I was deeply saddened today to read Iain Banks'
announcement that he has terminal cancer of the gall bladder and liver, although in typical style he was even able to bring a touch of mordant humour to that by also mentioning that he'd asked his partner Adele if she would do him the honour of becoming his widow! (She was happy to accept by the way, and they are currently off on their honeymoon).
I first encountered one of his books when browsing in James Thin for something to spend the book token I had received at school prize-giving. I had already gathered an eclectic selection of a P.G. Wodehouse omnibus, a collection of short essays by
Henry Rollins and 'It Crawled From The South', Marcus Gray's exhaustive examination of the early years of R.E.M., but I still had enough for one more. They had a display of signed paperbacks near the till, so I picked one up and, leafing through, encountered what is still my favourite opening line of a novel ever -
"It was the day my grandmother exploded"
This was in 1993, and twenty years later, I'm still happily devouring each of his new works, especially those with the additional 'M' on the dust jacket. It's still not really sunk in that the copy of 'The Hydrogen Sonata' that was sitting underneath the Christmas tree last year will be the last of those, and the upcoming 'The Quarry' will be his final book.
Prentice McHoan's exploding grandmother may have been the first death I read about in a Banks book, but it was far from the last - from the mutilated animals (and Frank's others victims) in the Wasp Factory, the novel use of a cello in Canal Dreams, and the hugely varied and imaginative ways that people are dispatched by members of Special Circumstances in the Culture novels. But despite all this, it is Banks' inherent humanism and faith in the general 'goodness' of most people that seems to inform his view of the future, and what makes it so attractive.
While I prefer his science fiction (especially so more recently), it was also important to me when I was a teenager to find mainstream, critically-lauded books that were set in a modern day Scotland, populated with folk who talked a bit like me, and featured places I'd been to or known about. Banks work helped greatly in the flourishing of a uniquely Scottish cultural identity, just like the poems of Edwin Morgan and the plays of Liz Lochhead, playing an important part in the growth of confidence in Scottish civil society that eventually lead to the formation of the Scottish Parliament, and further on to point where we now find ourselves approaching the referendum on independence. Banks is a fairly recent convert to the idea of Scottish independence, but it is particularly sad that it now seems extremely unlikely that he'll get the chance to take part in the big decision next September.
Its often a source of great debate whether Iain Banks or Iain M Banks' work is best. I enjoy both, but I have to say that my favourite of his books is not a novel at all. Raw Spirit is Banks' tale of his trips around Scotland in search of 'the perfect dram', and it comes across as almost a love letter to the land of his birth. I've read it a few times, and it never fails to make me want to travel north, to visit some small, out of the way villages and islands, and to forget about the day to day drudgery for just a little while. And I don't even like whisky!
As is the case with anyone struck by a terminal illness at a relatively young age, it seems so unfair. But if there is one silver lining to be taken from today's news, it's that Iain will actually get the chance to see just how much esteem and affection people have for him. The site I linked to above is open for comments, so if you have enjoyed any of Iain's books, you can let him know directly there.
And I'll end with the thought that I posted there -
Cheers, Iain, not just for the sheer enjoyment that your books have
brought me, but also for helping open this young man’s eyes to the
prospect of a positive future both in the short term for our shared land
and in the long term for all of mankind.