'It was the day my grandmother exploded. I sat in the crematorium, listening to my Uncle Hamish quietly snoring in harmony to Bach's Mass in B Minor, and I reflected that it always seemed to be death that drew me back to Gallanach.'
Prentice McHoan has returned to the bosom of his complex but enduring Scottish family. Full of questions about the McHoan past, present and future, he is also deeply preoccupied: mainly with death, sex, drink, God and illegal substances . . .
'Riveting . . . exhilarating . . . its pace, development, intensity and, above all, its hip and sexy humour never allow it to flag. Banks reinforces his credentials as one of the most able, energetic and stimulating writers in the UK' Time Out
'As fine and ambitious a novel as any from a Scottish writer since the 1960s' New Statesman
