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| The Three Craws; James Yorkston, 2016 ISBN: 978-1-910449-76-9 Freight Books, Glasgow Publisher site |
An interlude now, as I digress to talk about a book, albeit a book by one of my favourite musicians. Yorkston picks an interesting title for his second book, and first novel, given that he, King Creosote and The Pictish Trail played gigs as a trio under that name.
The reason I am moved to write about the book here is not because I loved it, but because it was so authentically James Yorkston that I feel it merits mention alongside the music that led me to him. Set in his home turf of Fife, specifically the rural locales outside St Andrews, the style is such a good fit for the man it's uncanny.
Having seen the man play live, but also (and importantly) talk both live and on film, I found that it was easy to slip into reading his prose with Yorkston's own voice. This made for an interesting first couple of chapters, before I caught the sway of the protagonists themselves. More remarkable than hearing his voice so clearly in the text was how perfectly his way of delivering dialog in text, through italics, no quotes, no he said, immediately gelled with me. It is generally jarring, at first, when someone breaks standard conventions. "Everyone writes dialogue this way, what the heck is he doing?" Here, though, it worked for me. It fits perfectly with my picture of the author, his softly spoken tones, which lead you on a slow ramble. This is occasionally present in his music - I recall commenting on a conversational style when I sat down with the Cellardyke Recording and Wassailing Society, for instance.
The book itself is darkly comic, in a low-key kind of way. I didn't find myself relating to any of the characters much - a druggy washout, a farm labourer and an arts school graduate form our titular trio. They aren't particularly likable, sensible, or necessarily taking paths that make much sense over the course of the 210 page book. We have the viewpoint of the artist - failed, returning to Fife from London, to see his old friend. He meets the druggy on the coach and so things begin. Without wanting to spoil anything, the book paints a picture of a certain kind of rural life - one I can't speak to the accuracy of, but which is delivered with a low key charm and a wry line or two. It builds slowly, filling in this picture for us, before a twist that is signposted in some ways but a little surprising in others. The climax of the book is odd, tense and more than a little farcical, before leaving us on a very ambiguous ending.
The last two novels I have read have both ended in understated, and in some way unfulfilling ways; the previous one being Noah Hawley's Before the Fall, which I picked up on name recognition from having watched the TV show Fargo. There I felt let down, to the point that a page-turner that kept me up way too late reading turned into a not buying another one by the end. Here I am less harsh on the closing pages... whilst I did feel underwhelmed by the ending on reading it, on reflection it has an ambiguity that is rather appealing. Sometimes we are told too much. Sometimes the mysteries are unwound and the answer is rather dull. Three Craws, at least, leaves you with questions, with things to ponder. More importantly, it leaves you with a sense of place - an authenticity born from local knowledge. That clarity of picture and of voice sustained me through the book - and for that reason I would recommend it to Yorkston fans.
The reason I am moved to write about the book here is not because I loved it, but because it was so authentically James Yorkston that I feel it merits mention alongside the music that led me to him. Set in his home turf of Fife, specifically the rural locales outside St Andrews, the style is such a good fit for the man it's uncanny.
Having seen the man play live, but also (and importantly) talk both live and on film, I found that it was easy to slip into reading his prose with Yorkston's own voice. This made for an interesting first couple of chapters, before I caught the sway of the protagonists themselves. More remarkable than hearing his voice so clearly in the text was how perfectly his way of delivering dialog in text, through italics, no quotes, no he said, immediately gelled with me. It is generally jarring, at first, when someone breaks standard conventions. "Everyone writes dialogue this way, what the heck is he doing?" Here, though, it worked for me. It fits perfectly with my picture of the author, his softly spoken tones, which lead you on a slow ramble. This is occasionally present in his music - I recall commenting on a conversational style when I sat down with the Cellardyke Recording and Wassailing Society, for instance.
The book itself is darkly comic, in a low-key kind of way. I didn't find myself relating to any of the characters much - a druggy washout, a farm labourer and an arts school graduate form our titular trio. They aren't particularly likable, sensible, or necessarily taking paths that make much sense over the course of the 210 page book. We have the viewpoint of the artist - failed, returning to Fife from London, to see his old friend. He meets the druggy on the coach and so things begin. Without wanting to spoil anything, the book paints a picture of a certain kind of rural life - one I can't speak to the accuracy of, but which is delivered with a low key charm and a wry line or two. It builds slowly, filling in this picture for us, before a twist that is signposted in some ways but a little surprising in others. The climax of the book is odd, tense and more than a little farcical, before leaving us on a very ambiguous ending.
The last two novels I have read have both ended in understated, and in some way unfulfilling ways; the previous one being Noah Hawley's Before the Fall, which I picked up on name recognition from having watched the TV show Fargo. There I felt let down, to the point that a page-turner that kept me up way too late reading turned into a not buying another one by the end. Here I am less harsh on the closing pages... whilst I did feel underwhelmed by the ending on reading it, on reflection it has an ambiguity that is rather appealing. Sometimes we are told too much. Sometimes the mysteries are unwound and the answer is rather dull. Three Craws, at least, leaves you with questions, with things to ponder. More importantly, it leaves you with a sense of place - an authenticity born from local knowledge. That clarity of picture and of voice sustained me through the book - and for that reason I would recommend it to Yorkston fans.
