Señalado por la muerte

Mark Renton #5

by Irvine Welsh, Francisco González (Translator), Arturo Peral (Translator)

El episodio final de la saga Trainspotting. Irvine Welsh se despide a lo grande de los icónicos Renton, Begbie, Sick Boy y Spud.  Estamos en 2015 y los destinos de Renton, Begbie, Sick Boy y Spud vuelven a cruzarse. Es tenemos de nuevo reunido al cuarteto protagonista de Trainspotting en lo que el autor ha anunciado como «el Grand Finale de la saga». Renton es ahora un exitoso representante de DJs que viaja por todo el mundo y se topa en un vuelo transatlántico con Begbie, reconvertido en artista de éxito, hombre casado y padre de familia. A los otros dos no les ha ido tan bien en la Sick Boy sigue en lo del negocio de explotación del cuerpo femenino y Spud es una suerte de mendigo profesionalizado que pide dinero por las calles acompañado de su perro. Las cosas empiezan a complicarse con un turbio asunto de tráfico de órganos y riñones donados o robados, a lo que se suma un cadáver y la aparición de algún que otro secundario de lujo como el taxista priápico Terry Lawson, viejo conocido de los lectores fieles de Welsh. Y así, a un ritmo acelerado que no da tregua, nos deslizaremos por una enloquecida montaña rusa de sexo –explícito y a veces grotesco cómico–, drogas –en todo su amplio espectro–, alcohol, sátira social, reflexión sobre el paso del tiempo y las dudosas probabilidades de madurar, y desenfreno y delirio en cantidades industriales. En esta novela los protagonistas han alcanzado la mediana edad, pero ¿los ha hecho eso más sabios? ¿Han sentado cabeza? ¿Han aprendido algo de la vida? Esta nueva entrega y broche final de las andanzas de los ya icónicos personajes de Trainspotting no defraudará a los seguidores de Irvine Welsh, que sigue en plena forma y dispuesto a dar caña y guerra.

Genres: Fiction, Scotland, Thriller, Novels, Contemporary, Drugs, Crime

464 pages, Paperback

First published March 29, 2018

About the author

Probably most famous for his gritty depiction of a gang of Scottish Heroin addicts, Trainspotting (1993), Welsh focuses on the darker side of human nature and drug use. All of his novels are set in his native Scotland and filled with anti-heroes, small time crooks and hooligans. Welsh manages, however to imbue these characters with a sad humanity that makes them likable despite their obvious scumbaggerry. Irvine Welsh is also known for writing in his native Edinburgh Scots dialect, making his prose challenging for the average reader unfamiliar with this style.

Reviews

[Nigeyb · Rating 5 out of 5]

Inventive, outrageous, funny, and life reaffirming

Since reading Trainspotting, when it came out in 1993, I have read all of Irvine Welsh's books and, to one degree or another, enjoyed them all, so - full disclosure - I came to Dead Men's Trousers as a massive and long time fan of Irvine Welsh's work.

A new book by Irvine Welsh is always cause for celebration. When it's the next instalment of the Trainspotting saga even more so. This is the fifth instalment and fellow long time readers will doubtless share my strong emotional attachment to Renton, Sick Boy, Spud, and Begbie.

Dead Men's Trousers is for the faithful and would make little sense to anyone not steeped in the story and the characters. New readers need to rewind back to the beginning. For the Welsh faithful, this is right up there with the rest of the Trainspotting series and is variously inventive, outrageous, hilarious, touching, and is, in short, a life reaffirming read.

From the off this delivers. The prologue features Renton's worst nightmare, a chance meeting with Begbie on a plane, and so we're up and running.... Renton and his DJ management company - a hellish existence; a recap of Begbie's life (from The Blade Artist) & specifically the obsessed cop who loves Begbie's wife & is convinced she's married a psycho; Sick Boy, spiking his very straight brother in law with MDMA; and poor old Spud on his uppers. Then it's 400 more glorious pages of incident-laden plot with the usual highs, lows, and frequent hilarity. All life his here. Absolutely wonderful.

So what's in store? Drugs, sex, violence, profanity, scams, murder, organ harvesting, prostitution, football, jeopardy, friends making up, friends falling out, family loyalties, revenge, Brexit, music, clubbing, death, tragedy, STDs, blackmail, abuse, euphoria, and even that doesn't cover it all. It's genius.

5/5

[Ray · Rating 4 out of 5]

With Dead Men's Trousers, is Trainspotting a trilogy now? No, it's bigger than that. While indeed this is number three, after Porno (which was loosely "adapted" into the T2 film), there is also the Skag Boys prequel.

Not to mention, this new novel also directly takes place after the solo Begbie novel Blade Artist which feels like required reading now. Then there's that novel Glue, featuring characters such as the perverted Juice Terry and DJ N-Sign--who have also been in more novels.

Basically, Dead Men's Trousers is like episode 28 of the Irvine Welsh Literary Universe. Kind of like the MCU, but moderately more literate. And while this latest episode is no Endgame, it is thoroughly entertaining.

Let's be honest, Welsh has been riding that Trainspotting wave for decades. Mark Renton, Sick Boy, Spud, and the above-mentioned Begbie. It was a cool novelty at first to find out what happened to them next, and before. Now it just seems like the whole point; that this was always supposed to be a series. In a sense, the original groundbreaking novel feels more like a masterpiece if it stands up on its own.

What we are trading that for is years of entertainment, and I for one will take it. But I definitely understand if others aren't into this diluting of the "franchise." As said, I'm into it and I'm entertained.

It's kind of similar to latter-day Simpsons episodes. Not quite the institution it used to be, but if you just watch to watch you can enjoy.

That said, there's a lot of plot in latter-day Welsh. It's not just about the misery of the human condition by way of a decrepit Scottish junkie setting. This time, there are crazy imaginative scenarios organ transplants and various murders.

The original Trainspotting novel, in many ways, was more of a collection of short stories that were plenty powerful on their own. In Welsh's current writing style, the chapters aren't singular anymore and part of a traditional storytelling structure. For example, there's an excellent chapter about Sick Boy's brother-in-law who is goaded into a shocking moment in which he destroys his family after his drinks are spiked with MDMA on Christmas. That should have been enough, but then the story keeps going and going as we find out what happens next and how the family responds and then he gets sucked into the whole organ transplant scheme. It can come across as too much.

While comparisons can be made to the first sequel novel Porno, which was about gentrification after coming home to the ol' scene, suddenly all our old friends are middle-aged and very successful. I suppose it has to do with the author's journey himself. But Begbie as a rich artist, Rents as a globe-trotting music manager, does it work? I don't know. Somehow, it does seem to diminish the brutality of our first impression all those years ago. At least Spud is still a loser.

Among the deeper themes presented herein would be the concept of death. So many funerals. The violence scenes are serious, with the feeling that it can lead to a permanent end at any time. And about the acceptance of it. A beloved old school character even passes, but I won't spoil by saying who.

Lastly, as for the obligatory drug parts, surprisingly it's all about the psychedelic DMT. These profound realizations are admittedly shoehorned in, yet the writing is still excellent. The medium of prose itself is played around with as the hallucinatory trips are expressed by way of comics pages. It's certainly enough to get anyone curious about trying out that experience!

So, I wouldn't recommend the book if you've only seen the movie or read just the one book. If you are locked into the Irvine Welsh line, this is a book written by a talented crafter and you will enjoy it at least almost as much as the previous in the series. For all we know, there's yet another episode in the works, and the split between the pure literary and entertaining will be even wider... If so, I for one will be all-in wanting to know what happens next.

What a page-turner, 4stars even if rounding up.

[JK · Rating 5 out of 5]

At the end of The Blade Artist, I was crapping it to find out what was happening next. After ending on a totally holy shit moment, Welsh picks up Dead Men’s Trousers from that precise point - thank fuck.

I love these boys, and reading this book was murder. Desperate to just zoom through, to inhale the violence, the shagging, the plots, the revenge, I forced myself to go as slowly as possible and savour every moment. It was torture.

Where The Blade Artist focuses on Begbie, showing us how he believes he’s changed, then highlighting how he hasn’t changed at all, DMT finally gets all of the boys back together again - successful, off the skag, but still inherently the same boys they were when we first met them in Trainspotting. The old grudges are still there, their knee-jerk reactions are the same; Begbie’s still a psycho, Renton’s still battling demons, Sick Boy’s still a selfish conceited shagger, and Spud - Spud is still that golden-hearted wee boy in a fifty year old’s body.

Seeing them all behave exactly as we would expect them to was gorgeous; seeing them do things we would never have cooked up in a million years was total fucking chaos. Organ harvesting, STDs, new hallucinogenic drugs, homewrecking, and, most inconceivably, our favourite catboy has got himself a dug. The pace was incredible.

We knew from social media (and, indeed, from the above blurb), that one of the boys wasn’t going to survive the novel. Although it doesn’t happen until the book is almost over, the finger points to one of them pretty quickly. You think you’ve cracked it until the boys start to turn on one another, and you really have no idea who is heading to the Embra in the sky. The tension was unreal, and when it finally happened I cried like a big embarrassment for about forty minutes. When I then realised where the title came from, it set me off again for another half an hour.

I can’t see myself ever saying otherwise, but Welsh has played yet another blinder. Another speeding headfuck from my favourite band of former skagheeds.

“Ye dinnae fuck about wi me n what’s mine, mate.”

[Hanneke]

On page 100. I gave it a try but, unfortunately, I have to stop reading this novel. It's just too hard to read the Scottish dialect in almost every sentence for a Dutch person like myself.

[Ray · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm gonna get the band back together. Rents, Sick Boy, Spud and Begbie are back, drawn together by events and a chance meeting on a plane.

Sick Boy takes his staid brother in law out for a drink to celebrate BILs 50th. A normal night out? Far from it as events career out of hand, and the brother in law is shamed and outcast from the family home.

Begbie, now going by the name of Jim Francis, meets Renton on a plane, and surprisingly does not try to kill him. It seems that the psycho has mellowed, and is now an acclaimed arstist with a devoted wife and two lovely children.

Renton manages DJs, and hates it. The incessant travel and constant neediness of his C list staff is wearing him down. Perhaps he can settle down now that he does not need to check the rear view mirror for Begbie and the glint of a knife.

Spud is the same as ever. Perpetual loser, begging on the street. He has someone to love though, a wee dog called Toto. One day he is offered the chance to earn £1,000 for delivering a parcel. What could possibly go wrong? This being Spud, lots.

Funny and sad and violent, this is a great read. It is a little preachy in places - Welsh is angry about capitalism and Brexit it would seem.

[Nood-Lesse · Rating 5 out of 5]

L'amoralità

Ho scoperto per caso “Morto che cammina” imbattendomi ne “L’artista del coltello”. Consiglio di leggere prima quel romanzo, a mio avviso è indispensabile per apprezzare questo. Saputo che a Sick-Boy, Murphy-Boy, Rent-boy, Beggar-Boy era dedicato un libro che raccontava della loro adultità, mi sono goduto l’attesa (eravamo nell'estate 2020) imponendomi di farne la prima lettura del 2021. Pochi libri hanno a che fare con il piacere di leggere (del tutto personale) come quelli di questa saga; mi ritrovo a girare le pagine con un ghigno beffardo, mi vien da credere che più di me si sia divertito solo il loro autore a scriverli. Sono una sorta di catarsi, però potrebbero funzionare anche qualora ci si volesse sentire persone migliori: difficilmente qualcuno potrà ritenersi peggiore di un drogato, bastardo, manipolatore, privo di principi morali; di un drogato ladro e accattone; di un drogato traditore seriale; di un alcolista psicopatico e folle. Quattro personaggi egoisti, bugiardi, infidi e proprio in virtù di ciò, amici per (farsi) la pelle.
Il fatto che Welsh sia riuscito a scrivere migliaia di pagine su di loro anche dopo aver esaurito il giacimento autobiografico, lo colloca fra gli scrittori più prolifici nella categoria -buoni a trattare un solo argomento-. In “Morto che cammina” ci sono camei da “Colla”, “La vita sessuale delle gemelle siamesi”, “Godetevi la corsa”… in questo come in tutti gli altri romanzi di Welsh, il sesso, la droga, la violenza e l’amor-alità sono ingredienti imprescindibili. Una quota del divertimento la si deve al traduttore Massimo Bocchiola che oltre ad essersi inventato un linguaggio, per Welsh ha abolito il congiuntivo. Provate a scrivere rinunciando completamente al congiuntivo, è una fatica cane (o più precisamente cagnolo), si tratta di dover rimettere mano alla scrittura e peggiorarla ad arte.

Dove se non in un romanzo un detenuto psicato può intortare la propria psicologa (ovviamente gran fica) fingere si essersi redento, sposarla, avere due figlie con lei pur rimanendo il solito folle psicato?

Dove se non in un romanzo il figlio titubante annuncia la propria omosessualità al padre erotomane che gli risponde:
«Tu vuoi dire gay, completamente gay, non bisex, giusto?»
«Esatto, mi piacciono solo i maschi. Le ragazze, niente.»
«Grande! Questa è la più grande notizia della storia, cazzo! Evviva!» Brindo alzando il bicchiere.
Lui sembra basito, ma lo tocca col suo. «Io credevo che tu… ecco…»
Caccio giù una sorsata di Stella (Artois - N.D.N.) schioccando le labbra. «Mi sa che se eri gay-etero io sarei stato un filo geloso, perché avresti avuto più possibilità di chiavata di me» gli spiego.

Dove se non in un romanzo, un barman asporta un rene ad un donatore ignaro seguendo un tutorial su youtube?

La versione adulta dei Leith-boys va dall’inverosimile all’impossibile, le situazioni in cui vengono calati sono paradossali, ma da loro coetaneo sublimo la mia (discutibile) normalità e la mia (presunta) correttezza divertendomi un sacco. Peccato ancora una volta per il finale splatter (già successo ne “L'artista del coltello”), i primi capitoli sono molto più godibili degli ultimi.
Mi sgomenta un po' adesso iniziare un nuovo romanzo, ho riso parecchio per alcuni passaggi, ho rallentato perché la lettura durasse il più possibile.
Welsh non è autore per tutti, che sia lasciato a noi bastardi potenziali che lo abbiamo nominato portavoce.

Colonna sonora:
Sembra che passa un secolo, ma alla fine David Grazy torna fuori e alza la coppa. Ci scoppia a tutti una canzone, ed è Sunshine on Leith. Mi viene in mente che, dopo tutto ’sto tempo di distacco, è la prima volta che io, Franco, Sick Boy e Spud la cantiamo proprio insieme. Uno per uno, anni e anni ce l’abbiamo avuta tutti di fisso a matrimoni e funerali. Ma eccoci qua a urlarla noi quattro e cazzo, mi sento da dio!
https://youtu.be/JdP_KK75ThI
L’evento
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcLhU...

SAGA:
Trainspotting 1993
Porno 2002
Skagboys 2013
L’artista del coltello 2016
Morto che cammina 2018

[Gianfranco Mancini · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sto seduto nel mio appartamento a fumare canne e compatirmi. A deprimermi ancora di più con la coscienza esatta di quello che farò per sopportare questo disastro: mi sfonderò di sostanze, e passato l'effetto mi butterò nel lavoro. Lo ripeto fino alla morte. E questa la trappola. Non c'è un dopo.
Non c'è una fava di posto al sole. Non c'è uno stronzo di futuro. C'è solo l'adesso. Ed è una merda, e sta peggiorando.



Con il quinto ed ultimo, per ora, libro della saga di Trainspotting, i ragazzacci di Leigh ormai cresciuti chiudono più di un conto in sospeso, in una commedia tesa, sfrenata ed irriverente, che ti tiene incollato fino all’ultima pagina tra risate, brividi, e lacrime amare, in una trama imprevedibile a base di miserie umane, traffici di organi, droghe, sesso, volgarità ed omicidi vari, dove sentimenti e risentimenti di amicizie lunghe una vita alla fine esplodono colpendo il lettore allo stomaco ed al cuore.



Perché, dato il loro stile di vita non proprio morigerato, era inevitabile che qualcuno della banda prima o poi ci lasciasse, e quando questo alla fine accade, ci si sente quasi come aver perso un vecchio amico.



Potrebbe essere una degna conclusione della serie, ma sono sicuro prima o poi Welsh vi rimetterà mano, fortunatamente nel frattempo tra la serie spin-off di Terry Lawson ed un’altra ventina di libri ambientati nel mini-universo edimburghese dell’autore, ho abbastanza letture tra cui scegliere per non sentirne troppo la mancanza.



Arrivederci, ragazzi.

A presto.

[Jayakrishnan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Irvine Welsh roars back to form. Sort of. Dead Men's Trousers is a very entertaining read after tepid and uninspired offerings like The Blade Artist and The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins. It is the fourth book with the Mark Renton character as the leading man and Sick Boy, Spud Murphy and Francis Begbie in important supporting turns. The book is told from the point of view of Renton and Sick Boy and to a lesser extent Spud and Begbie.

Renton is in his forties and finally a success, managing DJ's. Sick Boy runs an escort agency and has no problems attracting women. Spud is lonely and grieving and has only his dog Toto to keep him company while he begs on the road, before being recruited into an organ smuggling scheme by Mickey Forrester. Begbie is now a famous artist (the book takes off from where Blade Artist left us and not the film T2 which has Begbie in jail and still very short tempered.). When Renton tries hard to return the money which he owes to Sick Boy and Begbie, their paths cross and they all get thrown together in the backdrop of the art world and the organ smuggling scene. The book also marries the Trainspotting universe with the Glue universe. Juice Terry made cameo appearances in many earlier novels. But Carl has a reasonably important part in this book.

Reading Renton and Sick Boy's candid commentary on Scottish and American society and life in general, told in that scabrous Scottish dialect laden with expletives, is both thrilling and uplifting. This is one of the great strengths of the novels in this series with picaresque characters from the Scottish working class community from Leith pitted against the boring and square outside world. The unique voices and their hilarious politically incorrect reflections on an increasingly politically correct and corporatised world around them are what makes me go back to these novels and their sequels. Listening to them talk make me wish that I had friends like them, because their voices are so damn intimate. Welsh is a truly gifted writer with an outrageous sense of humor and seasoned intuitions about the ways of the world. It is amazing how he shifts easily between the voices of four characters who are vastly different from each other. Renton is a smart man who nonetheless feels slightly disillusioned with his job, he is basically a talented person who let life pass him by but is clever enough to not end up as a bitter loser. Sick Boy is someone who does not let the changing times affect him. He is a man of the street who would be making money and getting laid even if somebody airdropped him into Saudi Arabia. Begbie is one of the toughest characters in modern literature. He is a "hard cunt". Spud is a sensitive lovable loser. Incorporating all these voices into a single novel must be tough. Welsh pulls this off effortlessly.

Here is Sick Boy reacting to his son coming out of the closet as a gay man:

"I don't care who you shag as long as you shag with a vengeance."

"Right, you raving arse bandit, up to that bar and make mine a double Macallan's."

:):):)

I think Welsh had great fun writing the novel from Sick Boy's point of view. Those are the most entertaining parts of the novel, parts when I laughed out loud. Welsh is in the form of his life, writing in Sick Boy's voice.

The parts with Begbie are also a huge improvement from the disappointing The Blade Artist. I respect Welsh for pulling off Begbie's transformation from a psychotic force of nature to a well known artist, loyal teetotaler husband and responsible father of two kids. He is still a psycho to people who try to mess with his family. I guess Welsh was trying to make the point that truly great artists are not what they seem to be on the surface.

Spud's character goes through a lot of shit in this novel. But the ending of this book suggests that the next book about these characters could be told from Spud's point of view, through his autobiography. I hope I am right. Frankly, I am such a big fan of these characters that I would read anything put out by Welsh.

Strongly recommended to all fans of Trainspotting.

[Metodi Markov · Rating 4 out of 5]

Момците от Лийт пак са в пълен състав и естествено са се овъртяли до шия в нови и стари проблеми.

"Хибърниънс" са на финал за купата, Рентън търси любовта, Бегби се опитва да се сдържа и да е нормален (чиста лудост, ха ха), Сик бой беснее по всички фронтове, а Спъд, е, Спъд си е Спъд, иска само да има по двайсетачка за пиене, чат-пат.

Мисля си, че това е лебедовата песен на групата шотландски наркомани и чешити, станали ни близки още преди над двайсет години с "Трейнспотинг".

[Supreeth · Rating 5 out of 5]

DMT—Dead Men's Trousers/Danny Murphy's a twat/Dimethyltryptamine—is one of the very few books which actually gave me heartful laughter. The only other one I can think of is Porno. While I understand the satire, midlife crisis, changing socio-economic dynamics, Brexit and all that, the comedy Welsh generates is irreplaceable. The best part of reading Trainspotting and further the series is, it leads us to this. The grand closure. There couldn't have been a better end to this series. Although I've saved Skagboys for the future. I've never understood the whole shebang of escapism with books, but if this is how satisfying it is, then who am I to judge.

[Brittney Gibbon · Rating 5 out of 5]

“You move forward in life or you don’t move at all.”

I loved Dead Men’s Trousers the first time around and after rereading Trainspotting just before rereading DMT, I loved it even more this time.

Rents is still battling some demons; almost making a life for himself but not quite ever getting things right. Sick Boy is still a narcissistic piece of shit; ruining other people’s lives for his own entertainment. Begbie is still a psychopath, regardless of his new life and what he’d have us believe. And Spud…Well Spud got a dog!

DMT gives us the usual sex, drugs, violence, relationship breakdowns and scams. Then Welsh throws in a little extra prostitution, murder, blackmail and organ harvesting and a game of football that is a lifetime in the making.

The highs are high, the lows are low and the humour is on point.

The more things change with these boys, the more they stay the same and the running theme of betrayal is ever present – it’s as though they simply cannot get ahead without it being at the expense of a mate. Even after all these years.

I laughed, I cringed, I cried. I was shocked, frustrated, disgusted, angry, disappointed, but most of all, I was excited. Dead Men’s Trousers feels like coming home to old friends and the throw backs to Trainspotting – the PERFECT execution of tying these stories back in together after so many years; some mentions very obvious and others so beautifully subtle it almost brings a tear to the eye – had me much more emotional than I was prepared for.

We know, going in, that one of the boys doesn’t survive this book. It was inevitable and the only logical conclusion. I was devastated the first time around and I’ve gotta say, it wasn’t any easier on a reread. I’ve spent almost half of my life immersed in the Trainspotting world, adoring these characters in a way I adore no others, and I just wanted more for my favourite 😭

Heartbreak aside, DMT is a wonderful ending to these stories that span so many years, and another example of just how good Welsh is at what he does.

[Robert · Rating 4 out of 5]

Back in 1996, I was in a bookstore and I saw a novel. It had a picture of a gang wearing skull masks and in big red letters it said TRAINSPOTTING. For a whole year I browsed through it, flicked through it and even took it to the cashier but the dialect made me change my mind.

Finally in the summer fo 1997, I decided to just buy the book.

I read it, loved it and then reread it a week later.

It was a good move as I’ve bought everything he’s published.

Like his last few books Dead Men’s Trousers is a return to the Trainspotting/Glue universe and takes it’s cues Porno and The Blade Artist.

The familiar cast are all here and in fine fettle, Renton is now managing and nuturing Djs , Begbie is a changed man and is settling nicely into his role as father and painter (as he was in The Blade Artist) , Sick Boy runs an escort service and is doing well and Spud … is Spud but he has a dog. Together the crew get themselves in the usual schemes and awful situations. Plus some drug use (the gang try DMTand that’s done fantastically – trust me)

As Irvine Welsh fans know that these characters are voices for society’s problems. Corruption, Brexit, The Scottish referundum, capitalism , organ harvesting, materialism and prostitution are some of the themes that are expressed in Dead Men’s Trousers. However in the end, the true message is about the strength of friendship : no matter what happens, one will always defend their peers and that comes out clearly, especially in the conclusion.

I can’t help feeling that Welsh feels at his most comfortable with these characters. Not to say that his non Trainspotting books are bad but bawdiness and violence are toned down. Dead Man’s Trousers is rude, funny and, at turns, shocking but it’s also clever and a joy to read. However I’m noticing that this world he’s created is getting more intricate and now we are at a point where one has to read previous books in order to understand what’s going on. This in no way is a bad thing but I cannot recommend Dead Men’s Trousers to an Irvine Welsh novice. Nonetheless the book is an excellent entry in the series and shows no signs of Irvine Welsh mellowing out and is in top form.

[Paul · Rating 5 out of 5]

Fantastic ending to the Trainspotting series (unless Welsh writes another one, of course). Made me cry more than once and laugh out loud throughout.

As always, definitely not for the easily offended.

[Reading Badger · Rating 5 out of 5]

It is no surprise to you that I am a devoted Irvine Welsh fan. For me, every book he releases is like a new series from my favourite show. The first book I read was Trainspotting, and I fell in love with the characters, the atmosphere, everything. So when I heard that a new book with Renton, Sick Boy, Spud and Begbie was up for grabs, it was on my pre-order list right away.

The story left off at the end of Porno, whith Begbie trying to kill Renton, and Renton scamming Sick Boy out of a lot of money. Dead man’s trousers begins in 2015, with Renton, now a successful DJ Manager, when he encounters Begbie (now a big time artist in LA, with a beautiful wife and two kids) on a transatlantic flight. Rather than the death threats he expected, Renton finds Begbie with a zen-like attitude.

Read our review: https://readingbadger.club/2018/09/07...

[Isaac L · Rating 1 out of 5]

I give up.

Another entry in the Trainspotting saga had my hopes high that Welsh might have returned to form after the slew of forgettable books he's churned out in the past decade or so. I was disappointed. If it wasn't for Skagboys, I might well be considering the idea that Trainspotting was indeed ghostwritten by Spud Murphy. Hell, maybe this is Welsh trying to tell us something? Unfortunately, this also has me questioning whether the other books are as good as I remember them being - a question which I'm sure will answer itself in due course.

Gone are most of the things which made Welsh great in the first place - the original cultural references, the Scots dialect, the counter-culture/drugs scene, basically anything distinctively to do with contemporary Scottish life. Dead Men's Trousers, like The Blade Artist, feels extremely Americanised (or at least obviously written by an author who no longer spends his time with the people and places he writes about - someone who is out of touch, to say the least). I think this might be one of the bigger reasons why his more recent work fails to hit the mark.

Stock semi-political jargon like 'neoliberalism' is thrown around throughout the book, without any attempt to portray or actually tackle the political reality these words are aiming to attack (a classic case of telling, not showing). Something, which ought to be noted, that Trainspotting did very well indirectly and that Skagboys pulled off quite nicely in a more direct fashion. A sort of template for language - a stock hackneyed-phrase generator, if you will - seems to occur often so that, while Welsh's phrasing is not cliche, it still feels like you've read it all before; it's not original, or clever (and, boy, does it think it's clever).

Most of the characters are flush with cash and have no discernible need - not real need anyway - seeming to kind of bounce off the walls wherever they go, with no significant danger or repercussions for their actions. More than this, a lot of characters' actions don't fit - not just with who the characters were in previous novels, but who they are within the internal context of this one; they are utterly changeable to the whims of the plot (e.g. Begbie to-ing and fro-ing from good guy to psycho and back whenever it suits the storyline). To top it off, the constant flying back and forth between countries every chapter gives the novel a strong feeling of vacancy and disconnection (and not the effective, intentional Bret Easton Ellis kind). Dead Men's Trousers feels like a mad dash through a pre-determined series of events rather than the exploration of character, circumstance and setting which astute readers and fans of the original might be seeking. And the events themselves alternate between the mundane and ham-fisted attempts at shock and revulsion, all of which are narratively confused.

The jet-setting, the money and the lack of a fixed locale only serve to show that Welsh is wealthy and living a different life now (and, unfortunately, do nothing for the writing). He no longer understands the everyday Scot. And, make no mistake: this. is. what. made. him. good. The brilliance of Trainspotting was that it accurately captured some of the lives and a lot of the emotional and social baggage of several generations of Scottish society. This does not.

With Dead Men's Trousers, Welsh shows no interest in good - or remotely literary - fiction, writing in a fashion more akin to the ten-a-penny airport genre paperback than someone who came within a bawhair of winning the Booker prize. It feels rushed, it feels superficial, and the writing itself feels bare-bones and first-draft. This is not to say there are errors (I only saw about two overall), it's more that there's a distinct lack of craft and effort, like an author who churns out a title every year to keep the ATM reading six figures and above.

All of this is not to say that the book doesn't have its moments. The novel is a page-turner for several brief stints in the second half, there are moments of levity at times when Welsh hit the nail on the head again with the right turn of phrase or piece of undeniable Scottishness, and the use of illustrations is an innovative addition. But they are a rope of pearls in a slum. The good moments are fewer and farther between than what is needed to make this a worthwhile read.

[Krista · Rating 3 out of 5]

You're nothing but a work-in-progress until that day you fall out of this world into the land ay dead men's trousers.

Because I read most of the books in this series before I joined Goodreads, I want to start with: I thought that Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting was an absolutely brilliant book – full of heart and laughs and subversive social commentary, amped up with a transgressive frisson and artfully dense dialect – and that Skagboys was a powerfully heartbreaking prequel. On the other hand, I found the sequel Porno to be campy and shallow, and the recent continuing saga of The Blade Artist to have been a disappointing betrayal of Welsh's world: what reader wants Begbie to be a buttoned-down straight citizen? Now with Dead Men's Trousers, we reconnect with the rest of the gang as they approach fifty years old, and as they jet around the world commenting on the evils of neoliberalism, Welsh seems to have become disconnected from everything that was subtle and engaging and true about his own characters; sure, people should grow up (and I'm glad none of the lads are skagboy jakeys anymore), and it's good to revisit these storylines and see how details from a few books ago have played out, but this book adds nothing to the furtherance of truth; there's no art here.

I'm giddy with shock. My sweaty palm reaches into my pocket tae the comforting bottle of Ambien. This is not my auld mate and deadly nemesis, Francis James Begbie. The horrible possibility dawns on me: perhaps I've been living ma life in fear ay a man who no longer exists.

As the book begins, Renton (now a world-travelling manager of House Music DJs) runs into Begbie on a transatlantic flight, and as Begbie calmly introduces his old frenemy (after all, Renton ripped the old psychopath off and left him for dead) to his stunning American wife, Renton isn't sure if he can trust in his old friend's newfound serenity. But as they both now have homes in California, they begin to socialise and Renton attempts to pay Begbie back for old debts. In shifting POVs, we also catch up with Sick Boy (now the owner of a high-class escort agency) and Spud (still a loveable loser, but getting by the best he can), and as the four eventually all cross paths again for the first time in decades, Renton finds himself forced to pay off even more debts (which leads him to plead poverty despite a first class lifestyle and homes on two continents). Characters get drawn into some campy (but enjoyable) crime capers, there is plenty of sex, experimentation with new drugs, and giving the boots to the wideos that deserve it, but the whole enterprise lacks heart. Most disappointingly, the political commentary that was indirect but so effective in Trainspotting is now constant and in-your-face, with both Renton and Sick Boy having these incongruous thoughts:

• Fear is an emotion best not expressed. Once acknowledged, it spreads like a virus. It's ruined our politics: the controllers have been dripping it into us for decades, making us compliant, turning us against each other, while they rape the world.

• I fight through the blocked-off roads into Soho. The IRA or ISIS never created anything like as much chaos and demoralisation in London as the neo-liberal planet-rapists with their corporate vanity construction projects.

• Global commercialism has compelled the Scots tae pretend tae like Christmas, but we're genetically programmed tae rebel against it.

• They were nice lads and the fact that they're in soldier uniform is constant proof that a nation state isnae a kind of construct if you urnae rich.

But everyone other than Spud is comparatively rich – most especially the Miami-based Welsh himself – and they all spend their time in pursuit of the “more” that will finally fill their empty spaces. Other than for the tying up of some old loose ends, Dead Men's Trousers is a fairly pointless read. Even so, every now and then, Welsh throws in an old school passage that made me smile:

The stewardess, not the lovely Jenny I was chatting tae, but a low-rent, pleb-serving, varicose-veined battleaxe, bike-rode into decrepitude over decades by the few hetero pilots, without even a hint of a sparkler thrown into the mix, is right over, her crabbit pus rammed into my coupon.

I may have been disappointed, again, but if Welsh writes another in the series, I'll probably pick it up, again.

[Sannie · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Trainspotting guys are back and they're now middle-aged. The adage goes, "With age comes wisdom," but alas, this isn't the case with Renton, Sick Boy, Spud, and Begbie. They're still getting themselves into absurd situations and haven't yet learned from their mistakes, but perhaps this is why we love them so much. As much as they had grown apart in the last novels, they're thrown back together here that makes for an incredibly entertaining read.

After The Blade Artist, readers were left hanging with how Frank Begbie and Mark Renton react to each other on a flight from Edinburgh back to Los Angeles. Dead Men's Trousers picks up where this left off, and it segues quite nicely. While reading Dead Men's Trousers, it made me realize why I disliked The Blade Artist compared to the others — it felt like a break from Skag Boys,Trainspotting, and Porno since it focused on Begbie and not the gang. But with this latest novel, it felt right to have that break. On the surface, Begbie has changed the most and we see how he has and hasn't. Without The Blade Artist, Dead Men's Trouser's would have too much explaining to do.

However, one thing we've learned throughout the Trainspotting series is that no matter how much someone tries to change, deep down inside they're the same person. Our anti-heroes like to think they've changed and grown up, but when it comes down to it, they haven't evolved nearly as much as they like to think. And that's what brings them back together again — they are the same competitive, scheming boys we've come to know and their friendships are completely dysfunctional, yet they still somehow work. They can try running away from their pasts, but it'll always somehow catch up with them, whether it's the guilty conscience of Renton after ripping his friends off or the burning revenge that Sick Boy holds for being ripped off twice.

My favorite quote is an updated version of the "Choose Life" monologue, which completely fits our current era:

...and there it is, a little hiss in the background — that's the sound of your life force draining away —
— listeeeeeennnn —
— it's the sound of you dying — you're a prisoner of your own self-confirming, self-restraining algorithms, allowing Google, Facebook, Twitter and Amazon to bind you up in psychic chains and force-feed you a crappy, one-dimensional version of yourself, which you brace as it's the only affirmation on offer — these are your friends — these are your associates — these are your enemies — this is your life — you need chaos, an external force tae shock you oot ay your complacency — you need this because you no longer have the will or the imagination to do it yourself...you have to live until you die —
— so how do you live?

As much as I enjoyed the movie T2 despite it being far off from the book, I would actually be kind of excited to see Dead Men's Trousers as a movie.

[B.J. Swann · Rating 4 out of 5]

The last installment in the TRAINSPOTTING saga sees Mark Renton, now middle-aged, get reunited with Sick Boy, Begbie, and Spud in a sprawling adventure involving dodgy organ harvesting, international travel, and the draining banalities of bourgeoisie existence.

The last installment of the series is not the best, but it is really good. Many of the scenes are darkly hilarious, especially a certain incident involving Spud, a dog, and an international smuggling operation. The characters remain believable and compelling, though not all of them are equally entertaining. This time Renton’s subplot is the weakest. We see him travelling from hotel to hotel and from venue to venue, hopping on endless flights, dealing with annoying music industry personalities in his role as a DJ manager. This may be a spot-on depiction of how annoying such an occupation may be in reality, but realism alone scarcely justifies such dull subject matter, which seems bent on recreating in the reader’s mind the same irritation and boredom Renton is perennially suffering from. Not only is his subplot dull, but as a character he has grown little. This is by no means unrealistic; most people in real life don’t grow much in terms of emotional intelligence either. Nonetheless, his immature selfishness is getting somewhat tedious at this point, and is nowhere near as amusing as Begbie’s mutated psychopathy, Sick Boy’s towering bastardry, and Spud’s endearing daftness. It is these three characters that really make the book an enjoyable ride, and a fitting conclusion to one of the greatest literary saga I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

[Ahm · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don't really think this is a five-star literary novel, but I did get five stars-worth of enjoyment out of it. It's weird how attached one can get to characters that are just awful people, haha. I am eternally grateful to audiobook performer Tam Dean Burn for demonstrating the sound of the dialect, so I can now reproduce it in my head when I'm reading Welsh's abstruse phonetic written interpretation of the various local vernaculars.

[Luca Masera · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sono sempre loro: Renton, Sick Boy, Spud e Begbie.
Che, in un modo o nell'altro, hanno scelto la vita.
E poi ci sono le droghe, sempre loro, tranne l'eroina che troppo li ha fottuti.
Ma tanto è la vita, prima o poi, a fotterti.
Che tu sia nella fredda Edimburgo o nell'assolata Los Angeles, verrai fottuto.
Perché in fondo, come insegna Sick Boy, nella vita puoi essere stronzo o gonzo. E gonzo non lo puoi essere.

[Ross Cumming · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ever since reading Trainspotting, all those years ago, I’ve been a huge fan of Irvine Welsh and especially of his novels involving the main protagonists from that first novel.
In this the latest and apparently last novel in the series, the gang, now all in middle age are thrown together for one last enterprise.
Mark Renton (Rents/Rent Boy) is now manager to a small stable of club DJ’s and spends his life on planes and in hotels, seeing to their every need.
Simon Williamson ( Sick Boy) is based in London and owns a dating agency or shagging agency, where he links up young up and coming professionals basically for sex. He himself is still addicted to sex and will dive at the chance to get it on with whoever any chance he can get.
Begbie, as we learned from The Blade Artist, is outwardly apparently a reformed character and is now Jim Francis, artist and sculptor living in California with his wife and two young daughters.
Danny Murphy (Spud) is the only one still living in Edinburgh and is still an addict, spending his days begging on the street for change.
Begbie reunites the group in order to produce a work of the four old pals heads cast in bronze for an upcoming exhibition in the city not before Sick Boy and Spud have fallen under the grip of local gangster Syme who has them embroiled in a human organ smuggling operation. Welsh also works the novel around Hib’s historic Scottish Cup win with him and the fictional characters all being supporters of the club. The novel also features several cameo appearances from characters from the previous novels including Mikey Forrester and the hilarious Juice Terry.
The story builds to a thrilling climax which is both tragic, life affirming and a bit sentimental.
I loved this book as for me Welsh is a true voice of Scottish writing. I’m not from Edinburgh but I can recognise similar characters from my own life echoed in these pages, albeit Welsh magnifies the characters to larger than life proportions.He also captures the spirit of Scottishness brilliantly in his characters, especially where we like to downplay our abilities. The writing is very funny and there are always quotes that I come across thatI try to remember but never do. Welsh’s writing is also very crude and the violence and sex scenes are very graphic but hey you wouldn’t be reading this book if you knew otherwise. Must admit I’m sad to see the end of Rents, Sick Boy, Begbie and Spud but hopefully the individual characters may still pop up in Welsh’s future publications.

[Angus McKeogh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Great stuff! I love Welsh. It was love at first read when I went through Trainspotting in the 90s. It was so out there at first in how it was written but then the voice just locks into your heid...uh...I mean head and thereafter it’s smooth sailing and brilliant. After Trainspotting I’ve gone on to read pretty much everything Welsh has written. This series that keeps popping up is classic. Skagboys unfortunately seemed forced and contrived and ended up boring me to death. But this one is a bit of a return to where I thought The Blade Artist took the story. Much better plotting. Better stuff. I thought this one was great.

[Ubik 2.0 · Rating 3 out of 5]

Le Capocce di Leith

“Le Capocce di Leith” è il titolo di un’installazione artistica, improbabile prodotto dell’irrazionale ma ben redditizia attività di Francis Begbie che, come abbiamo potuto constatare in “L’artista del coltello”, ha fatto un bel po’ di strada dal violento e alcoolizzato teppista cresciuto nelle strade dei sobborghi di Edinburgo, personalità che tuttavia riaffiora di quando in quando dalla psiche imprevedibile di Francis.

L’ultima sua opera suggella l’occasionale rimpatriata a Leith, un quarto di secolo dopo, con gli altri tre superstiti del gruppo di Trainspotting provenienti dalle più svariate residenze (chi da Londra, chi dalla California, chi in tournée per il mondo, chi infine non s’è mosso dalla città natìa) e dalle più estreme esperienze di vita.

Li ritroviamo baciati (tre su quattro) dal successo economico e “professionale”, anche se in professioni poco ortodosse come agente di DJ di fama mondiale o titolare di un’agenzia di escort di alto bordo…, ma sempre impegnati a cogliere ogni chance di trasgressione o di cospicuo guadagno (” Godiamoci i benefici del neoliberismo prima che vada a culo facendoci finalmente scoppiare sotto i piedi questo sventurato pianeta”), incasinati e instabili nonostante l’età ultracinquantenaria che comincia a chiedere il conto al loro fisico, in storie di sesso, di droga e, all’occorrenza, violenza.

I rientri alla vecchia Edinburgo per far visita ai brandelli di famiglia rimasti in patria, sono doverosi ma sempre più penosi in occasione di ricorrenze vissute con acredine e distacco (…in un miscuglio incessante di motivi pop natalizi dei Settanta e Ottanta ormai diventati un tale tormentone a ogni ritorno delle festività, che la gente bofonchia le parole sottovoce, come militari congedati per stress post-traumatico). Ma la sorte riserva un ultimo momento di estasi ai quattro, attoniti e increduli sugli spalti dello stadio dove l’Hibernian di Edinburgo vincerà la coppa di Scozia (dopo 114 anni!) sconfiggendo con un goal al 92° gli odiati atavici rivali del Glasgow Rangers (fatto storico: 21 maggio 2016).

Ma non solo i quattro protagonisti appaiono invecchiati in modo più o meno consapevole (… più invecchi e più è dura combattere contro la tua sgradevolezza sociale, si diventa più facili alle esplosioni di emotività narcisa); anche lo stesso Welsh, per quanto si ingegni ad inventare nuove “avventure” sempre più sordide, perfide e scellerate, sconta il passare degli anni così che questo romanzo risulta troppo lungo, in alcune parti annoia e, duole ammetterlo, mostra una ripetitività che compromette gran parte della partecipazione che gli episodi precedenti suscitavano.

Non aiuta in tal senso la consapevolezza di avere a che fare, non più con i baldi strafottenti giovanotti dei clamorosi esordi, ma con versioni attempate che rifiutano di crescere, rinchiusi in un loop di accumulo di eccessi che, per il più fragile di essi, è giunto (ahimé) al definitivo irreversibile congedo.

[Димитър Цолов · Rating 5 out of 5]

Паснаха ми, ама баш по мярка, "Панталоните на мъртвеца", които бях надянал за две денонощия. Прозата на Ървин Уелш е брутално добра, без маниерничене и помпозност, попила мъдростта на улицата горчиво-сладка симфония, досущ като заглавието на оная песен на The Verve. На моменти те кара да се хилиш истерично, после - очите ти се просълзяват и започваш да преглъщаш мъчително, но при всички положения не те оставя безразличен. Нещо повече, чувствам единбургските отрепки някак близки, едно че любовта с която авторът пише за тях (да, усещам, че Уелш истински обича своите момчета от Лийт) не може да не се отрази и на читателя му, друго че, без да претендирам да имам какъвто и да бил опит с твърдите наркотици, съм прекарал голяма част от живота си по барове и кръчми, където съм срещал всякакви чешити и съм правил безброй пиянски изцепки... На практика цялото творчество на Ървин Уелш е един огромен роман, парченца от който този уличен мъдрец ни пуска година след година. Е, аз нямам насита, искам още и още, и още... И да, подобно на героите му, често ме обзема носталгия по отминалите луди години, но и да - убеден съм,че най-хубавото тепърва предстои

[Vicente Ribes · Rating 5 out of 5]

Un final de la saga a la altura. Irvine Welsh nos vuelve a juntar a los cuatro amigos de Leith en esta fenomenal novela donde las drogas, el sexo, el amor, el odio y la amistad vuelven a entrar en escena para sacudirnos la cabeza y hacernos pensar sobre esta sociedad lobotomizada como ya lo hizo Trainspotting en aquel lejano 1993.

Las cosas han cambiado y como reflexionaba hace poco Welsh la vida actual está tan cara y jodida que hasta las drogas han dejado de ser un escape o forma de vida como lo eran en Trainspotting. Ahora es la época de la inmediatez, el tinder, la superficialidad y lo fugaz. Un ambiente propicio para que Sick boy nade como pez en el agua, regentando una compañia de scorts.
Mientras, Spud ha acabado viviendo en la calle y Renton ha amasado fortuna haciéndose representante de Dj en EEUU. Begbie, el antiguo psicópata, es ahora un reputado artista con mujer y dos niñas.
Los remordimientos que continua teniendo Renton por la jugada que les hizo reflotan y el pelirojo intentará resarcirse devolviendo la pasta a sus ex compinches. A partir de aquí ,el locurón con momentos desternillantes como la final de copa ganada por el Hibernian o operaciones de transplantes de riñón en vivo o mil peripecias más.
También hay momentos para el drama y la sensibilidad y la fenomenal construcción de personajes que ha hecho Welsh en esta saga va a ser difícil de superar. Son muy carismáticos y la adaptación a película de los primeros libros fue genial. Se narran situaciones que parecen muy bizarras pero que podrían ser perfectamente reales como la vida.
Parece que este si es el final definitivo y sólo decir que los echaré de menos.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

Following virtually straight on from The Blade Artist's conclusion, once again the experienced Welsh reader finds him or herself back in the company of Renton, Sick Boy, Spud and Begbie, the latter now successful artist, Jim Francis. Over the course of events friendships are re made and broken again and plot shards from several previous novels are brought together and resolved. Oh and Hibs win the Scottish Cup beating Rangers in the final. There are several unlikely events - would Sick Boy ever trust Renton again after the conclusions of Trainspotting and Porno? - and why exactly does Spud turn on the tap? - but overall there is a coherent plot arc where the characters act as believable and sometimes likeable people, but often not.

Renton appears to be successfully managing DJs and runs into his nemesis, Begbie, on an aeroplane (no escape). Sick Boy is almost inevitably working in the sex industry running an escort agency. Spud Murphy has resorted to begging and living in inevitable squalor. They are relatively free of heroine addiction, but work their way throught a pharmacist's of drugs throughout the book. Begbie: see above.

Welsh presents several sub-plots within which he can introduce and withdraw his characters. The two book vendetta with the American policeman is a good example of this. The blurb flags up that a major character is going to die and it's clear who the likely candidate is, but Welsh skilfully sows doubt right up to the tragedy occurring. Previously peacable characters explode with sudden violence as decades long resentments boil over, particularly where characters have literally been too clever for their own good.

There is a major plot arc starting from a drink spiked with MDMA powder, the consequences of which flow throughout the book and are truly but believably sordid. This brings in repressed sex addiction, gangster exploitation and the illegal organ trade. A dog reaching and chewing a human kidney is not convincing; has this dog got primate hands that can undo clasps? The plot skids on the bank of complete absurdity, but never quite falls in the pond.

Despite his apparently reformed character, Begbie's psychopathy is not quite as extinguished as he would like us to believe. He is acting as a white knight in some respects, but he forgets that meting out violent summary justice is not actually his prerogative. Having decapitated the Edinburgh underworld in The Blade Runner, he has forgotten that others will step forward to fill that crime vacuum. Here he is joined by Terry 'Juice' Lawson, taxi driving sex addict and not adverse to some violence himself if necessary, tying up some loose ends from A Decent Ride, so not all responsibility can be laid at Begbie's door. Back in California Begbie largely transforms back into artist and family man, to all intents and purposes.

Sick Boy, or Simon David Williamson, is again really the most vile of all the characters, based on his usury of other characters and his concentrated misogyny and utterly ego-centric behaviour; any encounter is basically a competition for supremacy where there's only going to be one winner. In contrast Spud, the best hearted of all the characters, has sunk to what he himself would consider a nadir, but the organ-harvesting sub-plot takes him a couple of stages even further down.

With at least two of the main characters comfortably sorted and sharing a rather saccharine 'happy ever after' ending, is this the end for the Trainspotting cast? There are plenty of hints of another book on the way and a sub-plot left hanging, so I don't think we have seen the last of these characters, but what will the mash up be?

[Mark Atkinson · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this book. Let’s face it I love everything from the Welsh cannon. Irving Welsh has an uncanny knack of understanding human nature at its most basest level. Let’s be honest here, we all have a bit of - Begbie, Renton, Sick boy and Spud buried deep inside us.
Most guys would love the powers Sick boy and Juice Terry have over the opposite sex at the same time as been appalled at the treatment these women get at the hands of these philanderers.
We would like some of the ass kicking hardness of Begbie but could never be so cruel. Dead men’s trousers will have you gasping in shock at the violence, laughing with guilty pleasure at the antics of Sick boy and Renton and feeling deep pity for the plight of poor spud.
By the end of this book - or any Irving Welsh book you’ll be talking in a Scottish accent, trying out the techniques of Sick boy on the ladies( with caution) and craving the next instalment of guilty reading pleasure from this incredibly original and gifted writer..enjoy.

[Mari · Rating 5 out of 5]

The boys are back in the toon and they embark on likely capers with a dark undertow. It's like catching up with old pals that you are happy to hear about, their exploits still raise a smile, but that you are very glad not to see anymore. It's a very entertaining read especially Sick Boy's antics - a pint with him might be the best fun but as a female of the species and to quote the man himself, I wouldn't go near him with yours!!

[Dan Witte · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don’t know if I’ve ever loved a cast of literary characters as much as these guys. They rang true for me through every travail, chapter, story and book, and even if Trainspotting was their commercial peak, that doesn’t diminish any of their other exploits. Irvine Welsh is one of my favorite writers, and he owes my allegiance to these guys.

[Adam McPhee · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ah fuckin hate the way some American cunts call lassies cunts. Fuckin offensive, that shite.

Better than Filth and Porno, just behind Glue and Skagboys.

I loved it. Though I can see why the critics don't, especially if they're expecting Trainspotting 3. It's Welsh's turn to the cartoonish that makes his books so great, that and the essayistic digressions disguised as stream-of-consciousness ramblings. Anyone expecting harrowing junkie trauma probably shouldn't have read Trainspotting in the first place.

The cartoonishness was best on display in the in the organ harvesting subplot, where Sickboy and a his Podiatric surgeon brother-in-law perform a warehouse kidney removal using a youtube video on a dying laptop as a guide; this after an unattended kidney on a train was eaten by a dog, and then literally during the DMT sequences, where the novel suddenly cuts to comic book format to display the change in perspective of the drug users.

New definitive ranking of the novels of Irvine Welsh:

1. Skagboys
2. Glue
3. Trainspotting
4. Dead Men's Trousers
5. Filth
6. Porno
7. A Decent Ride
8. The Blade Artist
9. The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins
10. Marabou Stork Nightmares
11. Crime
12. The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs

Highlights:
Down to Dad’s gaff by the river. I stayed here for a couple of years after we moved from the Fort, but it never felt like home. You know you’ve turned intae a cunt with nae life, whose fetid arsehole is owned by late capitalism, when times like this feel an imposition and you cannae stop checking your phone for emails and texts. I’m with my dad, my sister-in-law Sharon, and my niece Marina and her infant twin boys Earl and Wyatt, who look indentical but have different personalities. Sharon has packed on the beef. Everybody in Scotland seems fatter now. As she fingers an earring, she expresses guilt about them staying in the spare rooms, while I’m in a hotel. I tell her it’s no hardship for me, as my dodgy back demands a specialist mattress. I explain that the hotel room is a business expense; my DJs have gigs in the city. Working-class people seldom get that the wealthy generally eat, sleep and travel well at their expense again, through tax deductables. I’m not exactly rich, but I’ve blagged my way into the system, onto the steerage class of the gravy train that bulldozes the poor. I pay more tax registered in Holland than I would in the USA, but better gieing it to the Dutch to build dams than the Yanks to build bombs.

After the meal prepared by Sharon and Marina, we’re kicking back in the cosy cramp of this small room, and the drinks slip down nicely. My old boy still has a decent posture to him, broad-shouldered, if a little bent over, not too much muscle wastage in evidence. He’s at the time of life where nothing at all surprises. His politics have drifted towards the right, in a moany auld cunt nostalgia way, rather than intrinsically hardcore reactionary, but still a sad state of affairs for an old union man, and indicative of bigger existential distress. That leakage of hope, of vision and passion for a better world, and its replacement by a hollow rage, is a sure sign that you’re slowly dying. But at least he lived: it would be the worst thing on earth to have those politics at an early age, to be born with that essential part of you already dead. A sad gleam in his eye indicates he’s holding on to a melancholy thought. — I mind of your dad, he says to Marina, referencing my brother Billy, the father she never saw.


— Aw ye need tae dae is fly tae Istanbul and a boy’ll pick ye up at the airport and gie ye a boax tae take tae Berlin oan the train. You git the package thaire, ye gie it tae another boy. Under nae circumstances, and the cat looks awfay, awfay serious, — dae ye try n open the boax.
— Sortay like that fulum, The Transporter?
— Exactly.
— But, eh, what is in it, likesay?
Mikey gies ays a grim smile. Looks around, lowers ehs voice, leans intae ays. — A kidney, Spud. A human kidney: for a life-saving operation.
Uh-oh. Ah’m no sure aboot this, man. — What? Is that no illegal, smuggling body parts, like the invasion ay the bodysnatchers n aw that?
Mikey shakes ehs heid again. — This is aw kosher, buddy boy. We’ve goat a certificate for it, the lot. Ye cannae open the boax cause it’s aw sealed n sterile, wi the kidney packed in ice or some frozen cauld chemical that isnae ice but works like ice.
— It isnae ice?
— Naw, but it works like ice. Like what they’ve invented tae replace ice.
— Replace ice … Whoa, man, no sae sure aboot that. Ice is pure natural like, well, it’s usually made artificially in fridges like, but in its natural state in the polar regions –
Mikey waves ehs hand n shakes ehs heid. — Naw, Spud. No in likes ay drinks n that, eh laughs, hudin up his pint. — But it works better freezin organs.
— Keeps thum tip-top till auld transplant, likesay?
— Bang on the money! Ye open the boax n the cunt starts tae deteriorate n it’s fuckin useless, ay?
— But the transportation ay this, man, is it no a bit dodgy?

Carl’s been dragging his flight case ay records wi him, perspiring like a Thatcher Cabinet minister wi the education portfolio up for grabs, and looking dangerously red.

the mornings, as I call the afternoons