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Jack Laidlaw #2
The Papers of Tony Veitch
'Laidlaw is back, the Glasgow policeman with bowels who knows his jungle like the back of his own horny hand. A stabbed thug, a deathbed gasp from an old wino, lungs scorified by the weedkiller his bottle was laced with, a frightened Italian drab, a tilted lady looking for off-limits thrills, the escaped prey - a mosaic takes brutal shape ...the interpretation of this argot-rich underworld, bullies and hard men, victims and tourists, and of the very nature of violence, is a powerful achievement' The Observer
256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
384 people are currently reading
865 people want to read
About the author
William McIlvanney
40 books227 followersWilliam McIlvanney was a Scottish writer of novels, short stories, and poetry. He was a champion of gritty yet poetic literature; his works Laidlaw, The Papers of Tony Veitch, and Walking Wounded are all known for their portrayal of Glasgow in the 1970s. He is regarded as "the father of 'Tartan Noir’" and has been described as "Scotland's Camus".
His first book, Remedy is None, was published in 1966 and won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize in 1967. Docherty (1975), a moving portrait of a miner whose courage and endurance is tested during the depression, won the Whitbread Novel Award.
Laidlaw (1977), The Papers of Tony Veitch (1983) and Strange Loyalties (1991) are crime novels featuring Inspector Jack Laidlaw. Laidlaw is considered to be the first book of Tartan Noir.
William McIlvanney was also an acclaimed poet, the author of The Longships in Harbour: Poems (1970) and Surviving the Shipwreck (1991), which also contains pieces of journalism, including an essay about T. S. Eliot. McIlvanney wrote a screenplay based on his short story Dreaming (published in Walking Wounded in 1989) which was filmed by BBC Scotland in 1990 and won a BAFTA.
Since April 2013, McIlvanney's own website has featured personal, reflective and topical writing, as well as examples of his journalism.
Adapted from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William...
His first book, Remedy is None, was published in 1966 and won the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize in 1967. Docherty (1975), a moving portrait of a miner whose courage and endurance is tested during the depression, won the Whitbread Novel Award.
Laidlaw (1977), The Papers of Tony Veitch (1983) and Strange Loyalties (1991) are crime novels featuring Inspector Jack Laidlaw. Laidlaw is considered to be the first book of Tartan Noir.
William McIlvanney was also an acclaimed poet, the author of The Longships in Harbour: Poems (1970) and Surviving the Shipwreck (1991), which also contains pieces of journalism, including an essay about T. S. Eliot. McIlvanney wrote a screenplay based on his short story Dreaming (published in Walking Wounded in 1989) which was filmed by BBC Scotland in 1990 and won a BAFTA.
Since April 2013, McIlvanney's own website has featured personal, reflective and topical writing, as well as examples of his journalism.
Adapted from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William...
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 179 reviews
November 1, 2015
[4.5] Every bit as good as Laidlaw, book one in the series (which I gave five stars) - only I'm not sure these benefit from being read quite so close together. They were written six years apart, after all. The earlier book's greatest strength was its existential depth, whilst here the plot is sharper and more taut. This isn't the first crime series in which I've noticed an author reusing a theme or structure so it felt as if they were, on some level, rewriting and improving on aspects of an earlier book: as in Laidlaw, there's a thriller structure in which both police and gangland thugs are looking for a young chap who got himself mixed up in a criminal world he's not quite part of.
The events of Tony Veitch take place a year on from Laidlaw; there are a few references, but nothing that would impair the enjoyment of this book as a standalone. It nearly always gels, but occasionally, aesthetics are unmistakably 1980s: She was wearing a shocking-pink blouse with one shoulder and sleeve missing and leopard-skin trousers that would have fitted a gnat. And as in the previous book, there's stuff made of raffia - to me an impossibly 70s and 80s material...I sometimes wonder it if ceased to exist here before 2000.
A couple of students are significant characters - one upwardly mobile, the brother of a gangster, one downwardly, a sort of class tourist too sincere to be fully desrving of that epithet. McIlvanney gives them more dignity than students tend to have in British litfic, yet they're not without callow earnestness. These characters give further scope for philosophical and political discussions in a natural way, and outside Laidlaw's own head. To create a character like the constantly-writing Tony Veitch may be a reflex for an author, but all his papers and scraps and paragraphs and long letters and essay fragments, a drive to write it down and attempt to communicate, lots of philosophising but nothing synthesised into a whole work, was something that struck a chord with me, far more than any story of a novelist does.
This, from the thoughts of another more blatantly class-tourist character (her accent had got lost in the post) articulated some things I'd never even put into words in my own head before.
She saw these young people dancing, bodies throwing themselves about, so careless, like casual conversation. They were a message that fascinated her because she could never quite understand it or imitate its tones, that unselfconscious declaration of self before departing into the dark. She imagined what boring jobs they must go back to, if they had jobs, that girl with a face tallow in the strobe lights, that boy who looked like a seedy angel and sneered at himself. They explained her flat to her. She had rejected her own taste and just bought kitsch because she felt that where she lived no longer mattered much, should be as anonymous as a railway station. Tony had taught her that. He had said, ‘Houses are ways of hiding from a more complicated reality, I think. They should have porous walls. The less they’re you, the nearer they are to communal places. Like the best working-class houses.’ These dancers reminded her of that, were all open doors.
Yes, like cheap furniture from Argos, for example, bought at a time when I could have got better (or for that matter, better quality second hand) used to make me feel more connected to something more universal and important.
He stood looking at the wall. Like a stag at bay, he was who he was, he was what he was, and nothing else. He saw no hope of proving what he suspected. He had half a vision and nobody else would begin to admit the possibility of the other half. He knew they were lying. It was all he knew. For the moment, it was all he cared about.
I felt occasionally that Jack Laidlaw's epic-hero-detective character skirted parodic trope-ishness, not because he's not a wonderful example of his type, but because these days, after thirty more years, culture can't help having more irony; a showdown in a public place brought to mind Ben Aaronovitch's Peter Grant novels in which the protagonist is constantly being reprimanded and laughed at for similar. Mcilvanney is a master of metaphors and I'd been struggling to think of a way, a fraction as good as one of his, to describe this quality in Laidlaw, perhaps a square-jawed lone gunfighter in silhouette, his hair ruffled by the wind, forever the most righteous man on screen... Near the end it was evident he perceived something of this himself, saying of another character, the feeling he had had so often as a boy learning to drink in Glasgow pubs, of taking part in your own western. McIlvanney always has a better way of saying it, simultaneously grittier and more elegant.
The events of Tony Veitch take place a year on from Laidlaw; there are a few references, but nothing that would impair the enjoyment of this book as a standalone. It nearly always gels, but occasionally, aesthetics are unmistakably 1980s: She was wearing a shocking-pink blouse with one shoulder and sleeve missing and leopard-skin trousers that would have fitted a gnat. And as in the previous book, there's stuff made of raffia - to me an impossibly 70s and 80s material...I sometimes wonder it if ceased to exist here before 2000.
A couple of students are significant characters - one upwardly mobile, the brother of a gangster, one downwardly, a sort of class tourist too sincere to be fully desrving of that epithet. McIlvanney gives them more dignity than students tend to have in British litfic, yet they're not without callow earnestness. These characters give further scope for philosophical and political discussions in a natural way, and outside Laidlaw's own head. To create a character like the constantly-writing Tony Veitch may be a reflex for an author, but all his papers and scraps and paragraphs and long letters and essay fragments, a drive to write it down and attempt to communicate, lots of philosophising but nothing synthesised into a whole work, was something that struck a chord with me, far more than any story of a novelist does.
This, from the thoughts of another more blatantly class-tourist character (her accent had got lost in the post) articulated some things I'd never even put into words in my own head before.
She saw these young people dancing, bodies throwing themselves about, so careless, like casual conversation. They were a message that fascinated her because she could never quite understand it or imitate its tones, that unselfconscious declaration of self before departing into the dark. She imagined what boring jobs they must go back to, if they had jobs, that girl with a face tallow in the strobe lights, that boy who looked like a seedy angel and sneered at himself. They explained her flat to her. She had rejected her own taste and just bought kitsch because she felt that where she lived no longer mattered much, should be as anonymous as a railway station. Tony had taught her that. He had said, ‘Houses are ways of hiding from a more complicated reality, I think. They should have porous walls. The less they’re you, the nearer they are to communal places. Like the best working-class houses.’ These dancers reminded her of that, were all open doors.
Yes, like cheap furniture from Argos, for example, bought at a time when I could have got better (or for that matter, better quality second hand) used to make me feel more connected to something more universal and important.
He stood looking at the wall. Like a stag at bay, he was who he was, he was what he was, and nothing else. He saw no hope of proving what he suspected. He had half a vision and nobody else would begin to admit the possibility of the other half. He knew they were lying. It was all he knew. For the moment, it was all he cared about.
I felt occasionally that Jack Laidlaw's epic-hero-detective character skirted parodic trope-ishness, not because he's not a wonderful example of his type, but because these days, after thirty more years, culture can't help having more irony; a showdown in a public place brought to mind Ben Aaronovitch's Peter Grant novels in which the protagonist is constantly being reprimanded and laughed at for similar. Mcilvanney is a master of metaphors and I'd been struggling to think of a way, a fraction as good as one of his, to describe this quality in Laidlaw, perhaps a square-jawed lone gunfighter in silhouette, his hair ruffled by the wind, forever the most righteous man on screen... Near the end it was evident he perceived something of this himself, saying of another character, the feeling he had had so often as a boy learning to drink in Glasgow pubs, of taking part in your own western. McIlvanney always has a better way of saying it, simultaneously grittier and more elegant.
June 3, 2022
Having thoroughly enjoyed Laidlaw (1977) by William McIlvanney, the first of the Laidlaw trilogy, I was keen to continue with the series. The Papers of Tony Veitch (1983) is the second book and is arguably even better than Laidlaw.
Many of the same characters reappear and we get more insights into the complex world of Laidlaw. Once again it's essentially a love letter to Glasgow complete with more remarkably accomplished set pieces. Some of the more metaphysical aspects reminded me of David Peace. The writing is sublime even as it describes a harsh and brutal world with its beautiful, haunting and poetic language. In short, it’s another crime writing masterclass from William McIlvanney. I eagerly await Strange Loyalties, the third instalment.
4/5
The dying words of an alcoholic tramp set Jack Laidlaw onto the trail of a certain Tony Veitch, a young Glasgow student who he discovers has been missing for several days. This book is the sequel to Laidlaw
Many of the same characters reappear and we get more insights into the complex world of Laidlaw. Once again it's essentially a love letter to Glasgow complete with more remarkably accomplished set pieces. Some of the more metaphysical aspects reminded me of David Peace. The writing is sublime even as it describes a harsh and brutal world with its beautiful, haunting and poetic language. In short, it’s another crime writing masterclass from William McIlvanney. I eagerly await Strange Loyalties, the third instalment.
4/5
The dying words of an alcoholic tramp set Jack Laidlaw onto the trail of a certain Tony Veitch, a young Glasgow student who he discovers has been missing for several days. This book is the sequel to Laidlaw
November 8, 2018
I quite liked this, but couldn't completely escape the fact I more 'appreciated' it than 'enjoyed' it. The writing is exceptional, the gritty Glasgow setting and colourful characters exquisitely brought to life, and so many wonderful witty turns of phrase - creative metaphor/simile after creative metaphor/simile - gave this a very stylish feel.
I'm just a little disappointed that the plot lost me - the level of complexity was a bit too much, the amount of the writing dedicated to helping the reader understand a bit too little. It was almost as if because this was an early and seminal work in the Scottish Noir genre, it lacked some of the familiar frameworks around which many of the more modern more books I have enjoyed reading from the same genre.
I'm just a little disappointed that the plot lost me - the level of complexity was a bit too much, the amount of the writing dedicated to helping the reader understand a bit too little. It was almost as if because this was an early and seminal work in the Scottish Noir genre, it lacked some of the familiar frameworks around which many of the more modern more books I have enjoyed reading from the same genre.
August 29, 2021
Sencillamente me ha encantado, tanto el estilo de McIlvanney, como el personaje del inspector Laidlaw.
Me enfrenté a este libro con cierto resquemor, ya que la trilogía del inspector Laidlaw (del que este es el segundo libro... no entiendo por qué desde Salamandra han empezado a publicarlos sin respetar el orden) es un clásico de la novela policíaca de los 70-80, y tenía miedo de encontrarme demasiada testosterona, alcoholismo y autodestrucción... y para nada.
Se trata de una novela muy pausada y reflexiva (el que prefiera leer thrillers y acción a raudales, mejor que se abstenga), llena de reflexiones filosóficas y poéticas, con bellas descripciones y metáforas (ciertamente William McIlvanney escribía muy bien), que en el fondo contiene una bella declaración de amor del autor a la ciudad de Glasgow y a su gente.
Y todo ello narrado con un tono ligero, con un humor sutil... con sorna y socarronería, que es lo que más me ha sorprendido (y muy favorablemente, por cierto). Humor y sorna que se ve que son el sello característico de las gentes de Glasgow, y del que el autor es un claro exponente.
Por lo que se refiere a la estructura de la novela, nos encontramos con dos (o quizá tres) líneas narrativas: dos de ellas protagonizadas por la policía (una, la de nuestro protagonista, el inspector Jack Laidlaw, y de vez en cuando nos encontramos con la de su inspector rival, Ernie Milligan) y una protagonizada por una banda de delincuentes de la mafia escocesa. Ambos iniciaran una tensa búsqueda contrarreloj (con finalidades diametralmente opuestas) del desaparecido Toni Veitch, un joven de clase alta bastante ingenup, al que creen involucrado en uno (o tal vez más de uno) homicidios.
Aquí más importante que la resolución del misterio (que al final no es tan sencillo como parece en un primer momento), es precisamente esa carrera entre ambos grupos, que nos permite y desvelando poco a poco qué pudo suceder, y de paso nos muestra un reflejo de los bajos fondos y de la investigación policial en los 80 del siglo pasado. Y lentamente el lector se va enganchando, quiere saber qué pasó, si encontrarán o no al famoso Toni Veitch, y quién está mintiendo y por qué.
El ritmo, aunque pausado, está muy bien llevado, incrementando la tensión hasta el colofón final.
En cuanto a la construcción de personajes, a mi juicio es otro fuerte de esta novela, especialmente por lo que se refiere al inspector Laidlaw (que se ha convertido en uno de mis crushes literarios): aunque tiene algún que otro problema personal (y quién no), ni es alcohólico, ni depresivo, ni tiene un componente autodestructivo. Antes al contrario, pese a sus imperfecciones es un hombre íntegro, que cree en la justicia para los humildes y es bastante obsesivo: cuando huele una pista no la suelta, se aferra a ella como un terrier sin importarle lo que opinen los demás.
En definitiva, aunque no es en absoluto para todos los públicos, me ha parecido un novelón, y tengo clarísimo que si publican más novelas de McIlvanney las leeré seguro.
Me enfrenté a este libro con cierto resquemor, ya que la trilogía del inspector Laidlaw (del que este es el segundo libro... no entiendo por qué desde Salamandra han empezado a publicarlos sin respetar el orden) es un clásico de la novela policíaca de los 70-80, y tenía miedo de encontrarme demasiada testosterona, alcoholismo y autodestrucción... y para nada.
Se trata de una novela muy pausada y reflexiva (el que prefiera leer thrillers y acción a raudales, mejor que se abstenga), llena de reflexiones filosóficas y poéticas, con bellas descripciones y metáforas (ciertamente William McIlvanney escribía muy bien), que en el fondo contiene una bella declaración de amor del autor a la ciudad de Glasgow y a su gente.
Y todo ello narrado con un tono ligero, con un humor sutil... con sorna y socarronería, que es lo que más me ha sorprendido (y muy favorablemente, por cierto). Humor y sorna que se ve que son el sello característico de las gentes de Glasgow, y del que el autor es un claro exponente.
Por lo que se refiere a la estructura de la novela, nos encontramos con dos (o quizá tres) líneas narrativas: dos de ellas protagonizadas por la policía (una, la de nuestro protagonista, el inspector Jack Laidlaw, y de vez en cuando nos encontramos con la de su inspector rival, Ernie Milligan) y una protagonizada por una banda de delincuentes de la mafia escocesa. Ambos iniciaran una tensa búsqueda contrarreloj (con finalidades diametralmente opuestas) del desaparecido Toni Veitch, un joven de clase alta bastante ingenup, al que creen involucrado en uno (o tal vez más de uno) homicidios.
Aquí más importante que la resolución del misterio (que al final no es tan sencillo como parece en un primer momento), es precisamente esa carrera entre ambos grupos, que nos permite y desvelando poco a poco qué pudo suceder, y de paso nos muestra un reflejo de los bajos fondos y de la investigación policial en los 80 del siglo pasado. Y lentamente el lector se va enganchando, quiere saber qué pasó, si encontrarán o no al famoso Toni Veitch, y quién está mintiendo y por qué.
El ritmo, aunque pausado, está muy bien llevado, incrementando la tensión hasta el colofón final.
En cuanto a la construcción de personajes, a mi juicio es otro fuerte de esta novela, especialmente por lo que se refiere al inspector Laidlaw (que se ha convertido en uno de mis crushes literarios): aunque tiene algún que otro problema personal (y quién no), ni es alcohólico, ni depresivo, ni tiene un componente autodestructivo. Antes al contrario, pese a sus imperfecciones es un hombre íntegro, que cree en la justicia para los humildes y es bastante obsesivo: cuando huele una pista no la suelta, se aferra a ella como un terrier sin importarle lo que opinen los demás.
En definitiva, aunque no es en absoluto para todos los públicos, me ha parecido un novelón, y tengo clarísimo que si publican más novelas de McIlvanney las leeré seguro.
January 12, 2021
The Papers Of Tony Veitch is the second in William McIlvanney’s Laidlaw Trilogy. It is recognised as being the origin of Tartan Noir and is a masterclass in how to write detective fiction. It is gripping, thoughtful, almost poetically descriptive at times and paints an extraordinarily vivid and penetrating picture of its setting and characters.
The plot revolves around some of Glasgow’s “hard men,” serious gangsters who have an uneasy alliance when one of their own is stabbed. A complex story develops in which DI Laidlaw becomes almost crusadingly involved when a vagrant he knew is also killed and no-one seems to care much. The contrast between Laidlaw’s sense of decency and humanity and the cynicism of many of those around him is very effective and I found the story very involving. What really sets this above the crowd, though, is McIlvanney’s writing and his brilliant insights into the workings of his city and its people, and his very shrewd observations on all sorts of things. I picked out these few examples at random:
Of a barman who keeps respectfully quiet: “It wasn’t that he knew his place so much as he knew where it wasn’t, which was in hospital.”
“...that clique of mutually supportive opinion s that so often pass for culture.”
Of a new development: “...a warm and vivid slum expensively transformed into a cold and featureless one.”
The book is full of this sort of thing, and I loved it. Many of today’s giants of the genre, including Denise Mina, Ian Rankin and Val McDermid, have praised McIlvanney’s work and it is easy to see why. I think this book (and the trilogy) is exceptionally good and recommend it very warmly.
The plot revolves around some of Glasgow’s “hard men,” serious gangsters who have an uneasy alliance when one of their own is stabbed. A complex story develops in which DI Laidlaw becomes almost crusadingly involved when a vagrant he knew is also killed and no-one seems to care much. The contrast between Laidlaw’s sense of decency and humanity and the cynicism of many of those around him is very effective and I found the story very involving. What really sets this above the crowd, though, is McIlvanney’s writing and his brilliant insights into the workings of his city and its people, and his very shrewd observations on all sorts of things. I picked out these few examples at random:
Of a barman who keeps respectfully quiet: “It wasn’t that he knew his place so much as he knew where it wasn’t, which was in hospital.”
“...that clique of mutually supportive opinion s that so often pass for culture.”
Of a new development: “...a warm and vivid slum expensively transformed into a cold and featureless one.”
The book is full of this sort of thing, and I loved it. Many of today’s giants of the genre, including Denise Mina, Ian Rankin and Val McDermid, have praised McIlvanney’s work and it is easy to see why. I think this book (and the trilogy) is exceptionally good and recommend it very warmly.
January 20, 2014
A love letter to a city…
Tony Veitch has disappeared and it seems like half the city is looking for him. Laidlaw’s one of the searchers. He knows why he’s looking for Tony – his name’s come up in connection with Eck Adamson, a drunk and down-and-out, now dead; and it seems Laidlaw’s the only man who cares. But Laidlaw doesn’t know why some of Glasgow’s hardest men seem to be wanting to find Veitch too, and the question is – who’ll find him first?
After being stunned by the first in the trilogy, Laidlaw, I approached this with some caution, for fear it couldn’t match up. But it does. We’re back in Laidlaw’s world - a good man trying to make sense of the hard and violent world he inhabits, trying to find justice for the people left on the margins. He’s not a loner, exactly, but he stands a little apart from the world – an observer with a compassionate eye, a philosopher. He’s not a team player – how could anyone live up to the exacting standards he sets? Even he continually fails to be the man he’d like to be, and his self-awareness won’t let him hide from that.
One was young and pretty, made up as colourfully as a butterfly. The other was older. She had been pretty. Now she was better than that. She looked mid to late thirties and as if she hadn’t wasted the time. She had eyes that suggested you might find Ali Baba’s cave behind them, if you knew the password, and had managed to arrive before the Forty Thieves.
The language is wonderful. It slips in and out of dialect seamlessly and the dialogue catches the tone and patterns of Glaswegian speech in a way I’ve never come across before. I can hear these people speak – hear the humour and the bravado and the aggression. He shows beautifully the odd mix of the Glaswegian character, with its kindness that must always be kept carefully hidden for fear of seeming soft. His villains are frighteningly hard without ever tipping over into caricature, and the ever-present threat of violence is chillingly believable.
“Coulda made something o’ himself. But a luckless man. All his days a luckless man. The kinna man woulda got two complimentary tickets for the Titanic.” The unintentional humour of her remark was like her natural appetite for life reasserting itself. Harkness couldn’t stop smiling. It was as if Glasgow couldn’t shut the wryness of its mouth even at the edge of the grave.
The plotting is complex and takes a different direction than the reader is at first led to expect. Tony is from a privileged background, in the financial sense, though not perhaps in terms of love. But somehow he’s got himself mixed up with the underworld of gangs and hardmen and now his life seems to be in danger. As Laidlaw hunts for him, the reader gradually gets to see different aspects of Glaswegian society, from Tony’s rich, successful but cold father to the gangsters dispensing their own form of justice towards anyone they feel has betrayed them.
From his vantage point in Ruchill Park, Laidlaw looked out over the city. He could see so much of it from here and still it baffled him. ‘What is this place?’ he thought.
A small and great city, his mind answered. A city with its face against the wind. That made it grimace. But did it have to be so hard? Sometimes it felt so hard…It was a place so kind it would batter cruelty into the ground. And what circumstances kept giving it was cruelty. No wonder he loved it. It danced among its own debris. When Glasgow gave up, the world could call it a day.
But oddly, what this story is most about is love. The love of a sister for the brother who has fallen through life’s cracks into alcoholism and vagrancy. The love of a son which leads him to try to protect his parents from learning the truth about his brother. The love for a woman, which can lead a man to destroy his life. And most of all, the love of a city – the clear-sighted, complicated yet profound love that Laidlaw has for this place of contradictions where kindness and cruelty meet head-on. Glasgow, as the sum of its people good and bad, is the character that is at the heart of the book and McIlvanney makes us weep and rejoice for it in equal measure. A love letter from a man who sees the violence and darkness of the city, but also sees it as a place of courage and heart and humour - and ultimately integrity. A great book that gets my highest recommendation.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
Tony Veitch has disappeared and it seems like half the city is looking for him. Laidlaw’s one of the searchers. He knows why he’s looking for Tony – his name’s come up in connection with Eck Adamson, a drunk and down-and-out, now dead; and it seems Laidlaw’s the only man who cares. But Laidlaw doesn’t know why some of Glasgow’s hardest men seem to be wanting to find Veitch too, and the question is – who’ll find him first?
After being stunned by the first in the trilogy, Laidlaw, I approached this with some caution, for fear it couldn’t match up. But it does. We’re back in Laidlaw’s world - a good man trying to make sense of the hard and violent world he inhabits, trying to find justice for the people left on the margins. He’s not a loner, exactly, but he stands a little apart from the world – an observer with a compassionate eye, a philosopher. He’s not a team player – how could anyone live up to the exacting standards he sets? Even he continually fails to be the man he’d like to be, and his self-awareness won’t let him hide from that.
One was young and pretty, made up as colourfully as a butterfly. The other was older. She had been pretty. Now she was better than that. She looked mid to late thirties and as if she hadn’t wasted the time. She had eyes that suggested you might find Ali Baba’s cave behind them, if you knew the password, and had managed to arrive before the Forty Thieves.
The language is wonderful. It slips in and out of dialect seamlessly and the dialogue catches the tone and patterns of Glaswegian speech in a way I’ve never come across before. I can hear these people speak – hear the humour and the bravado and the aggression. He shows beautifully the odd mix of the Glaswegian character, with its kindness that must always be kept carefully hidden for fear of seeming soft. His villains are frighteningly hard without ever tipping over into caricature, and the ever-present threat of violence is chillingly believable.
“Coulda made something o’ himself. But a luckless man. All his days a luckless man. The kinna man woulda got two complimentary tickets for the Titanic.” The unintentional humour of her remark was like her natural appetite for life reasserting itself. Harkness couldn’t stop smiling. It was as if Glasgow couldn’t shut the wryness of its mouth even at the edge of the grave.
The plotting is complex and takes a different direction than the reader is at first led to expect. Tony is from a privileged background, in the financial sense, though not perhaps in terms of love. But somehow he’s got himself mixed up with the underworld of gangs and hardmen and now his life seems to be in danger. As Laidlaw hunts for him, the reader gradually gets to see different aspects of Glaswegian society, from Tony’s rich, successful but cold father to the gangsters dispensing their own form of justice towards anyone they feel has betrayed them.
From his vantage point in Ruchill Park, Laidlaw looked out over the city. He could see so much of it from here and still it baffled him. ‘What is this place?’ he thought.
A small and great city, his mind answered. A city with its face against the wind. That made it grimace. But did it have to be so hard? Sometimes it felt so hard…It was a place so kind it would batter cruelty into the ground. And what circumstances kept giving it was cruelty. No wonder he loved it. It danced among its own debris. When Glasgow gave up, the world could call it a day.
But oddly, what this story is most about is love. The love of a sister for the brother who has fallen through life’s cracks into alcoholism and vagrancy. The love of a son which leads him to try to protect his parents from learning the truth about his brother. The love for a woman, which can lead a man to destroy his life. And most of all, the love of a city – the clear-sighted, complicated yet profound love that Laidlaw has for this place of contradictions where kindness and cruelty meet head-on. Glasgow, as the sum of its people good and bad, is the character that is at the heart of the book and McIlvanney makes us weep and rejoice for it in equal measure. A love letter from a man who sees the violence and darkness of the city, but also sees it as a place of courage and heart and humour - and ultimately integrity. A great book that gets my highest recommendation.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
February 23, 2014
I’ve only read two William McIlvanney books so far, but he’s quickly become one of my favourite authors. Rather than telling linear tales in workmanlike prose that relies on melodrama or fast-paced action sequences to keep the reader’s attention, McIlvanney creates a layered, thoughtful story, rich in observational and philosophical asides told through evocative prose that has a nice cadence and vividly conveys the local dialect. It is a world full of greys, rather than black and whites, with Laidlaw a man of contradictions -- obsessive to the point of alienating colleagues in doing the right thing in his work, but failing in his home life by cheating on his wife. McIllvanney infuses the tale with an underlying pathos and world weariness, and conveys well the sense of place and communities of Glasgow in the early 1980s. The result is a very well told story with three dimensional characters and an intricate plot. I’m looking forward to reading the final book in the Laidlaw trilogy -- Strange Loyalties.
April 23, 2025
The second in the Laidlaw trilogy sees Jack Laidlaw looking for the title character and becoming aware that a lot of hard men from Glasgow's underworld are looking for him too. It's a race against not only time, but against people's fear of retribution from various members of Glaswegian gangs who are 'cooperating' in their search. Tony Veitch has upset a lot of people for various reasons and his days on this earth are numbered unless he keeps out of sight.
William McIlvanney uses fine poetic proe and wonderful similes on every page to make a thrilling reading experience in this story where three people from varying backgrounds die.
Laidlaw's pursuit of the truth upsets his superiors in the police force who would be quite content to accept a certain version of what happened as it would involve no further work from the police force. Laidlaw won't accept their 'truth' and pursues the actual course of events with an unmatched determination, though at a cost to his own mental health and to his familial situation.
Recommended.
William McIlvanney uses fine poetic proe and wonderful similes on every page to make a thrilling reading experience in this story where three people from varying backgrounds die.
Laidlaw's pursuit of the truth upsets his superiors in the police force who would be quite content to accept a certain version of what happened as it would involve no further work from the police force. Laidlaw won't accept their 'truth' and pursues the actual course of events with an unmatched determination, though at a cost to his own mental health and to his familial situation.
Recommended.
May 8, 2023
A deeper dive into Laidlaw’s philosophy. Oh, he solves a triple homicide along the way.
October 9, 2020
Thin. The uninteresting crime story in this (the badger game? Really?) is just an excuse for McIlvanney to extoll the uniqueness of Glasgow (just once I’d like a story about Glasgow, NYC or wherever NOT to say its residents are the salt of the earth!) and use Laidlaw as the mouthpiece for a series of lectures on morality and life (including several on the tiresome “academics are phonies” theme) to people - i.e. everyone - who don’t live up to his standards; despite his supposedly hard boiled character Laidlaw basically is a self satisfied prig.
August 9, 2019
Audiobook rating (narrated by Mirko Marchetti):
Story-⭐⭐⭐
Narrative voice style-⭐⭐⭐½
Vocal characterisations-⭐⭐⭐
Inflection intonation-⭐⭐⭐
Voice quality-⭐⭐⭐⭐½
Overall-⭐⭐⭐
Story-⭐⭐⭐
Narrative voice style-⭐⭐⭐½
Vocal characterisations-⭐⭐⭐
Inflection intonation-⭐⭐⭐
Voice quality-⭐⭐⭐⭐½
Overall-⭐⭐⭐
April 13, 2024
Ho recuperato parte di quello che avevo scritto per commentare il primo volume della trilogia (o tetralogia, visto che poi è uscito un prequel) dedicata a Laidlaw. Avevo dato 5 stelle pure in quell'occasione. Iniziavo così: "La cosa meno interessante di questa mia prima incursione nella serie delle Indagini di Laidlaw probabilmente è stata la trama del noir che dovrebbe essere quella portante nel romanzo". Ecco: stavolta la trama fa un bel salto di qualità in avanti ed è già un aspetto non da poco.
Oltretutto confermo quanto seguiva. "Mi è sembrato di leggere un romanzo che parlava di persone, semplicemente. Sono dei 'personaggioni', complessi, pieni di punti di domanda, niente certezze, niente giudizi, profondamente umani - e pure profondamente mostri, a volte. Dove sta la differenza?".
Quello che stavolta ho apprezzato ancora di più è un personaggio che l'altra volta mi era scappato. Glasgow. Perché se per Laidlaw scoprire il colpevole è un viaggio, non può che essere Galsgow la madre di questo processo di parto conoscitivo. Processo incompleto, viaggio senza meta e senza ritorno.
Laidlaw sembrava intento a costruirsi una carriera come dissacratore d'interni: andava in giro per Glasgow a ricoprire di un manto di tensione i posti piacevoli .
Lo accompagna per la città il fido scudiero Brian Harkness (sottoposto di Laidlaw) che smadonna tra sé e sé perché quando il capo si mette in mente di trovare un colpevole gli viene il mal di piedi da tanto camminare. Lui, il protagonista, invece ripete ossessivamente come il collega/rivale Ernie Milligan non riuscirà mai a trovare un colpevole perché non conosce la città. Ma Milligan non vuole risolvere i casi, li vuole chiudere.
Invece Laidlaw ha una crociata personale contro il mondo. Un po' Ulisse e un po' Don Quijote, quando Eck Anderson, un barbone che faceva da informatore, muore avvelenato, Laidlaw deve scoprire cosa c'è dietro la dipartita di Eck, uno degli ultimi, uno di quelli a cui non importa a nessuno.
Tutto quello che abbiamo siamo noi e gli altri, e se siamo orfani possiamo solo adottarci a vicenda, e sfidare la mancanza di senso delle nostre vite preoccupandoci gli uni degli altri. È l'unica nobiltà che abbiamo.
Soprattutto perché negli ultimi tempi Eck era legato non si sa come a Tony Veitch, rampollo della crema cittadina, scomparso a sua volta dopo l'accoltellamento di Paddy Collins, pezzo grosso del milieu criminale della città, la cui scomparsa non può rimanere impunita - da parte dei compari, che sono anche la sua famiglia. È un'indagine che è scontro di generazioni, di idee politiche, di classi sociali. Laidlaw, paladino delle cause perse, alla fine risolverà la matassa, perdendoci come sempre una parte di sé e della sua sanità mentale.
Riconfermo anche questo, che scrissi la prima volta: "Bellissimo e scritto da uno scrittore vero e molto bravo, non solo da uno scrittore profondamente bravo nel suo genere".
Erano i martiri della decenza, che avrebbero trattato con una cortesia istintiva persino la morte, i buoni non ufficiali, quelli i cui nomi non si trovano sul calendario, né in nessun almanacco di gente famosa, ma per Laidlaw erano i migliori tra gli uomini, perché emanavano la loro bontà in modo naturale, attraverso le azioni. Non si dedicavano a Dio, ad alti principi politici o a un'idea, ma a una generosità non forzata, quotidiana, nello sforzo di rendere la vita più sopportabile per gli altri e per se stessi. Ed erano legioni.
Oltretutto confermo quanto seguiva. "Mi è sembrato di leggere un romanzo che parlava di persone, semplicemente. Sono dei 'personaggioni', complessi, pieni di punti di domanda, niente certezze, niente giudizi, profondamente umani - e pure profondamente mostri, a volte. Dove sta la differenza?".
Quello che stavolta ho apprezzato ancora di più è un personaggio che l'altra volta mi era scappato. Glasgow. Perché se per Laidlaw scoprire il colpevole è un viaggio, non può che essere Galsgow la madre di questo processo di parto conoscitivo. Processo incompleto, viaggio senza meta e senza ritorno.
Laidlaw sembrava intento a costruirsi una carriera come dissacratore d'interni: andava in giro per Glasgow a ricoprire di un manto di tensione i posti piacevoli .
Lo accompagna per la città il fido scudiero Brian Harkness (sottoposto di Laidlaw) che smadonna tra sé e sé perché quando il capo si mette in mente di trovare un colpevole gli viene il mal di piedi da tanto camminare. Lui, il protagonista, invece ripete ossessivamente come il collega/rivale Ernie Milligan non riuscirà mai a trovare un colpevole perché non conosce la città. Ma Milligan non vuole risolvere i casi, li vuole chiudere.
Invece Laidlaw ha una crociata personale contro il mondo. Un po' Ulisse e un po' Don Quijote, quando Eck Anderson, un barbone che faceva da informatore, muore avvelenato, Laidlaw deve scoprire cosa c'è dietro la dipartita di Eck, uno degli ultimi, uno di quelli a cui non importa a nessuno.
Tutto quello che abbiamo siamo noi e gli altri, e se siamo orfani possiamo solo adottarci a vicenda, e sfidare la mancanza di senso delle nostre vite preoccupandoci gli uni degli altri. È l'unica nobiltà che abbiamo.
Soprattutto perché negli ultimi tempi Eck era legato non si sa come a Tony Veitch, rampollo della crema cittadina, scomparso a sua volta dopo l'accoltellamento di Paddy Collins, pezzo grosso del milieu criminale della città, la cui scomparsa non può rimanere impunita - da parte dei compari, che sono anche la sua famiglia. È un'indagine che è scontro di generazioni, di idee politiche, di classi sociali. Laidlaw, paladino delle cause perse, alla fine risolverà la matassa, perdendoci come sempre una parte di sé e della sua sanità mentale.
Riconfermo anche questo, che scrissi la prima volta: "Bellissimo e scritto da uno scrittore vero e molto bravo, non solo da uno scrittore profondamente bravo nel suo genere".
Erano i martiri della decenza, che avrebbero trattato con una cortesia istintiva persino la morte, i buoni non ufficiali, quelli i cui nomi non si trovano sul calendario, né in nessun almanacco di gente famosa, ma per Laidlaw erano i migliori tra gli uomini, perché emanavano la loro bontà in modo naturale, attraverso le azioni. Non si dedicavano a Dio, ad alti principi politici o a un'idea, ma a una generosità non forzata, quotidiana, nello sforzo di rendere la vita più sopportabile per gli altri e per se stessi. Ed erano legioni.
July 23, 2020
This second in the trilogy was disappointing after my rave reviews for the first one. I had trouble keeping all the bad guys apart--and there seemed to be a lot of them--and the plot was obscure. I never did figure out why the papers were so important or what had been done to Lyndsey. It all failed to make sense to me. There was a lot of Glaswegian dialect, too much perhaps. Laidlaw continued to be opaque and his life seemed to be spinning out of control. On the good side, the writing was terrific, with a wonderful phrase on just about every page. I can forgive a writer a lot who says things like--her glance was like a sealed envelope, waiting to be opened later.
February 19, 2021
Laidlaw'ın ikinci kitabı, karakteri seviyorum, yazarın okura anlatmaya çalıştığı bir derdinin olmasını seviyorum. Ancak cümleler kopuk kopuk, birbiriyle alakasız kelimeler topluluğu gibi, kitabın genelinde bir dağınıklık var. Sanki üzerinden fil sürüsü geçmiş. Puanlara bakınca, kitabı orijinal dilinde okuyanlar gayet yüksek puanlar vermiş, bu ve bir sürü başka şey bana o fil sürüsünün çeviri olduğunu düşündürüyor. Ca'nım kitap, ruhu gitmiş, zombiye dönmüş. Başladım madem üçüncü kitabı da okuyacağım, umarım çevirmen biraz ustalaşmıştır.
November 14, 2015
A good solid mystery/noir, though it lacks the searing intensity and weird originality of the first volume (Laidlaw)
December 11, 2017
Review to follow...what an exceptional book. I'm still digesting it.
August 8, 2022
Everyone, it seems, is looking for Tony Veitch -- except his father who has written him off. Of those who are searching for Veitch, each has his/her own agenda, some of which are on the right side of the law and some who are anything but.
Laidlaw is a thinking man's detective, not at all the stereotypical copper. He is driven not just by the law but also by his sense of justice.
Laidlaw is a thinking man's detective, not at all the stereotypical copper. He is driven not just by the law but also by his sense of justice.
April 24, 2015
a three way........investigation of murder(s), corruption, and fuped family interpersonal relationships. 3way? yes, the cop, the thug group #1, the thug group#2 are all trying to figure out who killed who, and why.
this is the 2nd laidlaw noir police procedural set in glasgow. the 3rd due out in usa spring 2015. besides being a smart, literary-like writing, author tries hard to explain the uniqueness of glasgow and why 'they act the way they do'.
this is the 2nd laidlaw noir police procedural set in glasgow. the 3rd due out in usa spring 2015. besides being a smart, literary-like writing, author tries hard to explain the uniqueness of glasgow and why 'they act the way they do'.
March 13, 2023
Too many characters and they're all the same... and for a bunch of evil, violent thugs they sure do philosophise a lot... I got about halfway through and the story just hadn't progressed at all (or maybe I was too stupid to follow it) so I just skimmed through to the end but then realised I didn't care enough to even finish it that way.
It gets 2 stars because I can see how some people would like the writing.
It gets 2 stars because I can see how some people would like the writing.
June 23, 2025
full of grit and grime and hard, violent characters pitted against the personification of humanity and justice in Laidlaw, the titular character. everything I want from tartan noir. it takes a talented writer to breathe life and even beauty into decrepit 1970s Glasgow, and McIlvanney more than meets the moment. one of the most singular voices in literature IMO
March 23, 2024
Fun addition to the genre! Laidlaw a compelling protagonist and Glasgow well-realised in its murky, smoggy glory
December 26, 2023
Eck Adamson liegt im Sterben und bittet Jack Laidlaw, ihn noch einmal zu besuchen. Seine letzten Worte an ihn sind: "es war kein Wein, was er mir gegeben hat." Aber wer kümmert sich schon um die letzten Worte eines alten Trinkers? Laidlaw tut es, aber seine Kollegen glauben, dass er einem Gespenst hinterherjagt. Bei seinen Nachforschungen entdeckt er immer mehr Hinweise, dass Eck Adamson die Wahrheit gesagt hat. Aber wer hat ihn ermordet und warum?
Es ist immer schwer, einen Krimi von William McIlvanney zu beschreiben. Er schreibt sehr ruhig, ohne Spannungsspitzen und gefühlt auch, ohne dass wirklich etwas passiert. Ich beobachte Jack Laidlaw bei seiner täglichen Arbeit, oder vielleicht auch nicht, denn er kümmert sich nur selten darum, was seine Anweisungen sind, sondern verfolgt eigene Ansätze. Aber er hat ein unglaubliches Gespür für Menschen und auch für Kleinigkeiten, deshalb fallen ihm oft Dinge auf, die seine Kollegen übersehen.
Die Atmosphäre im Krimi ist besonders. Ich habe immer das Bild einer grauen, dämmrigen Stadt vor Augen, ohne dass der Autor das Wetter überhaupt erwähnt. Laidlaw ist kein Menschenfreund, er fühlt sich in Gesellschaft anderer Menschen, die keine Polizisten sind, unwohl. Ich habe mich jedes Mal gewundert, wenn seine Familie erwähnt wurde, denn das passt überhaupt nicht zu ihm.
Die Lektüre war langsam, aber nicht langweilig. Ein ruhiger Krimi, für den ich in der richtigen Stimmung sein muss. Dieses Mal war ich es, aber ich kann mich auch erinnern, dass ich beim ersten Teil der Reihe Schwierigkeiten mit genau dem hatte, was mir jetzt gefallen hat.
Es ist immer schwer, einen Krimi von William McIlvanney zu beschreiben. Er schreibt sehr ruhig, ohne Spannungsspitzen und gefühlt auch, ohne dass wirklich etwas passiert. Ich beobachte Jack Laidlaw bei seiner täglichen Arbeit, oder vielleicht auch nicht, denn er kümmert sich nur selten darum, was seine Anweisungen sind, sondern verfolgt eigene Ansätze. Aber er hat ein unglaubliches Gespür für Menschen und auch für Kleinigkeiten, deshalb fallen ihm oft Dinge auf, die seine Kollegen übersehen.
Die Atmosphäre im Krimi ist besonders. Ich habe immer das Bild einer grauen, dämmrigen Stadt vor Augen, ohne dass der Autor das Wetter überhaupt erwähnt. Laidlaw ist kein Menschenfreund, er fühlt sich in Gesellschaft anderer Menschen, die keine Polizisten sind, unwohl. Ich habe mich jedes Mal gewundert, wenn seine Familie erwähnt wurde, denn das passt überhaupt nicht zu ihm.
Die Lektüre war langsam, aber nicht langweilig. Ein ruhiger Krimi, für den ich in der richtigen Stimmung sein muss. Dieses Mal war ich es, aber ich kann mich auch erinnern, dass ich beim ersten Teil der Reihe Schwierigkeiten mit genau dem hatte, was mir jetzt gefallen hat.
April 18, 2022
Jack Laidlaw is called to the death bed of vagrant Eck Adamsom. His enigmatic last words to Jack lead him once again into the darker side of 1970s Glasgow.
McIlvanney presents us with much more than the stereotypical detective novel, but retains enough of the tropes to appeal to crime fiction fans.
His use of language and philosophical commentary raise McIlvanney’s writing above that of other writers in this genre, giving it style equalling content.
Not a word is wasted in vividly drawing the characters and setting. Glasgow is as much a character in these novel as any of the other protagonists. Readers are transported to the Glaswegian underworld as they follow Laidlaw, a detective much in love with his city, even as he fights against it.
Admittedly, there is a wide cast of characters and I did need to turn back on a couple of occasions to check which character was which, earlier on in the novel, but once I was into the flow of the story, the characters and places all fell into place.
McIlvanney presents us with much more than the stereotypical detective novel, but retains enough of the tropes to appeal to crime fiction fans.
His use of language and philosophical commentary raise McIlvanney’s writing above that of other writers in this genre, giving it style equalling content.
Not a word is wasted in vividly drawing the characters and setting. Glasgow is as much a character in these novel as any of the other protagonists. Readers are transported to the Glaswegian underworld as they follow Laidlaw, a detective much in love with his city, even as he fights against it.
Admittedly, there is a wide cast of characters and I did need to turn back on a couple of occasions to check which character was which, earlier on in the novel, but once I was into the flow of the story, the characters and places all fell into place.
August 4, 2023
A very fine second installment in the Laidlaw series. McIlvanney excels in the wit and grit of Glasgow life and it's a joy to sense how much he loves that great city. His writing is often very poetic, if admittedly a little over cooked at times, and he approaches big questions about people and place in oblique and surprising ways. There is invention on every page and the prose is generally more interesting than the story, which is decent but not a page-turner. That's just fine, I prefer Jack Laidlaw's laconic peregrinations around his beloved city. Indeed, the main thing I didn't like were the frequent shift in point of view to other characters. When it happens from one chapter to the next it's fine, but when it happens mid chapter it can be clumsy as hell. Maybe I'm just greedy for more of Jack Laidlaw. Ian Rankin, who admits the huge influence of Laidlaw on his own character Rebus, does a better job in this regard, staying with the protagonist almost all of the time. In any case, a wonderfully intelligent detective novel with impressive chiaroscuro effects.
March 10, 2021
The Laidlaw Trilogy is the starting point for all lovers of tartan-noir. What distinguishes it from its many successors is both an astonishing literary quality and a deep compassion for the people and the city of Glasgow and by extension the world for which the city acts as a microcosm, though with specific features of its own. The writing is at times transcendent lifting the reader far beyond the usual concerns of crime writing. The compassion is embodied in the character of Laidlaw, a flawed but deeply concerned policeman who lives by a morality that says, in an understated way 'That just won't do.'
February 10, 2023
An alcoholic tramp is found dying, nothing unusual in Glasgow, but his final words and who they are whispered to sparks an investigation into corruption. The man who hears the dying words? D.I.Jack Laidlaw and he won’t stop until justice is served, no matter what the price.
The second in the Laidlaw trilogy and it’s another great story. The gritty image of Glasgow shines through and Laidlaw stands out as someone who will leave no stone unturned.
The second in the Laidlaw trilogy and it’s another great story. The gritty image of Glasgow shines through and Laidlaw stands out as someone who will leave no stone unturned.
July 27, 2018
The mixing of pithy images and the gritty Glasgow accented speech is just great. I had to 'read the dialogue in my head' before I could get some of the meaning but I loved the contrasts. many quotable bits - 'He wore the kind of intense spectacles that draw the pupils like a poultice' - now how evocative is that? The subject of the title, Tony Veitch, like 'Rebecca', is never met alive in the book, I was idly wondering if I knew of any more books with dead main characters. A good read, and looking forward to the third volume of the trilogy.
October 8, 2020
Non mi ha entusiasmato. Scritto con un ritmo piuttosto veloce ma che confonde molto. Il protagonista è il solito detective stropicciato ossessionato dalla risoluzione del caso, i comprimari piuttosto evanescenti e una trama abbastanza deludente. L'unica cosa davvero piacevole sono le ultime pagine: ammorbidiscono un po' l'amaro per un romanzo certo non indimenticabile.
October 5, 2021
The death of Eck Adamson, Laidlaw's erstwhile tout, provides a clue to the murder of both a student and a gangland thug, proving that murder makes no distinctions when it comes to class.
McIlvanney's moody policeman seems to embody the spirit of Glasgow and the mystery dwells on the darkness of the streets as much as that which dwells within the human heart.
McIlvanney's moody policeman seems to embody the spirit of Glasgow and the mystery dwells on the darkness of the streets as much as that which dwells within the human heart.
November 29, 2021
Creo que como novela negra es muy buena, a mí me gustó más la primera entrega, esta me pilló en un momento que no era el apropiado para este tipo de historias y me he liado más que la pata de un romano con tantas bandas, mafiosos, delincuentes, policías, muertos…. Y sobre todo con la cantidad de personajes que no llegué a ubicar bien.
Laidlaw es un personaje fantástico, honesto, un verso suelto y sobre todo integro, de lejos es el mejor personaje de toda la historia.
Una pena que no llegase a conectar con la historia ya que la primera entrega recuerdo que me gustó mucho, espero que cuando publiquen la tercera me pille en mejor momento y pueda disfrutarla como merece.
Laidlaw es un personaje fantástico, honesto, un verso suelto y sobre todo integro, de lejos es el mejor personaje de toda la historia.
Una pena que no llegase a conectar con la historia ya que la primera entrega recuerdo que me gustó mucho, espero que cuando publiquen la tercera me pille en mejor momento y pueda disfrutarla como merece.
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