Ron Berry

The plot of a thriller, then, or something like one: but the manner of its telling rings and lingers; the voices capture, perfectly and utterly without caricature or condescension, the rich and swirling interior monologues of the cast. Unmawkish, unjudging, it can only have come from the pen of one completely unafraid to write from the centre of his own culture.

It's the book that I missed when I was seeking a voice in the 1980s. I'd long lost my copy, and it was then out of print, and only in the work of, in Britain, James Kelman could I find a living rhyme for my mind and soul.

But I remembered, always, the thrill of Berry's language, and his anger, and I remembered Hector, a beast in the hills, killing and eating sheep among the slag-heaps and rusting machinery of a culture forced into desuetude.

<< Prev  

By Niall Griffiths (Independent Friday, 17 December 2010)

Ron Berry 2005   Privacy Policy   Site by Chartus