‘The Wasp Factory’ by Iain Banks

In the best possible way, The Wasp Factory was not what I was expecting. The glowing reviews, the ominous blurb, the author's own preface - none of it quite prepares you for the 244 pages that follow. First published in 1984 marking Scottish writer Iain Banks' literary breakthrough, The Wasp Factory is, above all, a story of identity.

Narrated in the first person by seventeen-year-old Frank Cauldhame, the novel deals in a world far removed from that of the average adolescent male. The protagonist lives on a remote Scottish island with little in the way of company besides his ailing father and an abundance of wildlife, his wayward older brother having escaped from a mainland mental institution. Early on we learn that Frank has committed three murders, though thanks to his highly convoluted methods of dispatching his victims he has been able to avoid blame. No-one suspects that he had anything to do with the mysterious deaths of his friend Blyth, his cousin Esmerelda, or his younger brother Paul.

While first impressions of The Wasp Factory might hint at a We Need to Talk About Kevin-cum-Michael Myers premise, that of the murderous youngster, such preconceptions are swiftly dismissed. Around the halfway mark we learn that Frank has been a eunuch since the age of three following an unfortunate incident with the family bulldog, Old Saul. Following this grisly revelation the plot thickens rather nicely, and questions were popping into my head at an alarming rate. Does Frank kill in order to satisfy his other, unfulfilled urges? Does Frank's lack of proper male genitalia explain the contempt he feels towards all women, as he is unable to feel what he ought to for them? And there were many more, of course, but these considerations were the most pressing.

The Wasp Factory is a rare beast in that the quality of the writing equals the sheer mastery of the storytelling. Iain Banks' imagination is an inimitable instrument, and its potency becomes clear within the first ten pages. I can think of a great many books and plays that boast of involving, labyrinthine plots, and I can call to mind many others that, while lacking in plot, are written in such a dextrous manner that a solid storyline seems inconsequential. The Wasp Factory defies this imagined Venn diagram of mine, for both the plot and the writing itself are of the highest quality. The whole work is suffused with a distinctly Gothic gloom; the feeling of isolation herein evokes the spirit of many a nineteenth century masterpiece.

Just when you think you've got The Wasp Factory licked, Banks confronts you with the mother of all twists, and in doing so he keeps you on tenterhooks right up until the last sentence. An extraordinary denouement sets up a cruelly humorous ending, providing a fitting conclusion to this engrossing and accomplished suspense story. If you can get through some of the more gruesome scenes you'll be rewarded with a work of surprising insight, one that will keep you guessing long after the final page.

This piece was originally published on alisonlaurabell.tumblr.com in December 2011.