Shuggie Bain is the unforgettable story of young Hugh “Shuggie” Bain, a sweet and lonely boy who spends his 1980s childhood in run-down public housing in Glasgow, Scotland. Thatcher’s policies have put husbands and sons out of work, and the city’s notorious drugs epidemic is waiting in the wings.
Shuggie’s mother Agnes walks a wayward path: she is Shuggie’s guiding light but a burden for him and his siblings. She dreams of a house with its own front door while she flicks through the pages of the Freemans catalogue, ordering a little happiness on credit, anything to brighten up her grey life. Married to a philandering taxi-driver husband, Agnes keeps her pride by looking good—her beehive, make-up, and pearly-white false teeth offer a glamorous image of a Glaswegian Elizabeth Taylor. But under the surface, Agnes finds increasing solace in drink, and she drains away the lion’s share of each week’s …
Shuggie Bain is the unforgettable story of young Hugh “Shuggie” Bain, a sweet and lonely boy who spends his 1980s childhood in run-down public housing in Glasgow, Scotland. Thatcher’s policies have put husbands and sons out of work, and the city’s notorious drugs epidemic is waiting in the wings.
Shuggie’s mother Agnes walks a wayward path: she is Shuggie’s guiding light but a burden for him and his siblings. She dreams of a house with its own front door while she flicks through the pages of the Freemans catalogue, ordering a little happiness on credit, anything to brighten up her grey life. Married to a philandering taxi-driver husband, Agnes keeps her pride by looking good—her beehive, make-up, and pearly-white false teeth offer a glamorous image of a Glaswegian Elizabeth Taylor. But under the surface, Agnes finds increasing solace in drink, and she drains away the lion’s share of each week’s benefits—all the family has to live on—on cans of extra-strong lager hidden in handbags and poured into tea mugs. Agnes’s older children find their own ways to get a safe distance from their mother, abandoning Shuggie to care for her as she swings between alcoholic binges and sobriety. Shuggie is meanwhile struggling to somehow become the normal boy he desperately longs to be, but everyone has realized that he is “no right,” a boy with a secret that all but him can see. Agnes is supportive of her son, but her addiction has the power to eclipse everyone close to her—even her beloved Shuggie.
A heartbreaking story of addiction, sexuality, and love, Shuggie Bain is an epic portrayal of a working-class family that is rarely seen in fiction. Recalling the work of Édouard Louis, Alan Hollinghurst, Frank McCourt, and Hanya Yanagihara, it is a blistering debut by a brilliant novelist who has a powerful and important story to tell.
A fine tale, tough in the telling, of the struggles you have with doomed love.
I wonder however if it would’ve been quite so successful if it had less of the working class porn so beloved of the bleeding hearts, making them feel better about their plain, unexciting, drunken lives.
Or mebbe I’m just a cynic.
I made it to chapter 8 (about 22% in) and decided to pull the plug. It's dark and I didn't find that I cared enough about any of the characters to keep going. Shame, because I was hoping it would be reminiscent of "A Little Life." Mais non.
Un très beau roman qui nous plonge à Glasgow dans les années 1980, à la rencontre de Shuggie, un jeune garçon différent issu d'un milieu défavorisé, entre sa mère alcoolique, un père plus souvent absent que présent, et son frère et sa soeur aînés qui n'attendent qu'une seule chose : pouvoir fuir le domicile familial.
C'est tragique, parfois glauque, mais aussi plein d'amour. Pas de l'amour façon bons sentiments qui dégoulinent de guimauve, de l'amour triste mais sincère, profond. Celui d'un fils pour sa mère qu'il essaye de sauver de ses démons et qu'il aime malgré tout. Celui d'un grand frère frustré de ne pas pouvoir l'aider à fuir à son tour cette situation infernale.
C'est vraiment un très beau premier roman pour Douglas Stuart, dont je vais m'empresser de lire son deuxième roman, que j'imagine autant autobiographique que celui-ci.
Bijzonder vind ik het zelf dat ik het toch vier sterren gegeven heb. Na de eerste bijna honderd pagina's dacht ik er serieus over te stoppen met het boek vanwege de ontzettende ellende waar je over leest. Ellende waar geen eind aan kan komen, lijkt het. Toch las ik verder en ging het verhaal me steeds meer bezighouden. Beetje bij beetje lukt het de jonge hoofdpersoon toch zich te ontwikkelen ondanks zijn leven in een achterbuurt (jaren 80), een alcoholische moeder, vaak geen eten in huis, en een eerst vreemdgaande en later half verdwenen vader.
Knowing that this story pulls a lot from the author’s life is what really upped the rating on this for me. I’m kind of amazed at his compassionate portrayal of an alcoholic mother having had one himself. I’m relieved that the author seems to be in a healthy place if even a little bit of this book is straight from his life! I’d have called this book melodramatic and probably liked it less if I didn’t know the author has a similar story. Since it is his story, I don’t feel like he’s manipulating me for emotional impact, or not as much.
It’s rare that a book makes me tear up, but when Agnes first kicks Shuggie out near the end of the book, that hit me hard. Just so sad to read people self-destruct and hurt others on the way down. In contrast, his mother dying the way she …
Knowing that this story pulls a lot from the author’s life is what really upped the rating on this for me. I’m kind of amazed at his compassionate portrayal of an alcoholic mother having had one himself. I’m relieved that the author seems to be in a healthy place if even a little bit of this book is straight from his life! I’d have called this book melodramatic and probably liked it less if I didn’t know the author has a similar story. Since it is his story, I don’t feel like he’s manipulating me for emotional impact, or not as much.
It’s rare that a book makes me tear up, but when Agnes first kicks Shuggie out near the end of the book, that hit me hard. Just so sad to read people self-destruct and hurt others on the way down. In contrast, his mother dying the way she did surprised me but didn’t make me cry. It was a little sudden, I think.
I don’t give this 5 stars because my favorite kind of books get really internal, and I was never deep in Shuggie’s head. The scene when his mother dies is a good example of when I’d like to know so much more than what the author has given me about the character’s thoughts.
I was happy to have that hopeful moment in the end when Shuggie dances. It feels like he is starting to become comfortable with who he is, and that his mother was able to pass on at least one nugget of wisdom to him.
Immersive and real. I could smell Glasgow in every page. The desperation of these well-rounded characters trying to survive through post-industrial poverty, and the moments of human beauty despite it all, ring true. The writing is excellent; the heart at the center of it all beats strong.
Here's the bad thing about [a:Douglas Stuart|19629033|Douglas Stuart|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1570471773p2/19629033.jpg]'s debut novel, [b:Shuggie Bain|52741293|Shuggie Bain|Douglas Stuart|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1602094778l/52741293.SY75.jpg|72463055]: He misuses the word "disinterested" twice. Most people do that these days. They think it's a smarter version of "uninterested." It's kind of like how most people these days use "empathy" when they mean "sympathy." The difference between disinterested and uninterested is simple. Read this next sentence and you'll get it right forever: If you're on trial for something, you want a judge who's disinterested in your case, but you don't want a judge who is uninterested in it.
Like I said, most people get it wrong, but Douglas Stuart is not most people and he's not even most writers. Shuggie Bain (Shuggie rhymes with huggie) is the best novel I've read in years, far too good for me to talk about intelligently. A warning, though; it's dark. If you've read anything by [a:Alan …
Here's the bad thing about [a:Douglas Stuart|19629033|Douglas Stuart|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1570471773p2/19629033.jpg]'s debut novel, [b:Shuggie Bain|52741293|Shuggie Bain|Douglas Stuart|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1602094778l/52741293.SY75.jpg|72463055]: He misuses the word "disinterested" twice. Most people do that these days. They think it's a smarter version of "uninterested." It's kind of like how most people these days use "empathy" when they mean "sympathy." The difference between disinterested and uninterested is simple. Read this next sentence and you'll get it right forever: If you're on trial for something, you want a judge who's disinterested in your case, but you don't want a judge who is uninterested in it.
Like I said, most people get it wrong, but Douglas Stuart is not most people and he's not even most writers. Shuggie Bain (Shuggie rhymes with huggie) is the best novel I've read in years, far too good for me to talk about intelligently. A warning, though; it's dark. If you've read anything by [a:Alan Sillitoe|41121|Alan Sillitoe|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1242123079p2/41121.jpg], think of it as being along those lines. Also, if descriptions of alcoholism disturbs you, consider this a trigger warning. It'd be a shame, though, if you avoided this book for any reason. It's brilliant.
Agnes had to sink three whole lager cans before she could go out the front door. A group of women stood in a cluster by the fence, their arms folded like car bumpers. It was like they had been waiting there since she had moved in four months prior. The cold didn't seem to bother them. The ground was littered with cigarette douts, and there were dirty tea mugs stacked on the fence posts. They stopped talking and turned as one when she came out the front door. Holding her head high, Agnes made sure the clicks of her black heels were sharp and clear on the pavement. She smiled haughtily at the women in their leggings and slippers. She passed them by, heading up the road to the Miners Club, to forgetfulness.
Yeah, it was good, but it kind of bummed me out.
