogs on leashes, they both had tartan jackets tucked round their bodies. Caricatures, he said, Sunday Post specials.
Yeh. Who's pulling who eh?
#33
He was safe now for another few minutes. It was over, a respite o lord how brief is this tiny candle flicker. Peasie Peasie Peasie. For this was his nickname, the handle awarded him by the mates, the compañeros, the compatriots, the comrades: Peasie.
#35
The roaring from the burn was really loud now, deafening. He waited a moment up on the bank, staring down at the swollen water, it came rushing, spray flying out, so high it looked set to overflow the banks.
Old Porter ducks beneath the counter right away and comes up with Danny's jar. He used to keep his money in a jam-jar in those days. And he had a good few quid in there at times. Right enough sometimes he had nothing.
#6
Fine if I had been drunk and able to join in on the chants but as it was I was staying sober for the Brag ahead. Give the scotchman his due but—he stuck it out till the last and turning his back on them all he gave a big boo boopsidoo with the kilt pulled right up and flashing the Y-fronts.
#17
It takes 4 bogey loads to replenish the bunker. I could manage it with 3 but the incline up into the factory is too steep to push the bogey comfortably if fully laden. And there is no need to rush. This is a part of the shift I like.
#18
Instead of answering him the first bloke just watched Frank, not showing much emotion at all, just in a very sort of cold manner, passionless. If he had been unsure of his ground at any time he was definitely not unsure now. It was him that was dangerous. Of the trio, it was him. Best just to humour him. Frank muttered, I’m skint. He shrugged and gazed over the path towards the burn.
#19
There's this dog started following me. It used to go with that other yin, the quiet cunt. It tagged behind him across in the park one morning and me and the gab told him to fucking dump it cause it must belong to somebody but he didnt fucking bother, just shrugs.
#29
A woman was walking along towards them, leading two small terrier dogs on leashes, they both had tartan jackets tucked round their bodies. Caricatures, he said, Sunday Post specials.
Yeh. Who's pulling who eh?
#33
He was safe now for another few minutes. It was over, a respite o lord how brief is this tiny candle flicker. Peasie Peasie Peasie. For this was his nickname, the handle awarded him by the mates, the compañeros, the compatriots, the comrades: Peasie.
#35
The roaring from the burn was really loud now, deafening. He waited a moment up on the bank, staring down at the swollen water, it came rushing, spray flying out, so high it looked set to overflow the banks.
August 31, 2010
Kelman's body of work continues to impress me, but not amaze me. This short story collection was very solid, and much better in my opinion then the previous one I read, The Good Times.
The problem I have with Kelman is that his short stories are so good that I find myself wanting them to continue on. Yet when I read one of his novels, such as Translated Accounts or You Have To Be Careful in the Land of the Free I find myself wishing he'd move along already. The one shining exception would be How Late it was, How Late.
This collection feels like a good place for someone new to Kelman's work to start.
The problem I have with Kelman is that his short stories are so good that I find myself wanting them to continue on. Yet when I read one of his novels, such as Translated Accounts or You Have To Be Careful in the Land of the Free I find myself wishing he'd move along already. The one shining exception would be How Late it was, How Late.
This collection feels like a good place for someone new to Kelman's work to start.
January 31, 2016
Kelman has an art for writing depressing books about the plight of the Scottish working class citizen and this is no dissapointment to his name. This is actually a collection of short stories. This book will drag you down into the dregs with the various main characters, but it is an honest presentation of the average Scotsmen presnted by a Scotsmen. Do not approach any peice of work by Kelman in search for a happy ending or light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, look and receive reality presented in raw and unsavory language, as it usually displays itself in life.
January 3, 2008
I adore Kelman. Nuff said. (Point of bragging/trivia: a blurb from a review I wrote graces the front cover of the Norton paperback edition!)
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews