Sunday, 02 May 2010

• Real Scottish Fiction

  
  

  
  
  The crisp onions were making a great crackling,
  and on a cold night the smell was enough to
  draw water out of dead teeth.
  
  

  If you decided to write a romance, chances are you'd put your muscular man and breathless heroine in the highlands of Scotland.  Don't do it.  There's a flood of fake Scottish mumbo-jumbo on the market.  Ditto for historical fiction. 
  
  Here's a better idea.  Read some authentic Scottish fiction, written by a Scot.  You cannot improve on Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped; I am especially fond of John Buchan and his sister Anna, who wrote under the pen name O. Douglas. 
  
  

  The mother passed the cups of tea.
  She had the natural air of
  dispensing life's mercies.
  
  

  If you are sweet on Stevenson, if you love Buchan, Neil Gunn (1891-1973)  is another Scottish author worth a look.  Rick Steves, the travel guru, mentioned him in a guidebook.  Gunn is called "the most important Scottish novelist of the 20th century."
  
  Morning Tide, a coming-of-age story set in an impoverished fishing village takes you to the shore of the sullen, relentless sea and into the cottage of the MacBeth family. 
  

  
  

  She could get up and lift a boiling kettle from the fire
  while her husband was saying grace
  without destroying the moment's harmony,
  as if wisdom dwelt also in her movements.
  
  

  Life is harsh, difficult, but not without comfort of onions and the pleasure of practical jokes.  Twelve-year-old Hugh MacBeth is always hungry, often running, impatient with school, and coming to grips with the reality of a harsh life. 
  

  
  He [the schoolmaster] was clever,
  there was no doubt of that.
  And he could speak seven languages.
  Seven.  Ay, ay.
  The old men nodded their heads.
  Learning was a great thing.
  They looked far beyond one another.
  A great thing, learning.
  A far and wonderful thing.
  There was no denying that.
  It was a strange thing, too.
  Its strangeness excited them a little,
  and its wonder.
  Love of learning was in their marrow.
  

  
  Gunn writes about the survival of the folk living in the fishing village.  The men leave in boats; the women wonder if they will make it back home.  Breakfast is always porridge; dinner is a question mark.  They stare death in the eye daily and yet clearly see the sweetness of life.  More Gunn here.  Particularly recommended to mothers (and fathers) of boys.
  

  
  

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