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This review is from: Filth (Kindle Edition)
Irivine Welsh has long specialised in presenting the very dregs of humanity to us along with their stories, but in his loathsome police detective Bruce Robertson, he gives us a character so depraved, so utterly unpleasant, that the real story here is the way in which Welsh manages the impossible: sympathy for the (almost literal) devil. The standard Welsh narrative crossovers are to be found; characters from his other novels pop up here and there and that trademark Edinburgh vernacular is the dominant voice once again. This novel is still, in my view, his stand-out work; not something to be said lightly given the sheer quality of his other novels. The reader will find themself in Robertson's head on an appalling journey into everything frightening and despicable about human beings and plumbing the darkest, most fathomless depths of nastiness. Robertson careers around the Scottish capital powered by drugs, pornography, alcohol and barely controlled hatred of his colleagues and friends, ostensibly pursuing a murder case, but in reality, degenerating into a psychological lagoon of horror. Very few characters in modern fiction stay with one long after they have shut the book. This one (and the gradually revealed voice within him) most certainly does. Read 'Filth' and drink in the mastery of one of the finest writers around, but expect to be infected by his creation.