‘Espedair Street’ by Iain Banks

Early this past December I had the pleasure of reading Iain Banks’ brilliant 1984 debut, The Wasp Factory. I did so with equal parts delight and revulsion for, as anyone who has read the book will know, it is wonderful yet deeply disturbing. So of course I couldn’t wait to pick up another work from his intimidatingly extensive portfolio. I purchased The Bridge not long after finishing The Wasp Factory, though I must confess that I am yet to read that particular book. Whilst browsing absent-mindedly last Wednesday I happened upon Espedair Street and promptly set about reading it as soon as my disappointing experiment with the supposedly venerable Anais Nin was more or less over and done with. I was immediately refreshed by reading something so witty and engaging after plodding through something (Nin) which read more like a prolonged prose poem. Though the first part of the book is admittedly stronger than the concluding chapters, Espedair Street is, overall, a really solid novel.

So, Espedair Street, what is it all about? First published in 1987, the novel tells the story of Daniel Weir, a former rock star/songwriter who lives alone in a mock church (complete with imitation gravestones) where he spends most of his time considering both his spectacular failures and his staggering successes. Following an inauspicious childhood - innumerable siblings, incarcerated father, unfortunate looks - Weir crosses paths with a band of talented young upstarts known as ‘Frozen Gold,’ and the combination of his songwriting aptitude and their musical prowess sends them stratospheric - through the seventies at least. Most of these details, the tours and troubles and tawdry backstage exploits, are told in retrospect from Weir’s more jaded thirty-one-year-old perspective, and yet they are nonetheless compelling. It is difficult to sum up Espedair Street in any simplified way, other than to say that it is a rollicking rock biopic redolent with Banks’ signature details and sharp humour.

I started reading Espedair Street at the beginning of a three-night trip to Berlin and finished it on my return journey which, for a book of this size/length (362 pages) is pretty good going by my recent standards. It is safe to say that Espedair Street kept me well entertained through some soul-crushingly long layovers at Brussels Airport, waits which would have been unspeakably tedious without. Iain Banks is known for his versatility and creative range, and he handles the often tricky subject of rags-to-riches rock stardom with assurance and ease - he may occasionally veer into a kind of satire, but this seems to be deliberate. Furthermore, Espedair Street displays many characteristics typical of an Iain Banks novel, such as flawed and generally unattractive characters, bleak Scottish surrounds, and spooky, somewhat Gothic settings. All in all, though it might not be quite as taut as The Wasp Factory, and the ending could have been more satisfying given Banks’ pedigree, this is still a great novel from one of Britain’s most imaginative writers.

This piece was originally published on alisonlaurabell.tumblr.com in March 2012.