94 Books Like And the Land Lay Still

I loved the Glaswegian (quasi-Irish!) voice of Shuggie Bain, but what I will always remember it for is its gut-wrenching depiction of the consequences of poverty and alcoholism for the titular child character. 

There were times when I was reading this novel that I literally flinched from it. It’s one of the most poignant times that I can remember having such a visceral reaction to a book. 

What I found truly remarkable was the book’s sense of simultaneous inevitability and hope. At once, I felt that there was only one possible end for Agnes and Shuggie, and yet I also somehow believed that both characters would escape their miserable situation.

This idea, that hope sustains even against the most improbable odds, accesses something fundamentally human. A book that can do that is one I would recommend any day.

The most “please don’t do it” I have felt in response to a story is as Gray’s protagonist Thaw empties his pockets and throws his life documents and identifying possessions from a moving train on his way to his moment of madness. This will transpose or transform or, I suppose we must, translate Thaw into Lanark.

Critics have noted the many madcap imaginative moments in Gray’s large (in every sense) debut novel. The sequencing of the parts alone (Part 3, Part 1, Part 2, and Part 4) is enough to signal we are in no realist story of a boy and man’s life in Glasgow – more, think surrealist – and yet the book is also just that, and Glasgow is a hell called Unthank in the imagination of an artist who lived all his life in Glasgow.

Scabby Queen opens with the death by suicide of Clio Campbell, at different times a popstar, a political activist, a lover of life.

The book stretches back five decades to tell her story, from different perspectives and jumping around between time periods. I really love that such a complicated, strong, and uncompromising woman gets to take centre stage in a story that is both political (poll tax riots, miners’ strikes, Brexit) and personal.

I’ve passed by characters like these in the street and was once chased two miles down Paisley Road West at two o’clock in the morning by a gang of very inebriated youths, so reading Armstrong’s semi-autobiographical novel about growing up in the North Lanarkshire gang culture was challenging and engaging. It was challenging because it is written in the “patter” or dialect of central Scotland, and I found m’sel’ readin’ wi an accent in ma heid. Pure mental.

I’ve never read anything like The Living Mountain. A book that is, at once, an autobiography of a remarkable yet under-celebrated woman writer and an exploration of the ecstasies of experiencing the world through the body and its senses.

In gorgeously vivid prose, Shepherd invites us to pursue depth over breadth and to rely upon our felt experience as a way of knowing in the world. This book challenges dominant “hero’s journey” narratives in both content and form and suggests that all we yearn to experience and know can be found right where we find ourselves, wherever that may be. 

The murder of Henry Stewart, Lord Darnley, has baffled historians and authors for centuries, yet the queen’s consort is often a minor figure in the greater tragedy/romance of Mary. While writing my own book, I was eager to know more about the ill-fated lang lad other than the results of his self-centred scheming conspiracies–David Rizzio’s assassination, his own murder at Kirk o Field, and ultimately Mary’s downfall. And so it was refreshing to read this excellent biography which gives Darnley centre stage. By recreating his childhood and family background, particularly around his ambitious mother, Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox, Caroline Bingham offers a fascinating portrait of this flawed character who stole the queen’s heart and then broke it. 

At times her account made me feel sorry for this gullible pawn in the Game of Queens.

The hero of this story steals the show. Gregor the "Sinclair Hound" was hanged as a boy. As a result, he bears a scarred neck and a damaged voice. I do love a ‘wounded’ hero, and Gregor’s suffering is palpable. But he’s unwaveringly loyal and is infatuated with his laird’s daughter, Pearl. Little does he know that she too has a fascination for him – and when he’s charged with escorting her to a nunnery, sparks fly. The novel’s opening line drew me in, and I had to keep reading: "It wasn’t his duty to follow her, to watch her, but it had never stopped him before."

Tom English has produced a series of oral histories (latterly with Peter Burns) which any fan would be advised to read.

The Grudge tells the story of Scotland v England 1990, a game for the Five Nations title that stood for so much more: politics, nationalism, class warfare. It’s a glorious re-telling of an epic game, an upset Scotland win. But I love it for its portrayal of respect between players, of warriors bound by the violent game they play, of friendships across the lines of battle.

Brian Moore emerges a hero: the fearsome “Pitbull” of the England pack, yet a man who fronted up and went drinking with Scots after a crushing defeat. That, to me, is the true spirit of rugby, and the brotherhood it inspires.

The beauty of this novel is that it takes sweeping historical change – the Highland Clearances of Scotland – and manages to make history intimate, showing the impact of events on one vulnerable old woman. In the nineteenth century, much of rural Scotland was forcibly "cleared" of people to make room for sheep grazing. Outside of Scotland, this great tragedy of Scottish history is not as well known as it should be, and neither is Smith’s book.

I love its deliberately naïve style, as we see the world through the old woman’s eyes and feel her pain as history crashes down on her. It’s full of the beauty of the natural world, but it’s also chilling, as it demonstrates the indifference of outsiders to a long-established way of life. 

Neil Munro’s Scottish tales, especially the Para Handy stories, were very popular in his lifetime, but I prefer his historical novels. In my opinion, the best is The New Road. The title refers to the military road into the Highlands, made in the 1730s by General Wade, which was a major reason why the Highlanders were defeated, since it enabled the army to bring artillery to bear at the Battle of Culloden in April 1746. But the road also brought the possibility of greater prosperity, through trade, to the benighted Highlands. Munro came from Inverary in Argyll, and so does the hero in this thriller, who sets out to find the killer of his Jacobite father years before, during the uprising in support of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s father, James. It is an exciting story but with underlying serious themes, for example about progress and change in traditional societies.