Right through the 1990s Iain Banks, with or without the M, was my number one author - an edgy, blackly humorous writer who wasn't afraid to mess around with his readers' expectations. Banks would offer up, on the one hand, self-assuredly erudite, multi-layered and (dare I say it?) near-literary texts from which could be peeled and revealed the anxieties of the decade; and on the other explosive, politicised rants burning with unbelievable fury. He was a great storyteller too. Banks, with enviable skill, turned real-life dramas into page-turning adventure stories. He invented deadly games for his characters to win or lose. Labyrinthine twists and turns that kept you reading, entwining threads of the past with those of the present, playing with our perspectives and most definitely teasing our expectations. His novels were like Molotovs, and as soon as the rag was lit you knew what was going to happen. Letting go of the bottle was almost impossible however... You had to watch it burn, you had to watch it explode in your hand. Banks's writing was so good that it wouldn't allow you to let go until the final page went off in your face.To say that Banks wasn't always kind to his characters would be an understatement right? I think it was rare that I ever really empathised with any of them. Banks's stock characters were people who either inflicted incredible cruelty on others (such as Frank in 'The Wasp Factory'), or were the subjects of such cruelty themselves (think of... well... Frank again, and pretty much every Banksian protagonist in every one of his novels). Usually his protagonists were dangerous elements who, in some way or another, discovered that they were being manipulated by people (and/or other intelligences) who believed they knew better, agents of power who maintained systems of control that stubbornly refused to be destabilised.It's been a while since I last read an Iain Banks novel. I love them, or used to, but some time ago I began to wonder whether I might have outgrown them. I don't mean this to sound trite, but I'm no longer the angsty student in his twenties raging against corporations and the government. My anger is different now.I think it got to a point where I would pick up a Banks novel and have a pretty good idea what was likely to happen after just the first couple of chapters. "Dead Air" was a good example of this. I just wasn't moved by it. I wasn't bothered by it. I didn't even care about it. For me, at the time of reading it, "Dead Air" was a bit of a 'non-novel'. It was formulaic and the formula was one I knew backwards. Maybe I'd read too much Banks by that point. Looking through his back-catalogue recently I struggled to answer my self-posed question: 'Have I read "The Business"? Have I read "Whit"?". Two novels I just couldn't place in memory. A long search through my bookshelves revealed that I had actually read both novels, but even as I scanned through their pages and blurb I found it hard to distinguish between them. I don't think this is Banks's fault. It's just that, when you become so familiar with an author's work, and there are novels which share certain themes, images, ideas etc so closely, then they will begin to blur. JG Ballard was the other big author for when I was a student, and it got to the point where I just couldn't read any more. To this day I haven't read any of Ballard's novels beyond my signed copy of "Cocaine Nights".So yes, it was a while before I got around to reading 'Garbadale'. It had actually been on my bookshelf since 2008, and it was starting to turn brown at the angle where the sun, shining through my window, fell across the top of it. Anyway, it had been some years, and of course Banks had just recently died. So I picked it up, took it away and started reading.Quickly I discovered that all the usual elements were there: systems of control keeping the main character in his place - check! Main character finding that he has to revisit unsolved mysteries of his past in order to reveal the full extent to which his life has been manipulated... check! Bizarre, comedy characters bordering on caricature who have a larger part to play in the unfolding drama... check! Big castles or castle-type buildings/spaces acting as metaphor for the inner psychoses of the protagonist and also as a dark, grand stage on which to play out the grand reveal. Check again!(Although I have to admit, I'm slightly guilty there myself... ahem...)OK - stop being facetious. Fact is I loved all those familiar, Banksian volumes taking shape around me as I read through the novel. It was like being comforted by an old friend, yet different enough to make me thoroughly enjoy the read. I'd say that in Garbadale Banks's writing is beautifully mature. The anger of his earlier novels is still there but it seems to have a slightly different hue, like the man who realises that although the machine can be challenged and it can change its face, it can never be truly beaten. Without control you get anarchy, and anarchy is regressive (as explored in many of his sci-fi books). In Garbadale, Banks's characters are warmer, rounder, more believable. There are no real grotesques in Garbadale and the mystery of the protagonist's past is beautifully teased and revealed. There's a fantastic episode involving a loose snake, a townhouse and two dotty old women, and it's a wonderfully indulgent signature piece on Banks's behalf. Can't remember what, if anything, it added to the story, but it was great to read.So yes, I really loved this novel. I believed in the people. I warmed to Alban in a way that I'd never warmed to any of Banks's characters before. Normally I can't wait to see what terrible fate will be served up to the people in his books but here, for the first time ever whilst reading a Banks' novel, I really did NOT want anyone to die! The anxiety I began feeling as I approached the end of the novel was palpable, traumatic. Experience was telling me that Alban and the love of his life were going to get minced at the end, whereas my inner fluffy chick was dreading the prospect of it and praying for a happy ending.That's never happened before. Ever.I think I'm getting old.But maybe that's it. The twenty-something year-old me of the 90s would have hated this novel. He would have thrown it at the wall having felt cheated by the ending and the sheer mundanity of everything which preceded that ending. "Is that it?" he would have screamed. "Seriously is that it?? WTF!!!"But the older, wiser me, reading the novel of an older, wiser Iain Banks, nods sagely and says at the end "Yes. This was a damn fine novel with a very unexpected ending."Didn't I say at the start of this review that Banks had a habit of confounding the expectations of his readers? Even me who's read 'em all. Well the old bard did it again and I take my hat off and raise a dram to the bugger. I wish he was still here writing more of this.I think the older, wiser me will enjoy the remainder of his novels, but maybe for reasons different to those of the younger Mr Banks which the younger me devoured hungrily.
Garba - daleMostly positives here.It was an audiobook, narrated by the excellent Peter Kenny, which is a good start point. Versatile range of accents, making the characters instantly recognisable, because he's just so consistent.A nicely convoluted plot around a sprawling wealthy family, the clan Wopuld, complete with black sheep, set against the background of a bid by a US games corporation to buy out the family firm. A powerful (but aging) matriarch, devious and unscrupulous. Skulduggery. Some well-concealed plot twists. Teenage lust à la Adrian Mole turning to middle-aged angst in the mostly-sympathetic protagonist, Alban McGill. Some lovely comedy from aunts Beryl and Doris.Some negatives, though.Many of the characters are stereotypes - Fielding, for example, and Cousin Sophie (the object of Alban's teenage lust). They lack depth, though you might defend this on the grounds that the tale is told from Alban's point of view, and the narrative reflects that Alban never really tried to understand his relatives. Even Sophie, whom he never sees as more than the object of his sexual desires.The story takes a while to get going. The first chapter almost lost me - we meet Fielding first of all and there's no empathy - he's just a wealthy businessman, thrust into a Scottish slum, petrified that his car will be stolen (or keyed).But then the first plot twist - he's agin the takeover. Suddenly I like him, and my interest in the book picks up. It drags again though in the following chapters. We get a guided tour of Alban's teenage years, his first meetings with Cousin Sophie, and it becomes very meandering and (as I said) Adrian Molesque. In hindsight, a lot of what happens here feeds into later twists, but at the time it just feels like Iain Banks is indulging in teenage male fantasy.The final negative is Alban's atheistic rants and introspective musings, which just went on and on at times. It's a facet of many of Banks' writings, normally kept somewhat under control, but here it got downright fiery-preachy, sentences piled one upon another, as Banks restates his beliefs just in case you didn't get it the first time.The novel gets going again as the moment draws closer when the decision on the sale will have to be made. Interleaved, we learn that there's a mystery that surrounds Alban's birth, and the suicide of his mother. Black sheep, secrets and skulduggery...The threads all come together reasonable neatly, if a little predictably. There's a nice little coda, too, showing Alban apparently at peace with himself.In hindsight, it feels like another Espedair Street. That's OK, too.
Do You like book The Steep Approach To Garbadale (2007)?
A family saga from Iain Banks - it came out in 2007 and while I do not think it is as good as say, Stonemouth and The Quarry - both later novels - but it is still a fine book. Like many good family sagas there is a dark secret that gets revealed right at the end and it genuinely is and explains why people who behave as they do.The central character of Alban McGill is very well drawn as are the tales of sex and drugs and board games but all the main family members are beautifully realised. As is Scotland and North Devon.There is, of course, much of Banks view of the world - one I tend to agree with but other points of view are well represented so "The Steep Approach To Gardadle is far more than a left wing polemic - its a great story.And I can't work out why it has not been made as a TV serial. After all Iain Banks' earlier "The Crow Road" was and that was very good.
—Charly Fitzpatrick
A sprawling family saga set on a picturesque Highland estate, filled with tangled relationships, generational conflicts, unrequited love, and a dark family secret that reverberates through the plot. The central character is Alban, returning to the family fold after several disillusioned years in self-imposed exile, as the clan gather to discuss the future of their investment, a popular board game developed by an ancestor. It's no subtle irony that Empire! is under thread from American capitalism.The narrative weaves in flashbacks from Alban's early life, as a teenager in Garbadale, a young man travelling the world, and a forestry worker avoiding any real responsibility, as events progress in the present. He gradually reconciles his place within the family, laying to rest demons that have haunted him and hindered his engagement with adulthood, giving the novel a satisfying resolution.The main issue with this book is over-familiarity. It feels like Banks is retreading old ground, and this just isn't The Crow Road.
—Vicky
Members of a British family that owns and runs a board and computer game empire plan and scheme as they second-guess each others' hands before the extraordinary general meeting where the family decides whether to sell the company to a soulless American conglomerate.Sounds like a good, meaty novel full of intrigue and strategy, right? Unfortunately, British novelist Iain Banks took his wonderful concept and decided he wanted it to be a love story instead. An unrequited love story. An unrequited love story between two cousins.Not that there's anything illegal about cousinly love, as Banks' protagonist points out. Alban McGill, who is linked to the esteemed Wopuld gaming clan via his deceased mother, came, saw and deflowered the beautiful, spunky Sophie Wopuld when he was 15 and she was 14. Alas, during what was to have been an intense farewell session under a bush, their grandmother happened along and caught them with, well, their pants down.Separated and forbidden to get back in touch (this was before mobile phones and instant messaging), he spent a year writing angsty poetry and letters, which he attempted to convey to her via a sympathetic aunt. Naturally, he was heartbroken when he discovered she had found a new boyfriend within a year. This familial affair is the foundation on which all of Alban's recriminations with regard to his estranged family, and particularly its martriach, are built. Couple this with his opposition of large American corporations and George W. Bush, as well as the revelation of a new clue to the mystery surrounding his mother's suicide when he was a toddler, and Alban's return to the family fold for the EGM is anything but fun and games.But the reader is denied a saga of power politics in favour of a sentimental tale of love lost and maturity gained, which Banks has already done before, and better, in novels like The Wasp Factory and The Crow Road.Meanwhile, the mystery of Alban's mother's suicide can be solved midway through the book, by process of elimination, by anyone who has ever played Cluedo.This is not to say that the novel is without merit. Banks is a master writer of description, and the sections where a character recounts being caught in the 2004 tsunami, as well as Alban's mother's suicide scene, are gut-wrenching and raw.Also, an account of Alban romping through Singapore while high on several kinds of drugs (he takes the cable car to Sentosa, catches a cab and visits Haw Par Villa) sounds more fun than it should.But these random flashes of brilliance are not enough to win the day. Ultimately, the novel lacks charismatic characters or a compelling narrative, making this approach to Garbadale very steep indeed.
—Gerund
