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Docherty
'His face made a fist at the world. The twined remnant of umbilicus projected vulnerably. Hands, feet and prick. He had come equipped for the job.' Newborn Conn Docherty, raw as a fresh wound, lies between his parents in their tenement room, with no birthright but a life's labour in the pits of his small town. But the world is changing, and, lying next to him, Conn's father Tam has decided that his son's life will be different from his own. Gritty, dark and tender, McIlvanney's Docherty is a modern classic.
384 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1975
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943 people want to read
About the author
William McIlvanney
39 books226 followersWilliam McIlvanney was a Scottish writer of novels, short stories, and poetry. He was a champion of gritty yet poetic literature; his works Laidlaw, The Papers of Tony Veitch, and Walking Wounded are all known for their portrayal of Glasgow in the 1970s. He is regarded as "the father of 'Tartan Noir’" and has been described as "Scotland's Camus".
His first book, Remedy is None, was published in 1966 and won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize in 1967. Docherty (1975), a moving portrait of a miner whose courage and endurance is tested during the depression, won the Whitbread Novel Award.
Laidlaw (1977), The Papers of Tony Veitch (1983) and Strange Loyalties (1991) are crime novels featuring Inspector Jack Laidlaw. Laidlaw is considered to be the first book of Tartan Noir.
William McIlvanney was also an acclaimed poet, the author of The Longships in Harbour: Poems (1970) and Surviving the Shipwreck (1991), which also contains pieces of journalism, including an essay about T. S. Eliot. McIlvanney wrote a screenplay based on his short story Dreaming (published in Walking Wounded in 1989) which was filmed by BBC Scotland in 1990 and won a BAFTA.
Since April 2013, McIlvanney's own website has featured personal, reflective and topical writing, as well as examples of his journalism.
Adapted from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William...
His first book, Remedy is None, was published in 1966 and won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize in 1967. Docherty (1975), a moving portrait of a miner whose courage and endurance is tested during the depression, won the Whitbread Novel Award.
Laidlaw (1977), The Papers of Tony Veitch (1983) and Strange Loyalties (1991) are crime novels featuring Inspector Jack Laidlaw. Laidlaw is considered to be the first book of Tartan Noir.
William McIlvanney was also an acclaimed poet, the author of The Longships in Harbour: Poems (1970) and Surviving the Shipwreck (1991), which also contains pieces of journalism, including an essay about T. S. Eliot. McIlvanney wrote a screenplay based on his short story Dreaming (published in Walking Wounded in 1989) which was filmed by BBC Scotland in 1990 and won a BAFTA.
Since April 2013, McIlvanney's own website has featured personal, reflective and topical writing, as well as examples of his journalism.
Adapted from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 57 reviews
September 14, 2015
Scottish wrath...
On a December night in 1903, Tam Docherty lifts his new-born son and declares that this one will never go down the pits – this child Conn, his youngest, will work with his brains, rise out of the poverty of his heritage. The book covers the next twenty years or so, telling the story of Conn and his family, and most of all of Tam himself, a man who may be “only five foot fower. But when yer hert goes fae yer heid tae yer taes, that's a lot o' hert.”
Tam is a miner in the fictional town of Graithnock in Ayrshire. He's a hard man but a good-hearted one, with a fierce belief that the working man deserves better from his masters – a belief that he passes on to his sons, though each comes to interpret it in different ways. In some ways this is quite an intimate novel, concentrating on Tam's family and the small community he is part of, but through them it's a fairly political look at the lot of those at the bottom of the ladder in the early part of the twentieth century, a time when the old traditions are about to be challenged, first by the horrors of WW1 and then, following close on its heels, by the new political ideas that will sweep through Europe between the wars. Graithnock may be a small place, remote from the centre of power, but these influences will be felt even there.
McIlvanney writes beautifully, both in English and Scots, with as keen an ear for speech patterns and banter as for dialect. All the speech in the book is in dialect and since it's largely the dialect I grew up with it's hard for me to know for sure whether it would cause problems for non-Scots to read, but I don't think so. Other than speech, the book is in standard English. The characterisation throughout is superb, from Tam himself right down to the people who make only a brief incidental appearance. McIlvanney has the ability to get to the heart of a character in a few sentences, often using powerful metaphors to paint vivid portraits. The book is emotional but never mawkish – these are real people and the things that happen to them are real too, never exaggerated for effect.
Although the female characters are strong and well drawn, fundamentally the book concentrates on maleness, in a community where physical strength is of vital importance for economic survival. The men forge strong bonds as they work in the dangerous conditions down the mine and at night gather together on street corners, where they tell each other again and again the same stories that give them their sense of communal identity. McIlvanney shows effectively and movingly how, when physical strength begins to fade, the men are somehow diminished, giving way to the new generation in the first flush of their power, with all the rivalry this causes between fathers and sons. And as men reach the point where they can no longer go down the mine, they become dependent on their children to keep them out of the poorhouse.
The book covers the period of WW1 and McIlvanney takes us there with one of Tam's sons. Again, where other authors might become self-indulgent with descriptions of the horrors, McIlvanney practices admirable restraint, using brief episodes to illustrate the wider picture – an approach that I found as effective as many of the books that have wallowed too luxuriously in the blood and the mud. His perspective is more to look at the after-effects of the war on those who lived through it or lost someone to it, both in terms of emotional impact and on how it fed into the politics of the post-war society.
It's strange how sometimes it depends on when we read a book as to how it affects us. While I think this is an excellent book, I found its impact on me somewhat lessened by having so recently read The Grapes of Wrath. Docherty was, for me, the easier and more enjoyable read, but I found I was drawing comparisons all the way through; the major themes - of exploited workers and the strength that comes through the bonds of male physicality, of women as the nurturing backbone who hold families together, of the despair that drives men towards more extreme political systems - are at the heart of both books. Different societies but with similar issues and both showing man's fundamental struggle for survival in an unfair and unjust world. And though I would say Docherty is by far the better structured of the two, and mercifully much briefer, I must give the award for emotional power to Steinbeck, even though I object to the manipulation he used to achieve it. And, though McIlvanney's writing maintains a much more consistently high standard throughout, he never quite reaches the sublimity of some of the passages in The Grapes of Wrath. I suspect I would have found Docherty both more powerful and more emotional if I could have avoided the comparison. Definitely still a great novel, though, and one that I highly recommend.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
On a December night in 1903, Tam Docherty lifts his new-born son and declares that this one will never go down the pits – this child Conn, his youngest, will work with his brains, rise out of the poverty of his heritage. The book covers the next twenty years or so, telling the story of Conn and his family, and most of all of Tam himself, a man who may be “only five foot fower. But when yer hert goes fae yer heid tae yer taes, that's a lot o' hert.”
Tam is a miner in the fictional town of Graithnock in Ayrshire. He's a hard man but a good-hearted one, with a fierce belief that the working man deserves better from his masters – a belief that he passes on to his sons, though each comes to interpret it in different ways. In some ways this is quite an intimate novel, concentrating on Tam's family and the small community he is part of, but through them it's a fairly political look at the lot of those at the bottom of the ladder in the early part of the twentieth century, a time when the old traditions are about to be challenged, first by the horrors of WW1 and then, following close on its heels, by the new political ideas that will sweep through Europe between the wars. Graithnock may be a small place, remote from the centre of power, but these influences will be felt even there.
McIlvanney writes beautifully, both in English and Scots, with as keen an ear for speech patterns and banter as for dialect. All the speech in the book is in dialect and since it's largely the dialect I grew up with it's hard for me to know for sure whether it would cause problems for non-Scots to read, but I don't think so. Other than speech, the book is in standard English. The characterisation throughout is superb, from Tam himself right down to the people who make only a brief incidental appearance. McIlvanney has the ability to get to the heart of a character in a few sentences, often using powerful metaphors to paint vivid portraits. The book is emotional but never mawkish – these are real people and the things that happen to them are real too, never exaggerated for effect.
He thought he understood why it was he had always liked Tam Docherty so much. He was more than anything in his life showed him to be, and he knew it. The effect on Andra was as if he had come across some powerful animal in a cage, kept fit on its own frustration, endlessly restless, knowing instinctively that the bars are an invention, nothing final, and feeling contempt for its keepers. Andra sensed quite simply that Tam was not defeated. And if Tam wasn't, neither was he.
Although the female characters are strong and well drawn, fundamentally the book concentrates on maleness, in a community where physical strength is of vital importance for economic survival. The men forge strong bonds as they work in the dangerous conditions down the mine and at night gather together on street corners, where they tell each other again and again the same stories that give them their sense of communal identity. McIlvanney shows effectively and movingly how, when physical strength begins to fade, the men are somehow diminished, giving way to the new generation in the first flush of their power, with all the rivalry this causes between fathers and sons. And as men reach the point where they can no longer go down the mine, they become dependent on their children to keep them out of the poorhouse.
The book covers the period of WW1 and McIlvanney takes us there with one of Tam's sons. Again, where other authors might become self-indulgent with descriptions of the horrors, McIlvanney practices admirable restraint, using brief episodes to illustrate the wider picture – an approach that I found as effective as many of the books that have wallowed too luxuriously in the blood and the mud. His perspective is more to look at the after-effects of the war on those who lived through it or lost someone to it, both in terms of emotional impact and on how it fed into the politics of the post-war society.
“Son, it's easy tae be guid oan a fu' belly. It's when a man's goat two bites an' wan o' them he'll share, ye ken whit he's made o'. Listen. In ony country in the world, who are the only folk that ken whit it's like tae leeve in that country? The folk at the boattom. The rest can a' kid themselves oan. They can afford to hiv fancy ideas. We canny, son. We loass the wan idea o' who we are, we're deid. We're wan anither. Tae survive, we'll respect wan anither. When the time comes, we'll a' move forward thegither, or nut at all.”
It's strange how sometimes it depends on when we read a book as to how it affects us. While I think this is an excellent book, I found its impact on me somewhat lessened by having so recently read The Grapes of Wrath. Docherty was, for me, the easier and more enjoyable read, but I found I was drawing comparisons all the way through; the major themes - of exploited workers and the strength that comes through the bonds of male physicality, of women as the nurturing backbone who hold families together, of the despair that drives men towards more extreme political systems - are at the heart of both books. Different societies but with similar issues and both showing man's fundamental struggle for survival in an unfair and unjust world. And though I would say Docherty is by far the better structured of the two, and mercifully much briefer, I must give the award for emotional power to Steinbeck, even though I object to the manipulation he used to achieve it. And, though McIlvanney's writing maintains a much more consistently high standard throughout, he never quite reaches the sublimity of some of the passages in The Grapes of Wrath. I suspect I would have found Docherty both more powerful and more emotional if I could have avoided the comparison. Definitely still a great novel, though, and one that I highly recommend.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
September 10, 2021
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
This was a most unusual book for me. Set in the early 1900’s in Scotland, it’s the story of a poverty-stricken family in a coal mining village. More specifically, it’s the story of Tam Docherty, the patriarch, a hard-working down to earth family man. Though small of stature, he was a well respected and much loved member of his community. As the story opens, his fourth child is being born, and Tam dreams of a better life for his new-born son, Conn. “Ah’m pittin’ his name doon fur Prime Minister”. He dreams of a higher education for his son, that he should not have to go down in the pits. All the conversations were written in the old Scottish vernacular, so it took some effort to decipher some of it. Tam Docherty was a staunch defender of the working class and the very high standards they adhered to. Published in 1975, this was the author’s 3rd novel, and the most autobiographical. Deserves to be more well-known than it is. As to whether Tam’s hopes for Conn do materialize, you’ll need to read this one to find out. Well deserving of five big stars.
This was a most unusual book for me. Set in the early 1900’s in Scotland, it’s the story of a poverty-stricken family in a coal mining village. More specifically, it’s the story of Tam Docherty, the patriarch, a hard-working down to earth family man. Though small of stature, he was a well respected and much loved member of his community. As the story opens, his fourth child is being born, and Tam dreams of a better life for his new-born son, Conn. “Ah’m pittin’ his name doon fur Prime Minister”. He dreams of a higher education for his son, that he should not have to go down in the pits. All the conversations were written in the old Scottish vernacular, so it took some effort to decipher some of it. Tam Docherty was a staunch defender of the working class and the very high standards they adhered to. Published in 1975, this was the author’s 3rd novel, and the most autobiographical. Deserves to be more well-known than it is. As to whether Tam’s hopes for Conn do materialize, you’ll need to read this one to find out. Well deserving of five big stars.
July 30, 2021
Il minatore scozzese Tam Docherty è un working class hero, un emblema della ”solidarietà di classe” in un tempo, la prima parte del ‘900, di cambiamenti epocali, ”Camminiamo lungo una linea sottile. Io so quanto è sottile. Ci ho camminato sopra tutta la mia vita. Noi e la gente come noi non hanno quasi niente in questo mondo. Tutto ciò che filtra giù fino a noi è merda. noi viviamo nelle fogne delle comodità di altri. L’unica cosa che possediamo è noi stessi. Ecco perché non devi vendere mai i tuoi compagni. Perché non c’è niente da comprare con quello che ci guadagni. Ecco perché devi rispettare le donne. perché quello che noi facciamo è ciò che noi siamo. Perché se non ti comporti così, dimostri le loro teorie. Perché quei bastardi non credono che siamo essere umani! pensano che siamo qualcosa al di sotto. Ecco io so in che cosa credo. Siamo solo noi che possiamo dimostrare che siamo esseri umani. Tu, che cosa ne sai? Figlio mio, è facile essere buoni con la pancia piena. È solo quando un uomo ha due bocconi e rinuncia a uno che saprai di cosa è fatto.”
Pubblicato nel 1975, non solo anticipa lo scontro tra i minatori e il governo di Margaret Thatcher, ma, con un respiro più ampio, universale, parla del conflitto tra classe e individuo, tra solidarietà e individualismo. A tratti commovente, non privo di humour, sospeso tra il cinema di Ken Loach e la musica di Billy Bragg, è un ottimo romanzo per chi vuole leggere di lavoro & società.
Billy Bragg - Never cross a picket line
Pubblicato nel 1975, non solo anticipa lo scontro tra i minatori e il governo di Margaret Thatcher, ma, con un respiro più ampio, universale, parla del conflitto tra classe e individuo, tra solidarietà e individualismo. A tratti commovente, non privo di humour, sospeso tra il cinema di Ken Loach e la musica di Billy Bragg, è un ottimo romanzo per chi vuole leggere di lavoro & società.
Billy Bragg - Never cross a picket line
January 13, 2014
I’ve a lot of time for William McIlvanney and I’ve read quite a bit of his stuff (even if I’ve not got round to updating Goodreads to reflect that) but for some reason I’d never got round to Docherty. I’ve had a copy of The Kiln in my possession for years but kept putting off reading it until I’d read Docherty which I think was a wise thing although your could read them the other way round.
Docherty just bowled me over. No one writes like McIlvanney and gets away with it. He piles metaphor upon metaphor and makes it work. It’s the kind of writing that your creative writing teacher would say was a no-no and they’d be right because it can go so badly wrong. But when it goes right it’s brilliant. Coupled with the fact that all the dialogue is in Scots—which is itself a highly picturesque language—this proved to be one very colourful read. I’ve no hesitation in giving it five stars.
Immediately after reading Docherty I picked up The Kiln which I didn’t enjoy as much (because I was expecting another book like Docherty) although it’s arguably the better book. ‘Better’ is subjective. Technically better is one thing. It’s technically better but the subject matter in Docherty is more enjoyable and the characters more likeable. It still deserves five stars.
I’ve written a long and detailed article covering both books which you can read on my blog here.
Docherty just bowled me over. No one writes like McIlvanney and gets away with it. He piles metaphor upon metaphor and makes it work. It’s the kind of writing that your creative writing teacher would say was a no-no and they’d be right because it can go so badly wrong. But when it goes right it’s brilliant. Coupled with the fact that all the dialogue is in Scots—which is itself a highly picturesque language—this proved to be one very colourful read. I’ve no hesitation in giving it five stars.
Immediately after reading Docherty I picked up The Kiln which I didn’t enjoy as much (because I was expecting another book like Docherty) although it’s arguably the better book. ‘Better’ is subjective. Technically better is one thing. It’s technically better but the subject matter in Docherty is more enjoyable and the characters more likeable. It still deserves five stars.
I’ve written a long and detailed article covering both books which you can read on my blog here.
May 11, 2017
Set in a working class town in Scotland in the early 20th century, this is a story of a family and especially the father who can imagine a brighter future for his children when they can't imagine that for themselves. Beautifully written, this story of love, character and sacrifice will stay in your mind for a long time. Tam Docherty is a man you want to know.
April 18, 2016
Mixed feelings about this one. McIlvanney is a powerful writer; you can tell he's a poet from his rich use of language and metaphor (as bit too rich sometimes). I feel sure his picture of working-class life in western Scotland is accurate, and it is vividly drawn. It treads the same terrain as Zola's Germinal. But there's no plot to speak of and not even that much drama. McIlvanney covers events from the point of view of various members of the Docherty family, but the book is really about paterfamilias Tam, an old-style working class hero and hard man. The action starts in 1903 with the birth of his youngest son Conn, and ends in the 1920s. At the end, McIlvanney is clearly evoking a generational change between the (over) idealised noble worker Tam, and his cynical, capitalist son Angus, so it's essentially a melancholy story. It's also old-fashioned in style -- no "show, don't tell" here. The authorial voice is determined to tell readers what to think, rather than letting them interpret characters' actions on their own. So a lot of it is description of what's going on in the characters' heads, and what it means in the context of their lives.
I was disappointed that McIlvanney is really only interested in the men. Tam's wife Jenny gets a bit part, but only in the stereotypical female role of holding the family together. Daughter Kathleen marries a man both parents consider to be a "good boy" and disappears for a hundred pages or so to re-emerge as a battered wife, her only appearances from then on being confined to melancholy visits to her mum, and a single conversation with her father in which neither can say what they feel. I'd have been interested to follow her story rather than have yet more squaring up between hard men. Having said that, McIlvanney is evidently steeped in this culture, and the banter between men on the street corner, at family wakes and weddings, and on poaching trips was entertaining. I think the most successful part though was the understated account of son Mick's experiences in the trenches during WWI. Very moving, without resorting to a lot of gory details. So although I didn't love it, it definitely has its merits.
I was disappointed that McIlvanney is really only interested in the men. Tam's wife Jenny gets a bit part, but only in the stereotypical female role of holding the family together. Daughter Kathleen marries a man both parents consider to be a "good boy" and disappears for a hundred pages or so to re-emerge as a battered wife, her only appearances from then on being confined to melancholy visits to her mum, and a single conversation with her father in which neither can say what they feel. I'd have been interested to follow her story rather than have yet more squaring up between hard men. Having said that, McIlvanney is evidently steeped in this culture, and the banter between men on the street corner, at family wakes and weddings, and on poaching trips was entertaining. I think the most successful part though was the understated account of son Mick's experiences in the trenches during WWI. Very moving, without resorting to a lot of gory details. So although I didn't love it, it definitely has its merits.
August 27, 2010
I know I seem to rave about every book I read but this one was the outstanding and maybe the best book I've read in a year.
Written in 1975 about life in and early 20th Century mining village, a lot of the characters, relationships and scenarios are very appropriate to today's Scotland.
I dont often become so involved in a book as I was with Docherty but I felt I knew the characters personally and really sympathised with them in times of woe. The dialogue and descriptions (a lot of which were written in Scots) were pithy but elaborate. It was a really intelligently written book without the presence of arrogance (which I find very prevelant in Rushie/McEwan etc).
It won the Whitbread award in the 1970s and quite rightfully so.
Written in 1975 about life in and early 20th Century mining village, a lot of the characters, relationships and scenarios are very appropriate to today's Scotland.
I dont often become so involved in a book as I was with Docherty but I felt I knew the characters personally and really sympathised with them in times of woe. The dialogue and descriptions (a lot of which were written in Scots) were pithy but elaborate. It was a really intelligently written book without the presence of arrogance (which I find very prevelant in Rushie/McEwan etc).
It won the Whitbread award in the 1970s and quite rightfully so.
March 21, 2015
It's a very long time since a book brought me to tears, but this did twice over. Brought to McIlvanney's writing by his Laidlaw books, which are exceptional, I came later to his others, but this is as stark a portrait, beautifully told, of a working man's life and philosophy as you'll ever expect to find.
July 3, 2018
Docherty - A Review
by William McIlvanney (25 November 1936 – 5 December 2015).
"An awesome wee man," Andra Crawford said.
Who better to craft the saga of the Docherty mining family than the son of a miner?
No amount of praise by a reviewer could do this book justice. I read McIlvanney's book Laidlaw, published in 1977, a couple of years ago. It was wonderfully literate, unconventional and I loved it. Docherty, published in 1975, proved to be an even finer novel - a masterpiece. It is poetic, tough prose written by a man with a steely-eyed view of the true lot of the working class, a man inalterably opposed to Thatcherism and disappointed with Tony Blair; that view not tempered by any sort of false optimism.
Docherty begins in 1903 with the birth of a Docherty and ends after WWI with the death of a Docherty. Neither Time nor The War was kind to this family. As someone else has said, McIlvanney's characters have a "strong moral compass and a strong sense of social justice." And that's about all they had. Tam Docherty's father found solace in his rosary. Tam Docherty accepted his lot, not daring to aspire but rejecting the power of the Church, defying tradition and marrying a Protestant. His sons did not accept their lot, and looked for a more dramatic break with tradition: one going off to war as a soldier, upon his return reading voraciously about how others lived; one starting his own mining crew with a diminished sense of deference, even contempt, betraying his father's expectation, refusing to surrender to the mines; and one caught in between his brothers' aspirations. Tam's daughter, trapped by economic circumstance, followed her mother's example and accepted a life as desperately poor mother and wife. She never dared to dream. Jenny, Tam's wife, kept the dust away and quietly loved them all.
So, it is a novel about economic circumstance; about acceptance or rejection of one's expected place in the social order of early 20th Century Western Scotland; of fathers and sons and about making one's place in a family where a man only 5 feet 4 inches tall towers over his peers by dint of personality. It is about the Irish settlers and their sense of place in a neighboring country. It is about the passing of time when nearly every day is the same grinding poverty. Beyond the big themes, Docherty has detail rich and deep. There is Miss Gilfillan who lived life vicariously behind her lace curtains and always had her best tea service out, even if she had no food. Miss Gilfillan, who died in a "room cluttered with objects which would have brought a good return from the pawnshop just across the street," was their neighbor. There was "the Bringan" a bit of countryside in the grim city where "Trees were brooding presences, soughing incantations. Every bush hid an invisible force, frequently malevolent. Just to walk was to invade all sorts of jealously held terrain and you had to avoid taboos and observe placative rites." There were the young men continuously discussing The War and what they would do, where they might go, when they would sign up. "Somebody pointed out that Belgium was just a road into France. Another voice was sure that the French were allied in some way to the Russians." In the background, the grit and danger of the mines suffocated their lives like a black heavy shroud, briefly lifted for a fresh breath only by the wakes, the wedding, the rare ceilidh.
Each paragraph is dense, full of insights and the author's philosophical wisdom.. There are no throwaway words, no fillers.
Give yourself the gift of Docherty.
by William McIlvanney (25 November 1936 – 5 December 2015).
"An awesome wee man," Andra Crawford said.
Who better to craft the saga of the Docherty mining family than the son of a miner?
No amount of praise by a reviewer could do this book justice. I read McIlvanney's book Laidlaw, published in 1977, a couple of years ago. It was wonderfully literate, unconventional and I loved it. Docherty, published in 1975, proved to be an even finer novel - a masterpiece. It is poetic, tough prose written by a man with a steely-eyed view of the true lot of the working class, a man inalterably opposed to Thatcherism and disappointed with Tony Blair; that view not tempered by any sort of false optimism.
Docherty begins in 1903 with the birth of a Docherty and ends after WWI with the death of a Docherty. Neither Time nor The War was kind to this family. As someone else has said, McIlvanney's characters have a "strong moral compass and a strong sense of social justice." And that's about all they had. Tam Docherty's father found solace in his rosary. Tam Docherty accepted his lot, not daring to aspire but rejecting the power of the Church, defying tradition and marrying a Protestant. His sons did not accept their lot, and looked for a more dramatic break with tradition: one going off to war as a soldier, upon his return reading voraciously about how others lived; one starting his own mining crew with a diminished sense of deference, even contempt, betraying his father's expectation, refusing to surrender to the mines; and one caught in between his brothers' aspirations. Tam's daughter, trapped by economic circumstance, followed her mother's example and accepted a life as desperately poor mother and wife. She never dared to dream. Jenny, Tam's wife, kept the dust away and quietly loved them all.
So, it is a novel about economic circumstance; about acceptance or rejection of one's expected place in the social order of early 20th Century Western Scotland; of fathers and sons and about making one's place in a family where a man only 5 feet 4 inches tall towers over his peers by dint of personality. It is about the Irish settlers and their sense of place in a neighboring country. It is about the passing of time when nearly every day is the same grinding poverty. Beyond the big themes, Docherty has detail rich and deep. There is Miss Gilfillan who lived life vicariously behind her lace curtains and always had her best tea service out, even if she had no food. Miss Gilfillan, who died in a "room cluttered with objects which would have brought a good return from the pawnshop just across the street," was their neighbor. There was "the Bringan" a bit of countryside in the grim city where "Trees were brooding presences, soughing incantations. Every bush hid an invisible force, frequently malevolent. Just to walk was to invade all sorts of jealously held terrain and you had to avoid taboos and observe placative rites." There were the young men continuously discussing The War and what they would do, where they might go, when they would sign up. "Somebody pointed out that Belgium was just a road into France. Another voice was sure that the French were allied in some way to the Russians." In the background, the grit and danger of the mines suffocated their lives like a black heavy shroud, briefly lifted for a fresh breath only by the wakes, the wedding, the rare ceilidh.
Each paragraph is dense, full of insights and the author's philosophical wisdom.. There are no throwaway words, no fillers.
Give yourself the gift of Docherty.
October 20, 2019
I'd read this several times since its publication in 1975, when it was very much hailed as the exemplar of the modern Scottish novel. Superlatives abounded, and I was impressed and moved by it. So forty odd years on, does it still have that power? My answer is yes , up to a point. It is undoubtedly well written but occasionally over-written (the narrator explains and interprets everything - it's well done but now perhaps feels rather old fashioned, though of course the novel is looking back). I am still touched by the evocation of a community and the depiction of the quintessential Scottish 'wee man', flawed, courageous, heroic; it now feels much more elegaic than it did in the 70's - the final destruction of the pits had yet to happen. The blend of humour and starkness is successful. But it tips slightly into a vice not unknown in Scotttish writing - the darkness and brutality are offset by a streak of sentimentality. I like very much though that it insists on the importance of celebrating Scottish urban working class experience rather than the romanticised Highland emphasis.
Read
May 11, 2018Review to follow.
November 11, 2016
Sadly, I had never heard of William McIlvanney until his death in December, 2015 when numerous bloggers I follow extolled his praises and mourned the loss to the literary world. Looking into this, I found McIlvanney was an award-winning Scottish author writing mostly about early 20th century Scottish culture in and around the Glasgow area and in a small town, Graithnock, which is based on his hometown of Kilmarnock, some 32 minutes southwest of Glasgow.
Docherty
(1975) is the third of eight novels he wrote, and several of the characters are revived in a later novel called
The Kiln
(1996). In addition to his eight novels, he also published a collection of short stories called
Walking Wounded
. His first book,
Remedy is None
, won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize,
Docherty
won the Whitbread Novel Award, and
The Kiln
won the Saltire Society Scottish Book of the Year Award.
The Big Man
(1985) was made into a film starring Liam Neeson, and his short story Dreaming (from
Walking Wounded
, 1989) was filmed by BBC Scotland in 1990 and won a BAFTA.
The story of the Docherty family of Graithnock begins with the birth of Tam's son — Conn Docherty. Born into a community divided between Catholic and Protestant, Conn, the youngest of four in a family that can scarce support one more mouth to feed, observes everything about everyone. He watches his mother, Jenny's, respect for Tam and Tam's appreciation of her. He sees his sister Kathleen trapped in an increasingly abusive marriage, his brother Mick go off to war and return disabled, his brother Angus stand up to his father and challenge the mining company management. He sees the respect the men down on the corner have for his father, too, and how his father seldom resorts to his fists but when he does, others quietly back off. When his grandmother dies, Conn sees how his aunt wants no responsibility for his grandfather but Jenny and Tam do what's right despite the added hardship. He learns to read and dream, but what can become of dreams on the poverty-stricken High Street.
Historically, it was the time of labour unions and the great war, of hard work and deprivation, of laughter and closeness, and even division within families. The chatter from the men on the corner, the singing from the pub, the desperation of wartime, the wild abandonment of youth, the love and decency of his parents, fairly leaps off the pages as Conn grows to manhood, absorbing it all and trying to find his own place in it all. The men are rough, the labour intense, and the times desperate. It could have been a mining town anywhere but it's Scotland and it's authentic. McIlvanney has been quoted as saying, he tried to 'give flesh to “the unfulfilled stature” of the dreams of his parents and the Kilmarnock community that he came from' (The Guardian, Dec. 5/2016) and he certainly achieved that. Written in a Scottish dialect, you pick of the rhythm and meaning of it quickly and it draws you into the richness of characters.
From the cover: Tam Docherty was only five foot four --but wherever he stood he established a territory. The people who lived in High Street, Graithnock came there because of poverty, yet Tam moved as if he were there by choice. And his name was not a pleasant sound to more than one manager in the south-west of Scotland.
The story of the Docherty family of Graithnock begins with the birth of Tam's son — Conn Docherty. Born into a community divided between Catholic and Protestant, Conn, the youngest of four in a family that can scarce support one more mouth to feed, observes everything about everyone. He watches his mother, Jenny's, respect for Tam and Tam's appreciation of her. He sees his sister Kathleen trapped in an increasingly abusive marriage, his brother Mick go off to war and return disabled, his brother Angus stand up to his father and challenge the mining company management. He sees the respect the men down on the corner have for his father, too, and how his father seldom resorts to his fists but when he does, others quietly back off. When his grandmother dies, Conn sees how his aunt wants no responsibility for his grandfather but Jenny and Tam do what's right despite the added hardship. He learns to read and dream, but what can become of dreams on the poverty-stricken High Street.
Historically, it was the time of labour unions and the great war, of hard work and deprivation, of laughter and closeness, and even division within families. The chatter from the men on the corner, the singing from the pub, the desperation of wartime, the wild abandonment of youth, the love and decency of his parents, fairly leaps off the pages as Conn grows to manhood, absorbing it all and trying to find his own place in it all. The men are rough, the labour intense, and the times desperate. It could have been a mining town anywhere but it's Scotland and it's authentic. McIlvanney has been quoted as saying, he tried to 'give flesh to “the unfulfilled stature” of the dreams of his parents and the Kilmarnock community that he came from' (The Guardian, Dec. 5/2016) and he certainly achieved that. Written in a Scottish dialect, you pick of the rhythm and meaning of it quickly and it draws you into the richness of characters.
December 30, 2018
Set in the early 20th Century, William McIlvanney’s Docherty is a searing indictment of the lives of the Scottish working classes during this time period and a brutal but honest look at the conditions they faced, economically, socially and politically.
It follows the lives and fates of the Docherty family and starts when Conn Docherty is born. The Docherty family live in a small pit village in Scotland and on the birth of his fourth child, father Tam Docherty swears that this child will lead a different life to him.
Tam Docherty is a hard but gentle man; respected by his peers and loved by his family. A firm believer that the men and women of is class deserve more, he wants nothing more than for life to be different for his children. Unfortunately, achieving that is not simple when you live in the shadow of the coal mine. There is an air of inevitability about the book as we quickly see that there is no room for manoeuvre when you are born into the lower classes. As opportunities are stripped away from them, the Docherty children have to make do with what life has presented to them. Docherty is incredibly heart breaking and yet McIlvanney also manages to interject wry humour and this is demonstrated from the outset and is a reflection of how the people in this close-knit community cope with the hardships they have been handed.
All of the characters are strongly written and they all make a huge impression on you. We see how each of Tam and Jenny Docherty’s children react to their situation and the ways in which the parents struggle but manage to provide for them. They are brought to life through McIlvanney’s use of colloquial language and while it can take some getting used to for a non-Scot, it is worth it. As we follow Mick, Kathleen, Angus and Conn grow into adults, we see how their social circumstances impact on them and the way they go on to live their lives.
Docherty provides an exploration of poverty and how those living in the dire circumstances cope. There is a strong emphasis on the moral code that the inhabitants of Graithnock adhere to and a real sense of a support network. That’s not to say that everything is perfect, it is far from it, but it is these things that help them survive the harshness of their everyday life.
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of claustrophobia while reading Docherty. It’s as though the characters have become all-consumed by their poverty and, as a result, their surroundings. When one of the Docherty boys escapes via enlisting as a soldier, he returns from WWI to find this has further entrenched his place in Graithnock. The lack of any ability to escape is a sad reflection of Great Britain at the turn of the century.
Full of grit, rage and despair, yet interspersed with dry, Scottish humour, Docherty is an uncomfortable read but an essential read. If you like your literature to be unflinching in its depiction of life at the harshest end of the scale you will enjoy this book.
It follows the lives and fates of the Docherty family and starts when Conn Docherty is born. The Docherty family live in a small pit village in Scotland and on the birth of his fourth child, father Tam Docherty swears that this child will lead a different life to him.
Tam Docherty is a hard but gentle man; respected by his peers and loved by his family. A firm believer that the men and women of is class deserve more, he wants nothing more than for life to be different for his children. Unfortunately, achieving that is not simple when you live in the shadow of the coal mine. There is an air of inevitability about the book as we quickly see that there is no room for manoeuvre when you are born into the lower classes. As opportunities are stripped away from them, the Docherty children have to make do with what life has presented to them. Docherty is incredibly heart breaking and yet McIlvanney also manages to interject wry humour and this is demonstrated from the outset and is a reflection of how the people in this close-knit community cope with the hardships they have been handed.
All of the characters are strongly written and they all make a huge impression on you. We see how each of Tam and Jenny Docherty’s children react to their situation and the ways in which the parents struggle but manage to provide for them. They are brought to life through McIlvanney’s use of colloquial language and while it can take some getting used to for a non-Scot, it is worth it. As we follow Mick, Kathleen, Angus and Conn grow into adults, we see how their social circumstances impact on them and the way they go on to live their lives.
Docherty provides an exploration of poverty and how those living in the dire circumstances cope. There is a strong emphasis on the moral code that the inhabitants of Graithnock adhere to and a real sense of a support network. That’s not to say that everything is perfect, it is far from it, but it is these things that help them survive the harshness of their everyday life.
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of claustrophobia while reading Docherty. It’s as though the characters have become all-consumed by their poverty and, as a result, their surroundings. When one of the Docherty boys escapes via enlisting as a soldier, he returns from WWI to find this has further entrenched his place in Graithnock. The lack of any ability to escape is a sad reflection of Great Britain at the turn of the century.
Full of grit, rage and despair, yet interspersed with dry, Scottish humour, Docherty is an uncomfortable read but an essential read. If you like your literature to be unflinching in its depiction of life at the harshest end of the scale you will enjoy this book.
August 14, 2020
Having just returned from a family holiday in Ayrshire, this was (by sheer luck) the optimum time to read this book, after falling in love with my children and Scotland all over again. Even though you live somewhere, with someone, that doesn't necessarily mean you appreciate either the domicile or the company; in fact, it's quite often the opposite.
This stoked the embers of familial warmth in my heart so effectively, that I almost had to remove a layer of clothing. Its grim reality, however, prevented me from burning up in a cloud of sentimental ash. McIlvanney manages to imbue the community's harsh lives with an elegiac beauty, expressing each person's inner thoughts and longings in vocabulary most of them wouldn't even be able to pronounce, without sounding like a pompous arse.
Irvine Welsh owes more than a little of Mark Renton's "lowest of the low, scum of the f***in' earth" pontificating to the character of Tam Docherty. The title is genius too: diminutive, powerful, self-sufficient; just like Tam.
In the words of Tadger: "He wis only five foot fower. But when yer hert goes fae yer heid tae yer taes, that's a lot o' hert." The same could be said of a mere 359 pages. More William McIlvanney please!
This stoked the embers of familial warmth in my heart so effectively, that I almost had to remove a layer of clothing. Its grim reality, however, prevented me from burning up in a cloud of sentimental ash. McIlvanney manages to imbue the community's harsh lives with an elegiac beauty, expressing each person's inner thoughts and longings in vocabulary most of them wouldn't even be able to pronounce, without sounding like a pompous arse.
Irvine Welsh owes more than a little of Mark Renton's "lowest of the low, scum of the f***in' earth" pontificating to the character of Tam Docherty. The title is genius too: diminutive, powerful, self-sufficient; just like Tam.
In the words of Tadger: "He wis only five foot fower. But when yer hert goes fae yer heid tae yer taes, that's a lot o' hert." The same could be said of a mere 359 pages. More William McIlvanney please!
April 27, 2022
To my shame, I'd not really even been aware of William McIllvanney, let alone read him but there is some bliss in my ignorance, because it makes it all the more enjoyable to find it.
Bought this on a whim when looking for something different.
I increasingly feel like books like this don't exist any more. Like when I read Cannery Row last year, the lyricism and craft in this book was thoroughly enjoyable. Not much of a plot, more of a reportage on working class Kilmarnock a century ago. Apparently autobiographical - acknowledged by the authors (to me) more famous sport writer brother in the excellent introduction - it tells of the Docherty family, miners in a tenement block on the edge of poverty, concentrating primarily on the father and youngest son who feature strongly in the first chapter, across an approximate twenty year period.
It's written with a lot of old Scots vernacular, which I enjoyed, and I can't speak highly enough. Beautiful in parts, with strong, well defined and memorable character, I'm glad I picked it up.
Bought this on a whim when looking for something different.
I increasingly feel like books like this don't exist any more. Like when I read Cannery Row last year, the lyricism and craft in this book was thoroughly enjoyable. Not much of a plot, more of a reportage on working class Kilmarnock a century ago. Apparently autobiographical - acknowledged by the authors (to me) more famous sport writer brother in the excellent introduction - it tells of the Docherty family, miners in a tenement block on the edge of poverty, concentrating primarily on the father and youngest son who feature strongly in the first chapter, across an approximate twenty year period.
It's written with a lot of old Scots vernacular, which I enjoyed, and I can't speak highly enough. Beautiful in parts, with strong, well defined and memorable character, I'm glad I picked it up.
October 30, 2020
The Dochertys live on High Street in a small town in the west of Scotland at the turn of the 20th century. Their family is centred on the coal mine which is the economic engine of the community. Their dour, grinding, impoverished lives are none the less rich in tradition, love and resilience. This hymn to the working class, its values, its integrity, its determination is also an elegy of its passing. Beautifully written, the book takes work, in particular in reading the vernacular speech; however, perseverance pays off. This book deserves to be better-known as a documentary classic, ranking with Lawrence and Orwell.
March 29, 2019
This novel has to clinch the top prize in terms of beauty of prose. I have never seen such beauty is describing feelings or situations, as I saw in this book. And so, that the plot didnt seem to have much rather than the mini, really mundane events, was a worth it cost to reading this text. A little difficulty in reading if you're not used to the particular slang, but I picked it up after awhile because his metaphorical prose is really beautiful - cant say it enough. The mundanity of the plot, in retrospect, seems to be what the author wanted to convey. So then I guess its fine...
July 18, 2007
One of the most powerful novels I've read. The Scottish accent is thick and took me a few pages to get used to, but once I did, I fell in love with its music and rhythm. All the characters are well drawn and distinctive. The narrator is funny and intelligent, and addresses broad issues of class and religion pointedly without being pedantic. I can't recommend this book highly enough-- it's fantastic.
October 8, 2015
Beautifully written story of a Scottish family in the mine fields - told primarily in the voice of the youngest son. The struggles and challenges and loyalty of a family all play out, but with the addition of the brogue (takes some getting used to for following the rhythm of it) it takes you back to the time and place of the story and wraps your heart around the characters.
October 1, 2019
Intense and brilliant description the world (both inner and outer) of the Glasgow mining family the Docherties; the feelings and ideas that they often cannot articulate themselves and the tensions they cause within the family. Vivid and emotional, intelligent and authentic and unexpectedly gripping.
February 21, 2019
I could not put it down. This hasn’t happened to me in a while, especially since I work f/t and drive a car rather than sit on trains.
I’m not sure if there is a specific target audience but I loved the style and the story
I’m not sure if there is a specific target audience but I loved the style and the story
November 2, 2009
1975 Whitbread Novel
Story of the Docherty family, in the early 20th c., from the mining community of Graithnock, Scotland.
Story of the Docherty family, in the early 20th c., from the mining community of Graithnock, Scotland.
December 10, 2012
Mining town, early 1900's. Family development. Good.
March 19, 2014
Gritty realism and poetic language - what more could you ask for in a police procedural?
November 3, 2017
one of the great Scottish novels, I loved the central character and could really feel I was in the situations the author placed him
March 20, 2019
One of the best book I have read.
March 4, 2018
"Docherty" is an absolute joy to read. William McIlvanney's words weave a rich tapestry across the page. One of the better written books I have read.
December 30, 2018
Superb!
Absolutely brilliant. Superb language and story.
This is what should be taught in Scottish schools as a use of English.
Absolutely brilliant. Superb language and story.
This is what should be taught in Scottish schools as a use of English.
March 8, 2022
Wonderful episodic novel about an impoverished Scottish coal-mining family in the 1920s. Most of the dialogue is a thick brogue which may be hard for some readers to decipher.
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