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Filth
Talk about truth in advertising! Irvine Welsh's novel about an evil Edinburgh cop is filthy enough to please the most crud-craving fans of his blockbuster debut, Trainspotting . Like Trainspotting , Filth matches its nastiness with a maniacal, deeply peeved sense of humor. Though one does feel the need to escape this train wreck of a narrative from time to time for a shower and some chamomile tea, just as often Welsh provokes a belly laugh with an extraordinarily perverse and cruelly funny set piece. Nicely violent turns of phrase litter the ghastly landscape of his tale. Our hero, Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson, is a cross between Harvey Keitel in Bad Lieutenant and John Belushi in Animal House . His task is to nab a killer who has brained the son of the Ghanaian ambassador, but bigoted Bruce is more urgently concerned with coercing sex from teenage Ecstasy dealers, planning vice tours of Amsterdam, and mulling over his lurid love life. He's also got a tapeworm, whose monologue is printed right down the middle of many pages. Here's one of this unusually articulate parasite's "My problem is that I seem to have quite a simple biological structure with no mechanism for the transference of all my grand and noble thoughts into fine deeds." Welsh's real strength is comic tough talk and inventive slang. The murder mystery helps organize his tendency to sprawl, but the engine of his art is wry, harsh dialogue. At one point, his books hogged the entire top half of Scotland's Top Ten Bestsellers list--and half the buyers of Trainspotting had never bought a book before. The reason is not that Welsh is the best novelist who ever got short-listed for the Booker Prize. It is that he is that rarest of phenomena, an original voice. --Tim Appelo
393 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1998
946 people are currently reading
32436 people want to read
About the author
Irvine Welsh
128 books7,625 followersProbably most famous for his gritty depiction of a gang of Scottish Heroin addicts, Trainspotting (1993), Welsh focuses on the darker side of human nature and drug use. All of his novels are set in his native Scotland and filled with anti-heroes, small time crooks and hooligans. Welsh manages, however to imbue these characters with a sad humanity that makes them likable despite their obvious scumbaggerry. Irvine Welsh is also known for writing in his native Edinburgh Scots dialect, making his prose challenging for the average reader unfamiliar with this style.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,371 reviews
January 20, 2023
Ne'er has a book been more aptly named as we read from the viewpoint of the head (and stomach!) of Borders & Lothians Detective, Bruce Robertson, who is the main lead in an investigation of a possible racially aggravated murder on the streets of Edinburgh. Bruce however is more concerned in continuing his love of debauchery, manipulation and personal hate of pretty much everything! A trigger fest of sex, harassment, violence, narcotic use, corruption, law-breaking and Freemason (secret society) membership ensues. Meet Bruce Robertson:
Somehow Welsh takes this ongoing never-ending onslaught of hateful behaviour and makes it a story that you get absorbed in, and can't let go of, despite loathing Bruce from beginning to end. Great work! 8.5 out of 12, Four Star read!
2019 read
Somehow Welsh takes this ongoing never-ending onslaught of hateful behaviour and makes it a story that you get absorbed in, and can't let go of, despite loathing Bruce from beginning to end. Great work! 8.5 out of 12, Four Star read!
2019 read
April 21, 2012
The ending, the damn ending to the book.
It’s been like five years since I last cried with a book, I actually had to step out of the office (I started reading the book on the bus ride to work, I had 20~ pages to go when I arrived and I sure as hell wasn't going to stop reading) and to the bathroom to try and cool myself down .
The book is disgusting in every imaginable way, but it somehow keeps you going. Even though the situations he puts himself into are a bit on the surreal side, the main character himself is actually a quite realistic human asshole and very few times falls under the caricaturized version of evil.
And I mean, the caring up until you’re actually crying, that’s no small feat of Mr. Welsh here. Those final chapters were simply amazing.
I was thinking it was an okay book until I, we, I got there.
I'm glad I chose this book as an introduction into Welsh's writing, I'm quite sure I'll revisit more of his work once I feel my gut is up to it again.
Because while I'm glad I grabbed these book, I'm just ecstatic about the fact that I can finally put it down and stop reading about the pure gross-ness behind the adventures of a Mr. Bruce Robertson.
It’s been like five years since I last cried with a book, I actually had to step out of the office (I started reading the book on the bus ride to work, I had 20~ pages to go when I arrived and I sure as hell wasn't going to stop reading) and to the bathroom to try and cool myself down .
The book is disgusting in every imaginable way, but it somehow keeps you going. Even though the situations he puts himself into are a bit on the surreal side, the main character himself is actually a quite realistic human asshole and very few times falls under the caricaturized version of evil.
And I mean, the caring up until you’re actually crying, that’s no small feat of Mr. Welsh here. Those final chapters were simply amazing.
I was thinking it was an okay book until I, we, I got there.
I'm glad I chose this book as an introduction into Welsh's writing, I'm quite sure I'll revisit more of his work once I feel my gut is up to it again.
Because while I'm glad I grabbed these book, I'm just ecstatic about the fact that I can finally put it down and stop reading about the pure gross-ness behind the adventures of a Mr. Bruce Robertson.
June 18, 2014
Use quotation marks you limey bastard!
July 10, 2022
filth
Slang for police or law enforcement officers (UK English).
"Cor blimey, run! It's the filth!"
DS Bruce “Robbo” Robertson is appalling. He has no redeeming - nor redemptive - features. He’s just one writhing ball of vile, acrid nastiness. From the racism, to the sexism, to the chauvinism (name an “ism” and Robbo’s got the t-shirt), to the disgusting “hooring”, and slap dash approach to policing, it’s no wonder he has some digestive problems.
Not helped by a bit of a nose candy problem and abject sleeplessness from doing all the overtime under the sun, without doing too much actual work.
But Robbo has big plans. Get this mysterious rash under control, stop the itch in his nether regions that causes him to scratch til he bleeds, and head off to Amsterdam for his yearly holiday. A week relaxing at his favourite red light district.
Then it’s time to get the coveted Detective Inspector role. The one that should’ve been his six years ago. What could get in his way? Just an awkward murder to solve...how inconvenient.
” One of my mottoes aboot the job is: better you wasting some cunt else’s time that some cunt wasting your time.”
Way to go Robbo.
It's certainly not sunshine and cupcakes when you pick up an Irvine Welsh book. And this one doesn't disappoint. Filth it is, on so many levels.
Bruce Robertson is one of the most appalling characters I’ve read in a novel. And it’s the only word I could think to describe him when discussing this book with Bill, who I buddy read this with (*waves*). In fact, I think I wore out the word, as I used it that often. He’s a bully, he’s objectionable, he treats friends and foe with the same layer of disdain and contempt. He’s always playing “the game”.
” Woke up this morning. Woke up into the job.
The games are always, repeat, always being played.”
There was one moment, a nano-second where I thought a heart was beating in there somewhere. Robbo attempts to give the kiss of life to a gentleman who had a heart attack in front of him. I actually thought there was a flesh and blood human behind the mask. But that soon was over, as he reverts to his old, appalling self.
It’s been a long time since I last read an Irvine Welsh novel. I’d forgotten how incredibly sharp they are. And emotionally exhausting. Talk about a palate cleanser. But with industrial strength bleach rather than a zingy sorbet. Welsh writes about such nastiness. Nasty people doing nasty things.
There are situations that are so equally outrageous and abhorrent, that they had me simultaneously squirming while at the same time letting out the occasional chuckle. And gasps of shock. The dialogue and events are so dark. As much as I wanted to turn the page to find what dastardly deed Robbo got up to next, I felt uncomfortable at wanting to know.
This is shameless and not for the easily offended.
But for all its outrageousness, this is a complex novel that digs deep into the ugly side of the human soul. Push the smut to one side. Actions have consequences. And even bullies were once bairns*.
And in all honesty, how do we expect frontline workers (coppers/ firies/ ambos/ nurses and all the others) to not be a little off kilter with all they have to deal with daily. From the stuff we dish out.
The ending was not what I was expecting at all. It came completely left of centre. Even for a book containing every misery and disgusting behaviour you can think of, this was beyond what I was expecting. I was shocked. There’s no other way to describe it. Confronting. I can’t even begin to convey the sense of dismay I felt.
The true meaning of "filth". This was not a joke anymore. The final chapters of the book took on a seriousness that was difficult to deal with, and incongruous to the warped speed the rest of the book drove at. I cannot stress enough how much the ending shook me. It left me NUMB.
I can't say I enjoyed this book. "Enjoy" seems too light hearted a word for such dark matter. Bill helped me out with saying I "experienced" it. What an experience.
Oh my goodness, I have this to carry round in my head.
Too many trigger warnings to list. This book is one long trigger warning, from beginning to end. You know it’s Irvine Welsh. You know what you’ll be in for. You don’t need to be warned. You proceed at your own risk.
”And so I quit the police department
And got myself a steady job”
- She Came In Through the Bathroom Window, Abbey Road, The Beatles
*** Buddy read with my good mate Bill, who has recently been immersing himself in some good old UK gritty crime novels. With a twist. First Ken Bruen, now Irvine Welsh. What an education.
Please make sure you check out Bill’s review, as he raises some interesting points.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
We’ll be hopping over to Ireland and joining our friend Bunny McGarry soon. That should be fun. ***
* Bairns = children
Slang for police or law enforcement officers (UK English).
"Cor blimey, run! It's the filth!"
DS Bruce “Robbo” Robertson is appalling. He has no redeeming - nor redemptive - features. He’s just one writhing ball of vile, acrid nastiness. From the racism, to the sexism, to the chauvinism (name an “ism” and Robbo’s got the t-shirt), to the disgusting “hooring”, and slap dash approach to policing, it’s no wonder he has some digestive problems.
Not helped by a bit of a nose candy problem and abject sleeplessness from doing all the overtime under the sun, without doing too much actual work.
But Robbo has big plans. Get this mysterious rash under control, stop the itch in his nether regions that causes him to scratch til he bleeds, and head off to Amsterdam for his yearly holiday. A week relaxing at his favourite red light district.
Then it’s time to get the coveted Detective Inspector role. The one that should’ve been his six years ago. What could get in his way? Just an awkward murder to solve...how inconvenient.
” One of my mottoes aboot the job is: better you wasting some cunt else’s time that some cunt wasting your time.”
Way to go Robbo.
It's certainly not sunshine and cupcakes when you pick up an Irvine Welsh book. And this one doesn't disappoint. Filth it is, on so many levels.
Bruce Robertson is one of the most appalling characters I’ve read in a novel. And it’s the only word I could think to describe him when discussing this book with Bill, who I buddy read this with (*waves*). In fact, I think I wore out the word, as I used it that often. He’s a bully, he’s objectionable, he treats friends and foe with the same layer of disdain and contempt. He’s always playing “the game”.
” Woke up this morning. Woke up into the job.
The games are always, repeat, always being played.”
There was one moment, a nano-second where I thought a heart was beating in there somewhere. Robbo attempts to give the kiss of life to a gentleman who had a heart attack in front of him. I actually thought there was a flesh and blood human behind the mask. But that soon was over, as he reverts to his old, appalling self.
It’s been a long time since I last read an Irvine Welsh novel. I’d forgotten how incredibly sharp they are. And emotionally exhausting. Talk about a palate cleanser. But with industrial strength bleach rather than a zingy sorbet. Welsh writes about such nastiness. Nasty people doing nasty things.
There are situations that are so equally outrageous and abhorrent, that they had me simultaneously squirming while at the same time letting out the occasional chuckle. And gasps of shock. The dialogue and events are so dark. As much as I wanted to turn the page to find what dastardly deed Robbo got up to next, I felt uncomfortable at wanting to know.
This is shameless and not for the easily offended.
But for all its outrageousness, this is a complex novel that digs deep into the ugly side of the human soul. Push the smut to one side. Actions have consequences. And even bullies were once bairns*.
And in all honesty, how do we expect frontline workers (coppers/ firies/ ambos/ nurses and all the others) to not be a little off kilter with all they have to deal with daily. From the stuff we dish out.
The ending was not what I was expecting at all. It came completely left of centre. Even for a book containing every misery and disgusting behaviour you can think of, this was beyond what I was expecting. I was shocked. There’s no other way to describe it. Confronting. I can’t even begin to convey the sense of dismay I felt.
The true meaning of "filth". This was not a joke anymore. The final chapters of the book took on a seriousness that was difficult to deal with, and incongruous to the warped speed the rest of the book drove at. I cannot stress enough how much the ending shook me. It left me NUMB.
I can't say I enjoyed this book. "Enjoy" seems too light hearted a word for such dark matter. Bill helped me out with saying I "experienced" it. What an experience.
Oh my goodness, I have this to carry round in my head.
Too many trigger warnings to list. This book is one long trigger warning, from beginning to end. You know it’s Irvine Welsh. You know what you’ll be in for. You don’t need to be warned. You proceed at your own risk.
”And so I quit the police department
And got myself a steady job”
- She Came In Through the Bathroom Window, Abbey Road, The Beatles
*** Buddy read with my good mate Bill, who has recently been immersing himself in some good old UK gritty crime novels. With a twist. First Ken Bruen, now Irvine Welsh. What an education.
Please make sure you check out Bill’s review, as he raises some interesting points.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
We’ll be hopping over to Ireland and joining our friend Bunny McGarry soon. That should be fun. ***
* Bairns = children
December 3, 2013
I'm so glad I listen to my friend's book recommendations sometimes...
'FILTH' is the story of Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson, and the first thing you should know about him is that he's a complete and utter Bastard.
During the build up to Christmas the race is on for the much desired Detective Inspector position and Bruce is adamant that he is going to be the one. Now if that means he's got to: lie, cheat, steal, manipulate and back-stab his way there, then you can safely bet that he will. The media sensitive murder investigation of a black tourist might cause some trouble, but that's not going to stop him enjoying his week holiday of drinking and whoring in the 'Dam!
It is refreshing from time to time to read a first person perspective of a complete and utter Cunt. He is a user, a misogynist, a racist, a drug user, and an abuser. All the things (most) people aren't. And he's unashamedly so as well, he has no qualms with lying or betraying his friends in his selfish designs. Bruce Robertson is the type of controversial character that although despicable you just can't ignore. He is just so reprehensible and disgusting, and that's before we get onto the rash on his cock or the tapeworm growing in his stomach.
A truly inspired idea to give consciousness to the Tapeworm. Bruce is all but lacking a conscience. There is no Jiminy Cricket sitting on his shoulder telling him right from wrong, but there is a Tapeworm who refers to itself as The Self. Like the reader, the Tapeworm learns more and more about Bruce as the book continues. In the end it's the worm who is Bruce's advocate and perhaps last remaining meaningful contact as Bruce has all but fucked over every human being he has came across.
Despite the drugs, meaningless affairs, betrayals and tortures 'Filth' is actually very funny. Irvine Welsh has a flair for dialogue that cuts to the bone and a writing style that engrosses the reader. Forthright and unabashed in it's overtly controversial opinions, it stands out like the best stand up comedian. Daring to be dark, disgusting, and horrible; saying and doing things so that the reader (or any well adjusted member of society) does not have to.
I'm glad my friends put me onto this book otherwise I might never have picked it up. Irvine Welsh is better known for his more famous novel, 'Trainspotting', something which is more of a story OUT of darkness. 'Filth' is the opposite, it is a descent INTO darkness. A story of loss told through abuse, consumption, self loathing and Tapeworms.
You are unlikely to find a book like it.
'FILTH' is the story of Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson, and the first thing you should know about him is that he's a complete and utter Bastard.
During the build up to Christmas the race is on for the much desired Detective Inspector position and Bruce is adamant that he is going to be the one. Now if that means he's got to: lie, cheat, steal, manipulate and back-stab his way there, then you can safely bet that he will. The media sensitive murder investigation of a black tourist might cause some trouble, but that's not going to stop him enjoying his week holiday of drinking and whoring in the 'Dam!
It is refreshing from time to time to read a first person perspective of a complete and utter Cunt. He is a user, a misogynist, a racist, a drug user, and an abuser. All the things (most) people aren't. And he's unashamedly so as well, he has no qualms with lying or betraying his friends in his selfish designs. Bruce Robertson is the type of controversial character that although despicable you just can't ignore. He is just so reprehensible and disgusting, and that's before we get onto the rash on his cock or the tapeworm growing in his stomach.
A truly inspired idea to give consciousness to the Tapeworm. Bruce is all but lacking a conscience. There is no Jiminy Cricket sitting on his shoulder telling him right from wrong, but there is a Tapeworm who refers to itself as The Self. Like the reader, the Tapeworm learns more and more about Bruce as the book continues. In the end it's the worm who is Bruce's advocate and perhaps last remaining meaningful contact as Bruce has all but fucked over every human being he has came across.
Despite the drugs, meaningless affairs, betrayals and tortures 'Filth' is actually very funny. Irvine Welsh has a flair for dialogue that cuts to the bone and a writing style that engrosses the reader. Forthright and unabashed in it's overtly controversial opinions, it stands out like the best stand up comedian. Daring to be dark, disgusting, and horrible; saying and doing things so that the reader (or any well adjusted member of society) does not have to.
I'm glad my friends put me onto this book otherwise I might never have picked it up. Irvine Welsh is better known for his more famous novel, 'Trainspotting', something which is more of a story OUT of darkness. 'Filth' is the opposite, it is a descent INTO darkness. A story of loss told through abuse, consumption, self loathing and Tapeworms.
You are unlikely to find a book like it.
August 21, 2017
"Same rules apply."
I needed a book I could finally rate 5 stars.
As many said before me the book perfectly corresponds to the title; filth. There is nothing I've read before that so perfectly illustrates utter and complete burn out.
Our protagonist, Bruce is a cop whose life is in ruins, his wife left him, he drinks, takes drugs and fucks whores, on top of that there is eczema all over his privates and a tapeworm in his guts.
Reading this is like fast forwarding on a nightmare where the same elements keep repeating and everything spirals out of control slowly. Bruce hates everything and everyone and his only joy left is making people's live hell around him with perfectly planned scheming. Most if not all of his thoughts are racist, misogynistic,homophobic, hateful, angry and nihilistic. At a certain point the only sound of reason is the tapeworm inside him.
The ending brings a true catharsis, it shows that the things that happened weren't just pointless rants from the writer and one could close the book with a sense of every piece falling to its place.
Welsh's writing is incredibly powerful, it swept me away and I kept reading it compulsively to the very last page. I'm certain that this book is a masterpiece in its own way.
I needed a book I could finally rate 5 stars.
As many said before me the book perfectly corresponds to the title; filth. There is nothing I've read before that so perfectly illustrates utter and complete burn out.
Our protagonist, Bruce is a cop whose life is in ruins, his wife left him, he drinks, takes drugs and fucks whores, on top of that there is eczema all over his privates and a tapeworm in his guts.
Reading this is like fast forwarding on a nightmare where the same elements keep repeating and everything spirals out of control slowly. Bruce hates everything and everyone and his only joy left is making people's live hell around him with perfectly planned scheming. Most if not all of his thoughts are racist, misogynistic,homophobic, hateful, angry and nihilistic. At a certain point the only sound of reason is the tapeworm inside him.
The ending brings a true catharsis, it shows that the things that happened weren't just pointless rants from the writer and one could close the book with a sense of every piece falling to its place.
Welsh's writing is incredibly powerful, it swept me away and I kept reading it compulsively to the very last page. I'm certain that this book is a masterpiece in its own way.
February 7, 2017
3.5 stars
“One of my mottoes aboot the job is: better you wasting some cunt else’s time than some cunt wasting your time.”
- D.S. Bruce Robertson
* * *
“In a sense we are together because nothing, space, time, distance whatever, can break the delicious communion between us.”
- Carole
“One of my mottoes aboot the job is: better you wasting some cunt else’s time than some cunt wasting your time.”
- D.S. Bruce Robertson
* * *
“In a sense we are together because nothing, space, time, distance whatever, can break the delicious communion between us.”
- Carole
April 16, 2014
I have never been so glad to finish a book.
Great writer, and I found bits of it funny, but my overriding impression of the whole experience of reading it, was one of deep depression!
I am glad to say that I will never have to do that again!!!
Great writer, and I found bits of it funny, but my overriding impression of the whole experience of reading it, was one of deep depression!
I am glad to say that I will never have to do that again!!!
October 28, 2008
Absolutely my favorite Welsh read.I loved the humor and Bruce was so relateable(to me and my type of humor) but sort of over-the-top in his slurs towards many controvercial subjects which only made me giggle,tsk and shake my head.He thought many of the things people would never admit to thinking in their own heads so they just right off the book as its namesake and dont read any further. But I loved the shocking twist and its completely original narrative style. And how Bruce and the tapeworm slowly were submerging until the tapeworm got louder until both ineviteablye died was brilliant in the overall feeling of human waste taking over.I felt like I needed a shower after every read but I never grew bored or offended enough to put it down. Bruce reminded me of a dirty Scottish version Patrick Bateman.I love Irvine's style and his straight fowardness.He never holds back and isnt afraid to take a dip in the filth of human exsistance that everyone denies but what ulitimately make us human.I would recommend it to any cynical,dry humored reader like myself and can say that those of us would enjoy it thoroughly.
February 22, 2008
Can you say "Gimmick"? This book was all about gimmicks, and shock-value for shock-value's sake. Which frankly isn't all that interesting to me, especially for three-hundred-odd pages. The main character that Welsh creates is, as the title suggests, utter filth. Racist, sexist, coke-addled, perverted, etc etc etc. The etc's just keep going. Alright already, you don't have to beat us over the head with it. Oh, I guess you do. The gimmick of having part of the story narrated by Main Character's tapeworm might have been an interesting gimmick if it hadn't been just one more gimmick in a garbage-ridden sea of gimmicks. Ditto for the Scotch colloquialism; kind of interesting, might have been good in other circumstances; mostly just hard to read. Sorry, really not my cup of tea: seemed annoyingly facile and trendy and really, when it comes down to it, not very interesting.
March 31, 2022
This was so disgusting and disturbing 😂 I cringed so many times. The main character is quite literally the absolute worst person ever. Proceed with caution with this one, it’s insanely rough.
December 6, 2008
I love Irvine Welsh. I loved this novel, but I can see why some people might not like it so much. It is very, very ugly. The main character reminds me a great deal of my Dad. Well my Dad wasn't a corrupt cop, he was a lawyer, but he always struggled with his working class background and wanting to leave it behind. Telling you the most brilliant thing about this novel would spoil the whole thing. So I will only say this: Welsh presents the main character in a very complex way, and he is not a likable guy. But ultimately you have decide is he a monster, a victim, or what? Welsh experiments with intestinal worms. I am not sure whether it really works. Well some of the best parts of the story are in the intestinal worms, and it definitely drives home the message: you are what you eat. But then they make the story fragmented and confusing. Still you have to figure that someone as coke addled and sleep deprived as the main character of this tale is going to experience life as confusing and fragmented. This is a great book, but its very twisted. Some people, whose opinions I respect very much, feel that it is so twisted that it is ruined by virtue of its twistedness. Your call.
February 24, 2021
Nešvarumai, šlykštumas, nešvankumas, prakaitas, murzglinumas. To yra pilna knyga kuri turi labai puikiai tai atspindintį pavadinimą - Filth. Tai kūno ir sielos purvas, ir čia labai puikiai parodyta kaip praradus save galima kristi vis gilyn ir gilyn į nužmogėjimo šulinį sužinant kiek gilus jis yra.
Tai buvo šlykšti ir pasibjaurėtina knyga kurios pabaiga spiria tau į žabtus ir palieka gulinti savo paties bjaurastyje.
Tai buvo šlykšti ir pasibjaurėtina knyga kurios pabaiga spiria tau į žabtus ir palieka gulinti savo paties bjaurastyje.
March 24, 2016
Io non ho parole. Questo romanzo è stato veramente un trauma. Si sa che Welsh affronta dei temi particolarmente delicati (droga, problemi psichici), e che dalla sua penna escono personaggi discutibili, ma il Sergente Bruce Robertson è un personaggio MOLTO particolare, per non dire estremo. In lui si racchiude la più completa immoralità e crudeltà. Il suo essere così lercio (in tutti i sensi), così disgustoso è così impressionante che ti repelle.
Tuttavia io non l'ho odiato. Sembra strano, ma dalle prime pagine sono entrata in empatia con il protagonista. Le cose che lui pensava, io le pensavo, e il suo odio lo condivido per certi versi. Bruce Robertson è il prodotto di una società troppo politically correct, una società composta da individui che repellono il corpo poliziesco di cui lui fa parte, una societá non ordinata che conferisce troppe ingiustizie. Bruce è l'esempio disperato della libertá di pensiero (e non solo) repressa.
Uno dei pochi libri che mi è entrato veramente nel cuore e che mi ha segnato profondamente in un momento difficile. Incisivo, meraviglioso. Sconsigliato a chi non riesce a reggere tematiche spinose.
Tuttavia io non l'ho odiato. Sembra strano, ma dalle prime pagine sono entrata in empatia con il protagonista. Le cose che lui pensava, io le pensavo, e il suo odio lo condivido per certi versi. Bruce Robertson è il prodotto di una società troppo politically correct, una società composta da individui che repellono il corpo poliziesco di cui lui fa parte, una societá non ordinata che conferisce troppe ingiustizie. Bruce è l'esempio disperato della libertá di pensiero (e non solo) repressa.
Uno dei pochi libri che mi è entrato veramente nel cuore e che mi ha segnato profondamente in un momento difficile. Incisivo, meraviglioso. Sconsigliato a chi non riesce a reggere tematiche spinose.
March 10, 2021
A lot better than the movie with James McAvoy but not in the same league as Trainspotting...
What do you get if you cross Scotland with a male chauvinist bent racist copper looking for a promotion??
HAGGIS...
As my Scottish Nana use to say..
“A nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse”.
Which probably explains this book.
What do you get if you cross Scotland with a male chauvinist bent racist copper looking for a promotion??
HAGGIS...
As my Scottish Nana use to say..
“A nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse”.
Which probably explains this book.
October 9, 2009
There are several reasons why I will never forget this book. The main reason is Bruce Robertson, the main character of "Filth".
Bruce Robertson is a Police Investigator in Edinburgh. He's also, in every sense of the word, the WORST human being you can imagine. He's depraved, completely void of morality, racist, and worst of all, believes in what he does. Reading this book actually makes you fearful that there are people out there like this in positions of power. His actions are awe-inducing in their maliciousness. Sometimes they are horrifying. And amazingly, if you "connect" with this book (not everybody will), you will actually laugh out loud. Sometimes at yourself when you come to the realization that you are actually finding humor in his actions. In my adventures of reading modern fiction, I don't think I've ever come across such a horrible creation such as Bruce Robertson. He is filth.
That said, what a thrill this book was, and what a thrill it is to discover a novelist such as Irvine Welsh! He's drunk on the possibilities of language, and that's what makes this book so special. He makes it bearable to co-exist with Bruce Robertson for almost 400 pages because he writes in such a way that gets you on the same wavelength as his character. And as Bruce finds justification in his actions and philosophies, even if you don't as a reader, you are still right there with him the entire time. The Scottish dialect is easy to get used to, and adds so much to the authenticity and grit to the story. Couple all of this with a truly satisfying ending, and this is one of the most fun and memorable reads I've come across. I'll surely be seeking out more Irvine Welsh to read as well.
Update: 24 hours have passesd since I finished "Filth" and wrote the review above. As the book continues to linger on my mind, I find myself feeling more and more sympathy for Bruce. Truly the mark of a good book...that it remains with you and continues to make you think.
Bruce Robertson is a Police Investigator in Edinburgh. He's also, in every sense of the word, the WORST human being you can imagine. He's depraved, completely void of morality, racist, and worst of all, believes in what he does. Reading this book actually makes you fearful that there are people out there like this in positions of power. His actions are awe-inducing in their maliciousness. Sometimes they are horrifying. And amazingly, if you "connect" with this book (not everybody will), you will actually laugh out loud. Sometimes at yourself when you come to the realization that you are actually finding humor in his actions. In my adventures of reading modern fiction, I don't think I've ever come across such a horrible creation such as Bruce Robertson. He is filth.
That said, what a thrill this book was, and what a thrill it is to discover a novelist such as Irvine Welsh! He's drunk on the possibilities of language, and that's what makes this book so special. He makes it bearable to co-exist with Bruce Robertson for almost 400 pages because he writes in such a way that gets you on the same wavelength as his character. And as Bruce finds justification in his actions and philosophies, even if you don't as a reader, you are still right there with him the entire time. The Scottish dialect is easy to get used to, and adds so much to the authenticity and grit to the story. Couple all of this with a truly satisfying ending, and this is one of the most fun and memorable reads I've come across. I'll surely be seeking out more Irvine Welsh to read as well.
Update: 24 hours have passesd since I finished "Filth" and wrote the review above. As the book continues to linger on my mind, I find myself feeling more and more sympathy for Bruce. Truly the mark of a good book...that it remains with you and continues to make you think.
May 22, 2020
A few years back I was watching some pissed off religious zealot going all loony on TV because gays were having their pride parade (oh, the horror!) and proposing they should all be sent to the desert or be given a country - Australia, he suggested (!!) - to inhabit. Maybe I should have been outraged, but I couldn't stop laughing to tears at the poor ignorant fool and his unbelievable stupidity. Some people are so deranged, you just can't take them seriously.
My reaction to Bruce Robertson was not much different. Yes, he's a racist, a sexist, a homophobe, a cokehead, a liar, a scum. Everything you despise in a human being. He's the lowest form of life possible. His words, thoughts and actions end up with you angry and repulsed and swallowing back a bit of your own vomit. You sure don't empathize with him because you're a decent human being who's been sheltered from this kind of behaviour and lived surrounded by nice people your whole life. And if you can't empathize with the scumbag character you might not like the book. You might even fall into a trap and get the impression that the book promotes hatred and glamorizes despicable behavior. But I think the difference between right and wrong is clearly defined here: it's wrong what Bruce thinks and does, it's right what Bruce says mockingly, when he contradicts his own regular dirty thoughts. Thoughts that are not beliefs, though. They're just a form of self-defense, because at his (deep) core, Bruce is not as horrible as he appears.
Bruce is not to be taken seriously, he's not where you draw your morals from (that would be Drummond, his antagonist). You just pity him or point at him and laugh at his ignorance.
Did you know this is being made into a movie starring James McAvoy and Jamie Bell?
My reaction to Bruce Robertson was not much different. Yes, he's a racist, a sexist, a homophobe, a cokehead, a liar, a scum. Everything you despise in a human being. He's the lowest form of life possible. His words, thoughts and actions end up with you angry and repulsed and swallowing back a bit of your own vomit. You sure don't empathize with him because you're a decent human being who's been sheltered from this kind of behaviour and lived surrounded by nice people your whole life. And if you can't empathize with the scumbag character you might not like the book. You might even fall into a trap and get the impression that the book promotes hatred and glamorizes despicable behavior. But I think the difference between right and wrong is clearly defined here: it's wrong what Bruce thinks and does, it's right what Bruce says mockingly, when he contradicts his own regular dirty thoughts. Thoughts that are not beliefs, though. They're just a form of self-defense, because at his (deep) core, Bruce is not as horrible as he appears.
Bruce is not to be taken seriously, he's not where you draw your morals from (that would be Drummond, his antagonist). You just pity him or point at him and laugh at his ignorance.
Did you know this is being made into a movie starring James McAvoy and Jamie Bell?
August 5, 2016
Welsh: farts are stinky tee hee
SOMEONE GIVE THAT MAN A CAREER!!
For a misogynist you can root for, try The Book of Dave. Self doesn't consider compassion something you can switch on and off when it's convenient to your plot. Point. Also his books have more than one plot point.
SOMEONE GIVE THAT MAN A CAREER!!
For a misogynist you can root for, try The Book of Dave. Self doesn't consider compassion something you can switch on and off when it's convenient to your plot. Point. Also his books have more than one plot point.
dnf
December 30, 2025i have started this like three separate times, let’s not kid ourselves i will never read this, i cannot read scottish, there’s also no real audiobook version of this (only an abridged one for some reason???), maybe i should just read a german translation but then what’s the point? would be funny to know how they translated the dialect though. i’m just typing nonsense, i will not do that. dnf.
November 9, 2022
Welsh's third novel. Like his previous two novels, this one is also about the working class - not the harmless junkie type, but a policeman - Bruce Robertson. But it is similar to his first two novels in that it involves a lot of dysfunction, alcoholism and drug taking. Parts of the novel are told from the point of view of a tape worm. Welsh uses the tape worm and the voice of Bruce's wife to tell us about his past and his path to decline. Bruce listens to a lot of classic heavy metal. Welsh probably used Bruce's taste in music to distinguish him from his other working class characters in Trainspotting who are mostly into Iggy Pop and punk rock.
November 8, 2013
'Filth' sucks you deep into the disturbed, poetic, perverted, brilliant and fevered brain of Detective Sargent Bruce 'Robbo' Robertson. Bruce is in line for a big promotion to DI, and will stop at nothing to get it. Eliminating the competition with psychopathic precision, whilst indulging in his own sordid urges (booze, sex, cocaine and a bit of the old ultraviolence), it seems hard to make this character relatable or even that likeable. However, through Welsh's horrific but poignant stream-of-consciousness writing, Bruce is not only irresistibly interesting, but also tragically pitiable. As we hear Bruce's traumatic origins (narrated by the self-conscious tapeworm swimming through our misogynistic anti-hero's belly), he becomes less of an amoral Dracula and more like a miserable Frankenstein's Monster. For me, THIS was the most intriguing part of the story.
(SPOILERS)
The bastard son of the serial rapist 'The Beast' who raped his young mother, Bruce was treated as such by his father and pretty much everyone else who knew him. All they could see was the face of the demonic criminal who had disgraced an innocent young woman. As his younger brother was basked in attention and love, Bruce was abused, ignored and even forced to eat coal. The worst part for me was that Bruce didn't even seem to know why this was. He would look in the mirror, desperately looking for what everybody else saw in him that was so 'wrong', so 'sick', so 'filthy'. All he could see was a sad, little boy who seemed incapable of being loved by anyone. Going back to my 'Frankenstein' thing, I see The Beast as being the Doctor and Bruce being The Creature, something which should never have been given life, that would be destined to live a cursed life if it did, that would be hated, that would be feared, that would drive everybody who he cares for away from him. When Bruce visits his real father in prison and begins beating on him, I think it is less to do with what he did to his mother and more the fact that he brought him into the world in the first place. He resents his own life. As a result, like the Creature and Milton's Satan, 'evil became (his) good'. At the end of the book, Robbo's suicide seems to be a petty way of getting back at his ex-wife. In the recent film adaptation with James McAvoy, however, it seems more like a genuine cat of repentance and redemption, which I think fits in well with this backstory. He sees himself as 'wrong', which ultimately he must put 'right', by ending it... but, that's just my view.
The book was fantastic! I was a little disturbed by it at times (and even began questioning my own sanity during my reading of it), but it is a brilliant character study, a black comic tour-de-force and a brilliant introduction to Welsh's twisted, psycho-punk universe!... just try not too get too sucked into Robbo's head... it may be difficult to get out.
(SPOILERS)
The bastard son of the serial rapist 'The Beast' who raped his young mother, Bruce was treated as such by his father and pretty much everyone else who knew him. All they could see was the face of the demonic criminal who had disgraced an innocent young woman. As his younger brother was basked in attention and love, Bruce was abused, ignored and even forced to eat coal. The worst part for me was that Bruce didn't even seem to know why this was. He would look in the mirror, desperately looking for what everybody else saw in him that was so 'wrong', so 'sick', so 'filthy'. All he could see was a sad, little boy who seemed incapable of being loved by anyone. Going back to my 'Frankenstein' thing, I see The Beast as being the Doctor and Bruce being The Creature, something which should never have been given life, that would be destined to live a cursed life if it did, that would be hated, that would be feared, that would drive everybody who he cares for away from him. When Bruce visits his real father in prison and begins beating on him, I think it is less to do with what he did to his mother and more the fact that he brought him into the world in the first place. He resents his own life. As a result, like the Creature and Milton's Satan, 'evil became (his) good'. At the end of the book, Robbo's suicide seems to be a petty way of getting back at his ex-wife. In the recent film adaptation with James McAvoy, however, it seems more like a genuine cat of repentance and redemption, which I think fits in well with this backstory. He sees himself as 'wrong', which ultimately he must put 'right', by ending it... but, that's just my view.
The book was fantastic! I was a little disturbed by it at times (and even began questioning my own sanity during my reading of it), but it is a brilliant character study, a black comic tour-de-force and a brilliant introduction to Welsh's twisted, psycho-punk universe!... just try not too get too sucked into Robbo's head... it may be difficult to get out.
March 11, 2016
فيديو ريفيو الرواية: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Irtni...
It's my first Irvine Welsh read and I'm sure it's the last. This is a novel about Bruce Robertson, an officer who embodies everything that's bad, he mistreats and uses everyone around him in the worst ways. Put that on the side, he's got a worm growing inside him, and we see him changing and "interacting" with that worm. Both the beginning and the ending were great, which I thoroughly enjoyed despite the accent which was extremely hard for me to read and get through.
This is an interesting novel with an interesting concept, the "worm" part definitely added more to the story, since we only manage to know more of Bruce and his history through that worm!
My complaints are the accent and the lack of quotation marks (which is a lot!) I was set on giving it two stars, maybe even one, but that ending! earned that three stars
It's my first Irvine Welsh read and I'm sure it's the last. This is a novel about Bruce Robertson, an officer who embodies everything that's bad, he mistreats and uses everyone around him in the worst ways. Put that on the side, he's got a worm growing inside him, and we see him changing and "interacting" with that worm. Both the beginning and the ending were great, which I thoroughly enjoyed despite the accent which was extremely hard for me to read and get through.
This is an interesting novel with an interesting concept, the "worm" part definitely added more to the story, since we only manage to know more of Bruce and his history through that worm!
My complaints are the accent and the lack of quotation marks (which is a lot!) I was set on giving it two stars, maybe even one, but that ending! earned that three stars
October 15, 2023
ACAB: The Novel
Seriously, holy fuck.
I'm from rural Queensland, was born in the late 80s, was a butcher for over a decade. I have spent more time than is advised on 4chan. I was around for the heyday of rotten.com, around for the peak of edgy comedy and even I spent the majority of my time reading this wincing and muttering 'christ' under my breath.
I'm not kidding, this was a tough read just from the sheer bleakness of it all; the constant undercurrent that more than a few people are like Bruce Robertson, they think like him, speak like him, act like him.
And more than a few of them have state mandated powers.
There's a point to it all, of course. Welsh gives you that at least, in the end. But don't expect that end to be roses. You'll be digging thorns out from under your eyelids instead.
Seriously, holy fuck.
I'm from rural Queensland, was born in the late 80s, was a butcher for over a decade. I have spent more time than is advised on 4chan. I was around for the heyday of rotten.com, around for the peak of edgy comedy and even I spent the majority of my time reading this wincing and muttering 'christ' under my breath.
I'm not kidding, this was a tough read just from the sheer bleakness of it all; the constant undercurrent that more than a few people are like Bruce Robertson, they think like him, speak like him, act like him.
And more than a few of them have state mandated powers.
There's a point to it all, of course. Welsh gives you that at least, in the end. But don't expect that end to be roses. You'll be digging thorns out from under your eyelids instead.
January 21, 2016
Those of us that can understand the language and Scottish dialect and actually finished this book know that is is superb. It is dark and not everyone's cup of tea, but I am glad that I read it and it will stay with me.
November 6, 2025
The tapeworm was a nice character, you don’t see a lot of those.
May 29, 2009
This is a review I wrote for the stage version of Filth, starring Tam Dean Burn, at the time he was the only man ever to play the role. It says almost everything I want to say about the book, so I thought it was worth reproducing here. Enjoy:
Imagine the best thing you’ve ever done; imagine the most energy you’ve ever expended; imagine the ultimate expression of your greatest skill: now multiply that by a one hundred and it’s a good bet you still won’t even come close to the level of Tam Dean Burn’s performance in Filth.
His performance is not acting. It is transformation.
From the moment he struts into his onstage office, briefcase and brown paper bag in hand, lays his first fart and offers advice on how to escape the smell, Tam Dean Burn disappears into the skin and loathsome psyche of Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson.
Robertson – the anti-hero of Harry Gibson’s adaptation of Filth, Irvine Welsh’s merciless novel of police corruption – is one of the most vile characters ever to hit the stage. He makes Tartuffe and Richard III look like a couple of petulant schoolboys playing tricks on their neighbours. And, more frightening still, he’s an invisible monster that walks among us.
Over the course of a Christmas season Robertson ruins the life of a colleague, starts shagging his friend’s wife, battles an intestinal parasite, snorts a whole mess of coke, bites out a guy’s tongue, engages in a bloodthirsty act of defenestration, and rapes a girl while his partner busts another for the same crime. And this tally only scratches the surface of the sins, bloodshed and hate that find their expression in Burn’s uncompromising performance.
The degradation of Detective Sergeant Robertson goes well beyond the physical, however. As Tam Dean Burn taps into each of the thirty-two characters that live in Robertson’s world and mind we come to realize that this filthy cop is not just evil – he is certifiably mad. And Burn internalizes this madness with a physical and mental energy that’s humbling to witness, committing himself fully to being Bruce Robertson.
Indeed, once onstage, Burn shows no trace at all of the beneficent actor from Leith who fights for equality and peace. All that’s left is a beast who shifts from perversion to corruption and back again.
Yet, somehow, as with the classic misanthropes that Bruce Robertson eclipses, the audience finds themselves empathizing with the mad Detective Sergeant – and maybe even liking him.
And therein lies the true effectiveness of Tam Dean Burn’s performance.
We witness DS Robertson’s appalling actions, but Burn makes us believe that somewhere inside, beneath all the hate and anger, a good man, a sane man, is struggling for supremacy. Filth takes us right to the precipice, to the edge of lunacy and horror, and Burn pulls us back.
In the hands of a lesser actor Welsh’s story could easily spiral out of control. The mirror balls and talking tapeworms, the masturbation and nudity, the ultra violence and disturbing revelations could overwhelm us with hopelessness. But Tam Dean Burn keeps us with him all the way. He makes us believe in the struggling core of Robertson’s goodness, and he shows us that hope can come from even the most tragic events.
Filth is not an entertaining play. It’s not an easy play to watch. But the questions and ethical dilemmas it raises are relevant to us all. And it contains the finest stage performance this city has seen.
Tam Dean Burn is unparalleled. It’s no wonder Harry Gibson wrote Filth with him in mind.
Imagine the best thing you’ve ever done; imagine the most energy you’ve ever expended; imagine the ultimate expression of your greatest skill: now multiply that by a one hundred and it’s a good bet you still won’t even come close to the level of Tam Dean Burn’s performance in Filth.
His performance is not acting. It is transformation.
From the moment he struts into his onstage office, briefcase and brown paper bag in hand, lays his first fart and offers advice on how to escape the smell, Tam Dean Burn disappears into the skin and loathsome psyche of Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson.
Robertson – the anti-hero of Harry Gibson’s adaptation of Filth, Irvine Welsh’s merciless novel of police corruption – is one of the most vile characters ever to hit the stage. He makes Tartuffe and Richard III look like a couple of petulant schoolboys playing tricks on their neighbours. And, more frightening still, he’s an invisible monster that walks among us.
Over the course of a Christmas season Robertson ruins the life of a colleague, starts shagging his friend’s wife, battles an intestinal parasite, snorts a whole mess of coke, bites out a guy’s tongue, engages in a bloodthirsty act of defenestration, and rapes a girl while his partner busts another for the same crime. And this tally only scratches the surface of the sins, bloodshed and hate that find their expression in Burn’s uncompromising performance.
The degradation of Detective Sergeant Robertson goes well beyond the physical, however. As Tam Dean Burn taps into each of the thirty-two characters that live in Robertson’s world and mind we come to realize that this filthy cop is not just evil – he is certifiably mad. And Burn internalizes this madness with a physical and mental energy that’s humbling to witness, committing himself fully to being Bruce Robertson.
Indeed, once onstage, Burn shows no trace at all of the beneficent actor from Leith who fights for equality and peace. All that’s left is a beast who shifts from perversion to corruption and back again.
Yet, somehow, as with the classic misanthropes that Bruce Robertson eclipses, the audience finds themselves empathizing with the mad Detective Sergeant – and maybe even liking him.
And therein lies the true effectiveness of Tam Dean Burn’s performance.
We witness DS Robertson’s appalling actions, but Burn makes us believe that somewhere inside, beneath all the hate and anger, a good man, a sane man, is struggling for supremacy. Filth takes us right to the precipice, to the edge of lunacy and horror, and Burn pulls us back.
In the hands of a lesser actor Welsh’s story could easily spiral out of control. The mirror balls and talking tapeworms, the masturbation and nudity, the ultra violence and disturbing revelations could overwhelm us with hopelessness. But Tam Dean Burn keeps us with him all the way. He makes us believe in the struggling core of Robertson’s goodness, and he shows us that hope can come from even the most tragic events.
Filth is not an entertaining play. It’s not an easy play to watch. But the questions and ethical dilemmas it raises are relevant to us all. And it contains the finest stage performance this city has seen.
Tam Dean Burn is unparalleled. It’s no wonder Harry Gibson wrote Filth with him in mind.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 31, 2010
A good book, following the exploits of the world's second worst police officer through the things he does.
Unfortunately the main character is so difficult to relate to (he does the most awful things for no reason other than he can/wants to, and I can't understand that) that by the time of his trip to Amsterdam you're left numb. The constant series of horrors (which are entertaining and shocking to begin with) become something that you are accustomed to, the horror you were feeling at his physical/mental state and his actions towards others to begin with becomes dull.
Maybe this is a statement in itself about human nature when faced with atrocities over which we have no control, like the heavy descriptive prose in American Psycho, but like AP, the point had been made quite a while before anything came of it.
However, you can see I've given it four stars, and this is because the last hundred pages are truly excellent. And the book absolutely stands up as an entertaining and worthwhile read because of it. Slug through the middle and the rewards are worth the wait.
Unfortunately the main character is so difficult to relate to (he does the most awful things for no reason other than he can/wants to, and I can't understand that) that by the time of his trip to Amsterdam you're left numb. The constant series of horrors (which are entertaining and shocking to begin with) become something that you are accustomed to, the horror you were feeling at his physical/mental state and his actions towards others to begin with becomes dull.
Maybe this is a statement in itself about human nature when faced with atrocities over which we have no control, like the heavy descriptive prose in American Psycho, but like AP, the point had been made quite a while before anything came of it.
However, you can see I've given it four stars, and this is because the last hundred pages are truly excellent. And the book absolutely stands up as an entertaining and worthwhile read because of it. Slug through the middle and the rewards are worth the wait.
January 25, 2015
Painful and honest, this is the kind of book that so fully develops a character that you begin to see yourself reflected in his every deed. You begin thinking he's terrible and that we are all better than him, but the end leaves you thinking that we might all just be damaged creatures trying to survive, like cops and criminals, like tapeworms.
September 16, 2019
Irvine Welsh remek író, és bár nem minden könyvét, azért sokat elolvastam: egyik-másik kiemelkedett, a Trainspotting, a rövid történetek, de voltak laposabb járatok is. A Filth nem az, valójában nem is számítottam rá hogy ennyire behúz egy szöveg – azt hihettem, hogy a javán már rég túlvagyok, és nem ér el hozzám igazán mélyre ez az írói eszköztár: a hihetetlen durvaság, a mindennapi hiperrealizmus, amit módszeresen kegyetlen pszichológiai hitelességgel tol az arcodba, gondoltam, sokkolódik a fene, de rámfér egy kis lazulás. Aztán szétestem, mint a főhős.
Bruce Robertson figurája sokoldalúan kellemetlen: agresszív tekintélyfigura, aki mélyen sérült. Hogy mennyire mélyen, az apránként, stratégikusan adagolva bontakozik ki, és a kibontakoztatott elcsesződések puszta terjedelme is zavarbaejtő. Mert ilyennek soha nem kéne lennie, és mégis minden mozzanata nem hogy hihető, hanem brutálisan normális. Miközben Bruce karaktere a Trainspotting drogosait összeházasítja egy deprivilegizált Patrick Batemannel, angyalbőrben.
A hatalom, a hivatal, a rendőri visszaélés valóságos kultúrája (és cinizmusa) már önmagában elég, hogy egy jól megírt regényt betöltsön. Erre még annyi motívumot rápakolt az író, amennyit csak elbír egy szöveg. Mégsincs, úgy érzem, túlírva. Az pedig nagyon tetszett, hogy a hasított belső monológok kitakarják a háttérszöveg történéseit: a regényből kvázi kihúzott szöveg gyakorlatilag párhuzamos szövegként, töredezett olvashatóságában összefüggéstelenné téve jelenik meg. Gazdaságosan hasznosított melléktemékként ez a pszeudo-regényszöveg egyszerre reflektál magára az írásra és a narrátor-főszereplő elmeállapotára, miközben a törzsszöveg teljesen önálló párhuzamos szála egyre több hátteret adagol Bruce egyre durvább kilengéseihez. Ráadásul egy saját bélféreg filozofikus monológja formájában.
Nem tudom, mit szólnék ehhez rendőrként, de (még) civilként (is) nagyon felkavart ez a könyv. A Mocsok itt nem csak a rendőrség*, hanem minden elképzelhető emberi mocsok tárházából legalábbis egy nagyon kiadós, sötét orgia. Ahogy az elkerülhetetlen, az érzékletesen sokkoló részletekben itt-ott tükröződnek az olvasó saját, visszarezonáló magánpoklának releváns bugyrai. Ez a könyv nem kímél. Az utolsó leheletéig szörnyű ember Bruce Robertson, és tudom hogy utálna érte, de tényleg megsajnáltam, ha másért nem is de a benne fellelhető saját magam miatt.
*brit szlengben: „the filth”, néztem is hogy milyen buta fordítói megoldás szó szerint mocsoknak magyarítani, de apránként kiderült, mennyire helyénvaló szó ez még a hatósági többletjelentése nélkül is
Bruce Robertson figurája sokoldalúan kellemetlen: agresszív tekintélyfigura, aki mélyen sérült. Hogy mennyire mélyen, az apránként, stratégikusan adagolva bontakozik ki, és a kibontakoztatott elcsesződések puszta terjedelme is zavarbaejtő. Mert ilyennek soha nem kéne lennie, és mégis minden mozzanata nem hogy hihető, hanem brutálisan normális. Miközben Bruce karaktere a Trainspotting drogosait összeházasítja egy deprivilegizált Patrick Batemannel, angyalbőrben.
A hatalom, a hivatal, a rendőri visszaélés valóságos kultúrája (és cinizmusa) már önmagában elég, hogy egy jól megírt regényt betöltsön. Erre még annyi motívumot rápakolt az író, amennyit csak elbír egy szöveg. Mégsincs, úgy érzem, túlírva. Az pedig nagyon tetszett, hogy a hasított belső monológok kitakarják a háttérszöveg történéseit: a regényből kvázi kihúzott szöveg gyakorlatilag párhuzamos szövegként, töredezett olvashatóságában összefüggéstelenné téve jelenik meg. Gazdaságosan hasznosított melléktemékként ez a pszeudo-regényszöveg egyszerre reflektál magára az írásra és a narrátor-főszereplő elmeállapotára, miközben a törzsszöveg teljesen önálló párhuzamos szála egyre több hátteret adagol Bruce egyre durvább kilengéseihez. Ráadásul egy saját bélféreg filozofikus monológja formájában.
Nem tudom, mit szólnék ehhez rendőrként, de (még) civilként (is) nagyon felkavart ez a könyv. A Mocsok itt nem csak a rendőrség*, hanem minden elképzelhető emberi mocsok tárházából legalábbis egy nagyon kiadós, sötét orgia. Ahogy az elkerülhetetlen, az érzékletesen sokkoló részletekben itt-ott tükröződnek az olvasó saját, visszarezonáló magánpoklának releváns bugyrai. Ez a könyv nem kímél. Az utolsó leheletéig szörnyű ember Bruce Robertson, és tudom hogy utálna érte, de tényleg megsajnáltam, ha másért nem is de a benne fellelhető saját magam miatt.
*brit szlengben: „the filth”, néztem is hogy milyen buta fordítói megoldás szó szerint mocsoknak magyarítani, de apránként kiderült, mennyire helyénvaló szó ez még a hatósági többletjelentése nélkül is
November 11, 2012
"Filth," by Irivine Welsh certainly lived up to its name. Pretty filthy, in several ways the word can be used, from beginning to end.
It's told in first person by the main character, Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson of the Leith Police, who's approaching middle age and is one of the detectives competing for the single available promotion to Detective Inspector. He feels he's entitled to it because he gave up a few years of rank by working in Australia when his wife Carole wanted to live near her Mum down there.
Sometime before the beginning of the story Carole has gone away to spend some time with her Mum, who's back in Scotland, and Bruce is on his own. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to cook or use the machine to wash clothes and as the story progresses his clothes get filthier and filthier, and with his bachelor lifestyle, that's mud, food, sweat, semen, alcohol and anything else that could possibly spill…
Bruce isn't a very nice guy, either. He's mean, vicious, vulgar, racist, sexist, alcoholic, wasted on cocaine and wants that promotion. He's in charge of a racial murder that's taken place does what he can to put his colleagues in situations to keep them from getting their job done.
For himself, almost every day he starts work late, goes for long, alcoholic lunch breaks and usually knocks off early so he can go shag some woman or watch some adult videos at home. About the most work he seems to do is filling in his overtime pay forms.
At the beginning he's in charge of everything around him, but slowly through the novel everything degenerates. We see, from his eyes, what even he doesn't see himself as he loses control and that his coworkers he considers pathetic are much more on top of things than he is…
Welsh is crude, vulgar, sick and very filthy in this book, and spins out a fantastic tale.
It's told in first person by the main character, Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson of the Leith Police, who's approaching middle age and is one of the detectives competing for the single available promotion to Detective Inspector. He feels he's entitled to it because he gave up a few years of rank by working in Australia when his wife Carole wanted to live near her Mum down there.
Sometime before the beginning of the story Carole has gone away to spend some time with her Mum, who's back in Scotland, and Bruce is on his own. Unfortunately, he doesn't know how to cook or use the machine to wash clothes and as the story progresses his clothes get filthier and filthier, and with his bachelor lifestyle, that's mud, food, sweat, semen, alcohol and anything else that could possibly spill…
Bruce isn't a very nice guy, either. He's mean, vicious, vulgar, racist, sexist, alcoholic, wasted on cocaine and wants that promotion. He's in charge of a racial murder that's taken place does what he can to put his colleagues in situations to keep them from getting their job done.
For himself, almost every day he starts work late, goes for long, alcoholic lunch breaks and usually knocks off early so he can go shag some woman or watch some adult videos at home. About the most work he seems to do is filling in his overtime pay forms.
At the beginning he's in charge of everything around him, but slowly through the novel everything degenerates. We see, from his eyes, what even he doesn't see himself as he loses control and that his coworkers he considers pathetic are much more on top of things than he is…
Welsh is crude, vulgar, sick and very filthy in this book, and spins out a fantastic tale.
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