The day after I finished this book, by coincidence, I listened to a podcast about the reasons for the rich-poor life expectancy gap in the west Scotland/Glasgow area. Contrary to popular view, it's not due to the consumption of (mythical) deep-fried Mars Bars, or smoking rates. It's due to early death of people born in the 1960s who have lost their way in life through the closure of their source of employment such as shipyards. Suicide is a big issue. This book is a story of one such life - Mick Little. It's also a story about families, and in particular the relationship between fathers and sons. Alcohol is involved. It tells a very realistic (I think) tale of how a person can become homeless. It's not a simple story, and people act in a way that is hard to understand, but that's reality, I reckon. I could easily see myself becoming Mick Little in the right circumstances.
I've got Ross Raisin's "God's Own Country", but the story is too close to home to read right now. I'm hoping I'll be in a place when I can read it soon. I'm sure it will be good. ( )

"If you start taking down all the things in the place that are fingered with memories, then that's the whole house emptied.",, 3 April 2015

This review is from: Waterline (Kindle Edition)
Utterly believable narrative, following Mick Little, once a Glaswegian shipbuilder, now a driver, in the aftermath of his wife's death. From the fairly normal beginning, where he is hanging up condolences cards and his family are staying with him, Mick's life soon disintegrates entirely. As the relatives go home, and his employer has no work for him, Mick finds himself unable to sleep in the house, in debt and increasingly dependent on superlager...
Written in dialect (which the reader soon becomes used to,although it took me to the latter part of the book to work out that 'on the broo' translates as 'on the dole' and has nothing to do with alcohol!) which gives a really authentic feel to the writing.
Mick tries to distance himself from his memories, from the difficult relationship with his son and from the seemingly patronising attitude of his wife's better-off family, and those around him:

"We've no been thinking about anything else. Really, Mary? Ye sure about that? You've been thinking about what DVDs to watch and that your fence needs a varnish, but no, see, what we've really been thinking about is Cathy and this terrible situation here. That's what's been on our minds the whole time. And have ye gave much thought, Mary, how it's Cathy copped her whack and it's no you?"

The author takes a deprived, depressed character and builds a convincing storyline that engages our sympathies; the postscript tells of the research he did for the book in a centre for the homeless.
Every bit as good - in a very different way - to his other work, 'God's own Country'. ( )

“And see if he did put a claim in then the reminders would be there the whole time—for months, years, however long it took—and even that is still ignoring the main thing: why should he get a windfall? Him that brought it into the house and handed her the overalls to wash and here’s two hundred grand, pal, take it, it’s yours—you deserve it.”

After the death of his wife to mesothelioma, Mick has to start his life over, struggling with the guilt from her death attributable to residue from his job in the shipyards. While his children hint at getting a settlement, to punish the company that virtually saturated their employees in asbestos, Mick resists any idea of what he imagines a payoff for her death.

While the story proceeds with his descent into grief, it never plays into the stereotype of the grieving widower who travels through five stages of grief to recover and find love again with a sweet old lady down the street. Instead, his journey is literal. Unable, emotionally, to reside in the house anymore, he starts sleeping in a shed outside, and his focus changes to minor things to avoid thinking about the bigger issues. He begins finding a kinship more with the birds he feeds than with other humans.

“He listens, enjoying the sound of it, as they begin skittering on the concrete outside the shed door...Until recently there’d been just the one – probably the same patient guy that’s been coming all the while –but he’s obvious gone and let dab to all his mates that they can come and eat here, and now there’s a whole mob of them. Good for him, no keeping it all to himself. Obviously no an English bird. A genuine Southsider, that sparrow. “

The quote above reveals a wry humor that Mick has, told in his warm Glasgow accent. It’s revealed again as he’s run out of money, and thinks about the possibility of asking his brother-in-law for money:

“…he’d be pure delighted, guaranteed. A great song and dance over it, the ceremonious fetching of the chequebook, the smug showy putting on of the wee reading glasses. How much would you like, Mick? Really, it’s not a problem. How much?”

Instead of resorting to that indignation, Mick chooses another option: complete departure, from both Glasgow and reality. He ends up in London living a life he’d never imagined, and one that he hopes to hide from his sons left behind, who know nothing of his location.

Mick’s voice is full of irony and desperate humor, especially when he remarks on the cheap condolences friends make when they see him. He’s a realist that knows far too well how little people really feel about his loss. In this many vivid side characters are pulled in, and while they don’t appear long, they are memorable for the way they are described.

Midway through the novel I glanced at the author’s photograph in the back. It stopped me in my tracks. It’s a young guy that wrote this aged voice! It sort of put me off, for a day anyway, because I couldn’t imagine how a young man (anyone younger than me qualifies in that regard) could create such a complex persona that melds humor, regret, guilt, and anxiety in one realistic character. Topping it off is the Scottish voice that Mick delivers his thoughts in; sometimes an accent is hard to read because it doesn't flow, but in this case it was much of the charm. (Would make a killer audiobook!)

Especially noteworthy is that while it is essentially a quest motif, the fact that neither the reader nor the protagonist knows the object that is being sought makes it mysterious. The pace speeds up as you literally follow Mick through a labyrinth of people and places, and you really don’t know where he’s headed. And the questions continue to plague you: what happened to his sons? Who were the men at the door? Will he go back to Glasgow? What was up with Craig?

This is on target for my top five titles of 2011. Not only because of the main character and the plot, but also because of what it reveals about those living outside the margins of society. While the underbelly of large cities is often presented as a place of crime and prostitution, Waterline exposes the remote lives of immigrants and the homeless, attempting to live an honorable life while no one wants to meet their eyes. ( )