‘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.’
It’s hardly original of me to begin by quoting the first lines of this book but they set the tone for this irreverent part-mystery part-family-saga novel, stretching between the Hebrides and Glasgow, and spanning several generations of the McHoan family. Although I’ve included it as a book that made me laugh it isn’t a comedy as such but as with most Iain Banks novels there’s a rich vein of wry humour throughout.
Looking at reviews, it seems to be something of a Marmite book – people either love it or hate it – but I loved it and it’s probably due for a re-read next year. Maybe in the summer if The Husband succeeds in his plan for our summer holiday to be spent on some midge-plagued island off the West coast…
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