How Late It Was, How Late – James Kelman

I’ve never come across this style before, a stream-of-consciousness written in the third person. Combine this eccentric decision with the use of demotic Glaswegian, liberal use of the f word and a unique way with paragraph breaks and you get something…pretty compelling actually. Not quite enough to justify 370 pages of essentially plotless book, but certainly highly memorable.

I'm sure that this gives no real impression oh how the prose reads, so here's an example:

Ach it was hopeless. That was what ye felt. These bastards. What can ye do but. Except start again so he started again. That was what he did he started again. …ye just plough on, ye plough on, ye just fucking plough on … ye just fucking push ahead, ye get fucking on with it.