Unrelentingly miserable. Every character is either evil or stupid or drunken, or out to get revenge against one of the above. Scottish fiction went through a phase of this in the early 20th century - lightless novels with misery heaped on grief heaped on despair. I'm sure there have been times and places where that was the case, but I'm certain there was also love, laughter and care, even in those dark times. It's a pity a significant portion of the Scottish literary convention was never to show any of that. Give me some light in the darkness, some joy to temper the grief, some hope to illuminate the despair. In fact, and I say this as a patriotic Scot, give me the English classic literary tradition - Dickens, Hardy, etc. - who all gave something to hang onto to make the bleakness bearable, be it beauty of language, or comic interludes, or love. Abandoned at 25% on the grounds that I'm finding it so depressing I can't bear to go on reading.