Martin Millar is a critically acclaimed Scottish writer from Glasgow, now resident in London. He also writes the Thraxas series of fantasy novels under the pseudonym Martin Scott.
The novels he writes as Martin Millar dwell on urban decay and British sub-cultures, and the impact this has on a range of characters, both realistic and supernatural. There are elements of magical realism, and the feeling that the boundary between real life and the supernatural is not very thick. Most of them are set in Brixton, Millar's one-time place of residence. Many are at least semi-autobiographical, and Love and Peace with Melody Paradise and Suzy, Led Zeppelin and Me both feature Millar himself as a character.
As Martin Scott his Thraxas novels are a fusion of traditional high fantasy and pulp noir thrillers.
In 2000, he won the World Fantasy Award for best novel for Thraxas.
Milk, Sulphate and Alby Starvation reads like a kind of ur- Trainspotting that was possible while the shadow of the Sex Pistols was still fresh. There is no phony nihilism and no political posturing, just the celebration of fleeting opportunities for happiness in the squalor of punk bohemia.
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Eh, this was fine and fun, but not nearly as crazy or cool as I'd hoped. Very slapsticky, and very funny, in that sarcastic silly British way. Here is my favorite paragraph (which, of course, has nothing to do with the plot or anything):
I hate lettuce. Every time I take some leaves off to wash them I'm terrified I'm going to find something disgusting inside like a dead wasp or a slug or maybe a severed finger or even just a fingernail. And after the trauma of washing it lettuce seems to be more or less impossible to dry, holding grimly on to water like a gigantic vegetable sponge no matter how much you shake and throw it about the kitchen, letting it out only after it squelches onto your plate. What's more it tastes of absolutely nothing and flops around in your mouth so you have to fight to get it down.
Ha! If you don't think that's funny, you will hate the narrator and probably also the book.
190711: fun. I do not know if this is a comic sub genre, but it is a fast, easy read, and even or especially with the first person a complete… well maybe not complete, dork, as his character is too impossible to imagine complete at anything, this is deadpan, very dark, humor...
Martin Millar writes like Kurt Vonnegut, if Vonnegut had read more classical Greek comedies and watched a ton of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Which is to say, while the tone and simplicity of the writing style is very similar, but the tone is less "we are all destined for doom and only civility can make it somewhat less unpleasant" and more "I am destined for doom... ooh, Buffy is on."
Anyway... this is the first of Millar's books that I read. I picked it up during a semester abroad in England, and one of my few regrets from the entire trip is that I missed seeing him give a reading at a bookstore on Oxford Street. He's funny and poignent (although this book contains a bit more of the former than the latter), and I cannot give him a higher recommendation.
There is a tone in almost all Martin Millar books that I just love. This book seems like it shouldn't work but completely does. I felt like the way it switched between 1st and 3rd person. It was clear and not-at-all gimmicky. There are ideas that are fleshed out a bit more in the brilliant Lonely Werewolf Girl but they work in this story as well.
Another one of my favorite books ever; this book has everything. Think video game tournaments meets radical anti-corporate veganism meets Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels...
Alby is a punk in London who has been very sick. When he went to the doctor, the doctor told him the problem was nerves and gave him sedatives, even though he was vomiting and bleeding randomly. He thought he would die, until a friend suggested adding food slowly into his diet to see if he was allergic to anything. He improved until he drank milk. When other people heard his story, they did elimination diets and found they were allergic to milk. Soon, Alby found himself at the center of a media blitz, and he took intervews for money because he was broke and not working. We learn all of these facts as Alby looks backwards, from his hiding place. the Milk Advertising Board has a hit out on him and Alby is scared to go down the street.
The book reminded me of Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. We see many characters, who all end up in Alby's squat watching a Kung Fu fight and debating on wether any individual should follow through with thier plans to do greivous injury to Alby.
Woody Allen meets Pulp Fiction. Alby, a punk and minor drug dealer in his mid-20s, is very sick and discovers the cause of it to be milk. After being featured in a newspaper article, Alby becomes an inadvertent campaigner against milk.
When milk sales drop, the Milk Marketing Board wants to put an end to him. He'd go on the run, but he can't quite bring himself to leave his extensive comic collection behind.
The chapters are divided into short scenes which depict the interconnected set of characters. It's a fun read, and while Alby isn't the typical hero, there was something about his self-obsessed, paranoid and neurotic ways that captured my heart.
Great fun! A story-story that doesn't waste time with over-complicated psychology of characters and just keeps the action going putting them in harms way. Quite humorous.
One of the first books I ever read that i truly hated. (I was younger then - twenty years younger, in fact - so maybe it's not that bad. On the other hand, that title...)
Martin Millar’s Milk, Sulphate & Alby Starvation was something of a cult classic back in the day and I’m pleased to report it holds up very well to a fresh reading now. The book’s frenetic pace and charm keep the reader hooked as we are drip-fed snippets of multiple storylines like torn bread being thrown at ducks. Alby, a lactose intolerant amphetamine-selling hypochondriac is keeping a low-profile, hiding from a hit-woman hired by the black ops division of the surprisingly ruthless Milk Marketing Board. What unravels are numerous threads involving soya milk, low-level drug dealing, supermarket staffing politics, shoplifting, video arcades, magical crowns, milk politics and a host of other unlikely bedfellows (without wishing to give away too many spoilers ). The book is like a map of the London Underground with each storyline crossing over each other at various points in the narrative, culminating in a final resting place at one of the major stations. Great fun.
per essere il suo primo romanzo millar ha già chiaro il suo stile: far intrecciare tra di loro le vicende di soggetti assolutamente ai margini della società, fino ad un finale che -se non risolutore- almeno mette una sorta di "armonia caotica" nelle vite dei protagonisti. e, tra le righe, c'è l'inghilterra dell'era thatcher, tra la radio che parla di scioperi e minacce da guerra fredda, e i ragazzi che vivono negli squat col sussidio di disoccupazione...
Reminds me of Pulp Fiction. The plot contains drugs but is not explicitly about drugs. The organized criminal underworld is involved. The narrative cuts suddenly from following one character to another, and these pieces eventually fall together into a wonderful plot.
It's also one of those books that dropped me into a different place and time and I got lost there while reading.
I have had this book around ever since I first read it in the 90s. It was one of the first that I read that had that counterculture humour attached to it. It felt like something that I could read. It also felt contrived and still funny.
I still feel as if it is just below where it aught to be. Still enjoyable. I guess I am willing to let this go. Damn milk though.
Tout une vitrine de situations improbables menées par des personnages loufoques qui, au final se rencontrent dans une seule scène improbable et loufoque... Je n'ai pas trouvé beaucoup d'intérêt à cette lecture...
This book reminds me that reading can be fun. Reminds me a bit of Kurt Vonnegut. Probably not going to resonate with diehard fanatics of Kant, or Walt Whitman (or any poet for that matter), but too bad for those bores. Enjoyable is not a dirty word in my world.
This is pure weird and wonderful, some dead funny bits that are bogged down by rambling, but all in all a decent read. I think it's easier to like a book when it's cast of characters are people you could imagine your dad introducing to you as "part of the old gang"
Would be 5 but it has a very 1987 attitude towards Chinese people that is a horrible stereotype (but only in two or three sentences). If Kurt Vonnegurt was an 80s squatter punk in Brixton.