Waterline [Paperback]

Having really enjoyed Ross Raisin's debut novel God's Own Country I was looking forward to reading Waterline, which tells the story of former Glasgow shipbuilder Mick Little and opens with the funeral of his beloved wife Cathy. Cathy's relatives have always looked down on Mick and, despite their outward show of sympathy and support, he's reluctant to accept anything from them and wants them out of his house and back up to `The Highlands` as quickly as possible. As far as the rest of his family is concerned, one son lives nearby but is emotionally distant (and it has to be said, a little odd) and the other has made a new life for himself with his wife and son in Australia.

Mick had to take time off from his casual driving job to look after Cathy during the final stages of her illness, and by the time he is finally ready to return they don't have any work for him. Depression quickly takes hold. Mick's descent from a man in regular work with a good home to an unemployed alcoholic sleeping rough on the streets is rapid but shockingly believable. At times I was angry at him for the choices he made, particularly when his pride got in the way of him claiming benefits, accepting charity etc, but then I would be reminded that Mick is a traditional working-class man who has worked hard all his life and would naturally find it hard to accept what he considered to be handouts.

Through Mick we experience the twilight world of casual labour where vulnerable workers are treated appallingly and paid less than minimum wage (if they get paid at all). We also get an insight into the services available to homeless people - I'm familiar with the soup kitchens run by churches and well-meaning volunteers ("the Hallelujahs" as Mick calls them) but I wasn't quite so aware of the work carried out by larger charities to rehabilitate homeless people and assist them to claim the benefits they`re entitled to, fill out job applications and apply for housing, as well as giving them a roof over their heads and gently encouraging them back into society.

I think Ross Raisin has a wonderful ear for dialogue and Mick's story is told in a gentle, almost poetic Scottish dialect (which is nowhere near as broad as Sam Marsdyke's Yorkshire accent in God's Own Country). At no time does Mick come across as maudlin or self-pitying and what could have been a grim, depressing indictment on the society we live in is actually a very poignant and extremely moving portrayal of grief and the devastation it can cause, which left me feeling extremely grateful for everything I've got.

Ross Raisin tells the story of Mick and his descent into despair, depression, alcoholism and homeless. His downfall is triggered by the death of his wife. It seems that Mick, a former Glasgow shipbuilder, has had episodes with 'the drink' in the past, but his stable family life pulled him through. This time he strikes out on his own and the results are fairly catastrophic.

The dialect appears convincing - but then I'm not a Glaswegian. Other people have picked up on some details that apparently didn't strike the right note. Overall though he seems to capture the rhythms of Mick's voice, and although some of the words and phrases are a little unfamiliar it isn't difficult to follow the sense of it.

It's mostly told from Mick's point of view, but very occasionally there is a change of perspective, sometimes just for a paragraph or two, and often switching to a minor character who has no role other than bystander. At first I found this a little disjointed but then I realised it was almost a cinematic device. Very suddenly you are taken out of Mick's head and shown what he looks like to a casual observer. That casual observer could be you: judging him as a homeless person, a destitute, a drunk, someone you would cross the road to avoid. That realisation gave me a jolt. In 'A Fine Balance,' one of the best books I have ever read, Rohinton Mistry humanises the beggars in India and gives them a history and a voice. Raisin isn't quite in Mistry's league but he does a fair job of doing the same for a working class Scottish man whose life has gone into freefall. It reminds you that he has a past, a family, emotions and feelings, and that the way he is now isn't the summation of his life. The descriptions of living rough are painstakingly detailed. Raisin has clearly done his research.

The ending, a final brief switch to the perspective of observer is very enigmatic but I won't give anything away. Read it for yourself. Best book I've read so far this year - but then it's only the 15th January!

"And see if he did put a claim in then the reminders would be there the whole time--for months, years, however long it took--and even that is still ignoring the main thing: why should he get a windfall? Him that brought it into the house and handed her the overalls to wash and here's two hundred grand, pal, take it, it's yours--you deserve it."

After the death of his wife to mesothelioma, Mick has to start his life over, struggling with the guilt from her death attributable to residue from his job in the shipyards. While his children hint at getting a settlement, to punish the company that virtually saturated their employees in asbestos, Mick resists any idea of what he imagines a payoff for her death.

While the story proceeds with his descent into grief, it never plays into the stereotype of the grieving widower who travels through five stages of grief to recover and find love again with a sweet old lady down the street. Instead, his journey is literal. Unable, emotionally, to reside in the house anymore, he starts sleeping in a shed outside, and his focus changes to minor things to avoid thinking about the bigger issues. He begins finding a kinship more with the birds he feeds than with other humans.

"He listens, enjoying the sound of it, as they begin skittering on the concrete outside the shed door...Until recently there'd been just the one - probably the same patient guy that's been coming all the while -but he's obvious gone and let dab to all his mates that they can come and eat here, and now there's a whole mob of them. Good for him, no keeping it all to himself. Obviously no an English bird. A genuine Southsider, that sparrow. "

The quote above reveals a wry humor that Mick has, told in his warm Glasgow accent. It's revealed again as he's run out of money, and thinks about the possibility of asking his brother-in-law for money:

"...he'd be pure delighted, guaranteed. A great song and dance over it, the ceremonious fetching of the chequebook, the smug showy putting on of the wee reading glasses. How much would you like, Mick? Really, it's not a problem. How much?"

Instead of resorting to that indignation, Mick chooses another option: complete departure, from both Glasgow and reality. He ends up in London living a life he'd never imagined, and one that he hopes to hide from his sons left behind, who know nothing of his location.

Mick's voice is full of irony and desperate humor, especially when he remarks on the cheap condolences friends make when they see him. He's a realist that knows far too well how little people really feel about his loss. In this many vivid side characters are pulled in, and while they don't appear long, they are memorable for the way they are described.

Midway through the novel I glanced at the author's photograph in the back. It stopped me in my tracks. It's a young guy that wrote this aged voice! It sort of put me off, for a day anyway, because I couldn't imagine how a young man (anyone younger than me qualifies in that regard) could create such a complex persona that melds humor, regret, guilt, and anxiety in one realistic character. Topping it off is the Scottish voice that Mick delivers his thoughts in; sometimes an accent is hard to read because it doesn't flow, but in this case it was much of the charm. Would make a killer audiobook!)

Especially noteworthy is that while it is essentially a quest motif, the fact that neither the reader nor the protagonist knows the object that is being sought makes it mysterious. The pace speeds up as you literally follow Mick through a labyrinth of people and places, and you really don't know where he's headed. And the questions continue to plague you: what happened to his sons? Who were the men at the door? Will he go back to Glasgow? What was up with Craig?

This is on target for my top five titles of 2011. Not only because of the main character and the plot, but also because of what it reveals about those living outside the margins of society. While the underbelly of large cities is often presented as a place of crime and prostitution, Waterline exposes the remote lives of immigrants and the homeless, attempting to live an honorable life while no one wants to meet their eyes.