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How Late It Was How Late James Kelman 9780393038170 Books

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How Late It Was How Late James Kelman 9780393038170 Books

Ah, dear, how to write a review of a novel in which over half the words are unrepeatable in an Amazon review? The irony is that it's the lovely, chanting, profane interior monologue of the book that wins one over. From starter's orders here, we are inside the mind of a Glaswegian no-account who has lost his sight after having been "done in" by the police. He has also lost his girlfriend, his memory, and, to a certain extent, his mind.

But what a lovely, melodic mind it is! For all the talk of the book's roughness and the vulgarity of its language, it is intrinsically a sweet book - the poor bloke who never had a chance, blinded, left lovelorn, up against everything the world has to throw at him. Added to this is Sammy's perspective on the world. There's precious little self-pity in it.

So, we listen in on Sammy's thoughts as the bureaucracy, the police, the doctor, the lawyer all try to take him down. The recurrent image is of a wounded animal, defanged by blindness, beating the bars of the cage of this world with the mop handle with which he makes do for a cane, all the while drifting in a melodious incantation of meditation. I didn't want to put this book down. When I finally came to the end, I felt like saying to Sammy what he says to his son:

"The worst of all this is saying cheerio to the likes of yerself, but what can ye do, ye've got to batter on, know what I'm saying, ye've got to batter on."

Aye, Sammy, don't we all?


Tags : How Late It Was, How Late [James Kelman] on Amazon.com. *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Sammy, an ex-convict living in Glasgow, gets into a fight with some soldiers, only to regain consciousness in a jail cell and be questioned by the police about his girlfriend's disappearance,James Kelman,How Late It Was, How Late,W. W. Norton,0393038173,General,Fiction,Fiction - General,Fiction General,Modern fiction,Novel

How Late It Was How Late James Kelman 9780393038170 Books Reviews

I ordered this to learn more about modern-day Scotland, and because it was a Booker awardee I expected something interesting. I'm disappointed on both counts. The first several pages are probably the most vulgar, obscene screed I've ever seen and that was enough for me. I put it down and won't return to it unless I exhaust the thousands of good, useful books available. Yes, available about Scotland, too. I don't like the cover either.
I think it isn't written in English. Maybe it's Scottish that I don't understand...if I had known about it, I wouldn't have bought it
An incredible account of a Scottish man's life and adolescence in a local vernacular. Very deserving of the Booker Prize. I have recently ordered all his other books available on . Thank you for your continuing great service to your customers.
I remember the first time I visited Glasgow and was very taken with the accent, most notably the fact that my taxi driver stopped at least 10 times to ask women for directions to where I was going, and addressed them all as "hey hen". If you're unfazed by profanities and have managed to understand an episode of Rab C.Nesbitt on TV then this is well worth a read. I'm docking it a star because it comes to an abrupt end which left me wanting to know more.
It took me a while to get used to the Scottish phrasing and accent, but this is definitely one of the most compelling novels I have read in a very long time. Sammy is an astonishing character Full of good and evil, full of sympathy and loathing. He is a fascinating antihero, wish his story could have gone on forever. Pick up this book, be determined that you can get through the 'language,' and you will be rewarded with one of the most challenging, expressive, and engrossing tales you have ever read.
I LOVE this book. Great for those days you need to hate life but love that you hate it.
"No frigate like a book to take us lands away," said Emily Dickinson. Oh my, she's right. There are other worlds out there, lots of them. Kelman's book takes us to one, a unique one, right in the middle of Glasgow, in fact in the outer limits of consciousness somewhere - in the mind of a low-life petty thief named Sammy who stupidly assaulted two policemen and got beaten so badly by them that he is blinded. After that, everything in this book is generated, more or less, in Sammy's head as interior monologue (not stream of consciousness as others say) or by the speech of the characters Sammy deals with. Those characters do plenty of talking with an extremely limited vocabulary that nevertheless has an amazing expressive range proving, again, that Scotland is a nation of talkers, great talkers. It is also a welfare state with lots of red tape and institutionalized dullness. So much so that Sammy's difficulties with the DSS Central Medical board and with the DSS in general call into question the Scottish I.Q. and raise the query that they might have there some institutional madness as serious as that discussed in Bleak House. Some advice Donay be turned off by ye Scottish dialect. Read the first three pages aloud. Aw fine. Aye, they make sense. Ah stories, man, stories, life's full of stories, there to help ye out. Aye right pal okay.
Ah, dear, how to write a review of a novel in which over half the words are unrepeatable in an review? The irony is that it's the lovely, chanting, profane interior monologue of the book that wins one over. From starter's orders here, we are inside the mind of a Glaswegian no-account who has lost his sight after having been "done in" by the police. He has also lost his girlfriend, his memory, and, to a certain extent, his mind.

But what a lovely, melodic mind it is! For all the talk of the book's roughness and the vulgarity of its language, it is intrinsically a sweet book - the poor bloke who never had a chance, blinded, left lovelorn, up against everything the world has to throw at him. Added to this is Sammy's perspective on the world. There's precious little self-pity in it.

So, we listen in on Sammy's thoughts as the bureaucracy, the police, the doctor, the lawyer all try to take him down. The recurrent image is of a wounded animal, defanged by blindness, beating the bars of the cage of this world with the mop handle with which he makes do for a cane, all the while drifting in a melodious incantation of meditation. I didn't want to put this book down. When I finally came to the end, I felt like saying to Sammy what he says to his son

"The worst of all this is saying cheerio to the likes of yerself, but what can ye do, ye've got to batter on, know what I'm saying, ye've got to batter on."

Aye, Sammy, don't we all?