FINISHED READING - The Good Son by Paul McVeigh

I saw Paul McVeigh on the last series of The Big Scottish Book Club. He read a short hilarious extract from a piece he wrote for The Common People anthology of working class writers. I bought his debut novel somewhat on the back of that appearance. Did it disappoint me? Well, yes it did, in a very odd way. I could tell it was written well with all the things that should make it engaging, but I felt quite neutral about it.

 Part of this may simply be down to needing Paul McVeigh to do a complete audio recording of The Good Son.  

He introduces us to Mickey Donnelly, who is on the cusp of his teenage years and about to go to secondary school. Mickey's voice and perceptions are both about to break. It's written from the perspective of an eleven year old, with all the naivety and misreadings of what is really going on around him, that that implies. The time period is the Seventies and we're at the height of 'The Troubles' in Northern Ireland. Mickey fails to grasp quite what is going on in the world around him, including not being able to comprehend the dynamic within his own family. He doesn't understand why everyone assumes he's gay. Instead he tries to find a girl who might be up for showing him what the sexual euphemism 'lumbering' means.

Now, you see, there is a lot about this book that seems full of fun, zest, brio, it is really characterful and I ought to be greatly amused by it. Maybe its my time of life, or a side effect of four months of lockdown, but I just could not be doing with it. It felt like a performing dog that was trying too hard to please me. Trapped in a room with someone who only joked and quipped endlessly. It's storyline, for me, lacked narrative purpose and dynamism. The novel ended up having a shapeless uniformity, so that one of Mickey's shenanigans and a fatal bomb blast appeared to have the same emotional tone, with no light or shade.

I know you don't have to read anything through to the bitter end. But I can never quite bring myself to walk away. I have too many recollections of books that have partly or completely redeemed themselves in their final chapters, paragraphs or even sentences. The Good Son, never quite achieved that, which felt a shame.  I found myself doggedly driving myself to keep on reading, putting myself on the sofa with the book and saying ' right, you stay here until this is all over'  Never a good sign. This may of course just all be me.

CARROT REVIEW - 3/8