This is a very assured and well-crafted first novel, especially impressive in that it is told by a 19-year-old heroin addict and was written by a mother of two. Here's the thing though, any book written about junkies and set in the modern UK is going to have to live in the very long shadow of Trainspotting. Which is not to say that this and Welsh's debut are the same, 'cause they're not—but they certainly have a fair amount in common. Both are about a group of junkies and their mates, both have detailed scenes of shooting up, withdrawal, and drug induced bliss, both contain serious black comedy, both feature a selfish antihero protagonist, both have a distinct use of slang and dialect, and both have the junkie friends leaving their familiar northern hometowns for London. All of which is by of explanation as to why I enjoyed the book, but couldn't read ten pages without Trainspotting coming into my head.
Anyway, the central character is Danny Mac, who is on top of the world—at least the small world of Doncaster. He's got mates (quiet, loyal Dekka and handsome, flashy Chico), birds (a few), and drugs to keep him happy. And anytime he needs cash, it's a quick trip to the posh part of town to burgle a home. When he and his friends are suddenly sought after by Doncaster's local psycho thugs, they decide to split and head down to London. Along the way they stop in Nottingham and get into various adventures and make a new friend before winding up in the Smoke. It's kind of a road trip morality tale, with a rather odd dose of Catholic magical realism mixed in that I couldn't ever quite buy into. Naturally there's a lot about guilt, and a whole lot about redemption and responsibility. In tackling all these themes, the book gets a bit overly sentimental at times, although it is quite touching and moving by the end. It's a very short book, and Goodwin might have spent some extra time to flesh out all the supporting cast, none of whom were more than the briefest of sketches...