kiss my mutha fuckin’ bacon flavoured polise arse!

Regards,

Robbo

I’ll admit that Welsh’s writing has lacked some of the power which it once had, especially in the light of Crime (which might be described as a poor thriller), the follow up to Filth, but I can’t help feeling that Filth was actually one of his better works. One of the things that I admire about Irvine Welsh is head on approach to questions which are all too often allowed to fade into the background in more ‘bourgeois’ (for want of a better word) fiction. Robbo is a character who initially evokes repugnance but through a painful process of earns back his humanity in the eyes of the reader, and in my opinion, Welsh handles this extremely well and paints a very vivid personality. I find it hard to think of this as a book which aims at simple shock tactics, as the previous reviewer mentioned. To be honest, aren’t we all completely desensitised to simple emetic shock tactics nowadays anyway? To appreciate any kind of shock, we have to engage with the character on a moral level, and come to resent his complacency, ie, his view of himself as person who can freely manipulate his wife and colleges with no consequences. And his subsequent downfall, as well as his difficult past, make for a satisfying end as well as positing a world view which does indeed sustain some kind of cosmic justice in a convincing way- which is one of the most noble aspiration of fiction, for my money, and a very difficult tightrope to walk. We can ignore the question and just plunge ourselves into a relitivistic soup of style, vogue and novelty, or on the other hand, handle the question badly and come out with something shockingly trite and banal. I don’t think we can accuse Welsh of having done that here.

Of course, the book does have some flaws. Welsh can’t really write women, that’s for sure, but then neither can a lot of male writers. There was a certain repetitive quality to Robbo’s monologue at times, but I think this was consistent with the character.

But, all in all, I really can’t understand the reviewer’s extreme reaction to this book, because I count it among my favourites of all time.

“Carole”‘s sycophantic praise of her husband and suspiciously unreal gratefulness for him sexually liberating her was, upon reflection, meant to make the reader suspect she was not who we thought she was. However, at the time I just assumed that Welsh was rubbish at writing women. I think he rather shot himself in the foot there.

I didn’t predict the ending, in the same way I didn’t predict it would rain in Sweden yesterday – I just don’t give a fuck. Having said that, I read the whole thing fairly quickly, mainly to get it over and done with, I think. I was just hoping there would be a point to the whole thing. There wasn’t.

Nothing about the book made me laugh, except how pathetically over the top his past was. Maybe if the worm had started revealing Bruce’s past sooner in the novel, I would have actually given a damn? I wanted to feel like I’d gained a little insight into corruption and abuse of power in the police force, and I think Welsh was perhaps very close, but just not quite right. I just got the feeling that the entire book was written not to provoke thought, or feeling, or debate, but just to provoke shock. But nothing in the book shocked me. Was gratuitous use of the word cunt supposed to? I really don’t care. I have never read a book that provoked such a lack of any kind of thought or feeling in me before. It’s a very strange feeling, to be honest. Is he trying to make one feel like an addict – just an unfeeling urge to continue? Perhaps, or perhaps I’m just giving him way too much credit here.

This is the first of Welsh’s books I’ve read (although I have seen Trainspotting a long time ago). It makes me wonder what all the fuss is about, and I’d be reluctant to pick up another of his novels.

In many ways Filth is stronger than trainspotting. It will linger in your brain for days after reading it.

Peter Bryan has summed this review up perfectly. If you feel the need to “review” further novels, just keep your thoughts to yourself. You are not capable of writing one.