"Ye wake in a corner and stay there hoping yer body will disappear, the thoughts smothering ye; these thoughts; but ye want to remember and face up to things, just something keeps ye from doing it, why can ye no do it; the words filling yer head: then the other words; there's something wrong; there's something far far wrong; ye're no a good man, ye're just no a good man." From the moment Sammy wakes slumped in a park corner, stiff and sore after a two-day drinking binge and wearing another man's shoes, James Kelman's Booker Prize-winning novel How Late it Was, How Late loosens a torrent of furious stream-of-consciousness prose that never lets up. Beaten savagely by Glasgow police, the shoplifting ex-con Sammy is hauled off to jail, where he wakes to a world gone black. For the rest of the novel he stumbles around the rainy streets of Glasgow, brandishing a sawed-off mop handle and trying in vain to make sense of the nightmare his life has become. Sammy's girlfriend disappears; the police question him for a crime they won't name; the doctor refuses to admit that he's blind; and his attempts to get disability compensation founder in Kafkaesque red tape. Gritty, profane, darkly comic and steeped in both American country music and working-class Scottish vernacular, Sammy's is a voice the reader won't soon forget. --Mary Park

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

Novel of the year, 31 Aug 2008
This is a hugely moving book that tightly grips itself around your heart and mind like a beanstalk animated upwards at a rate of knots. Its vivid period setting gives great texture to the narrative, but the truth of being a boy between the ages of 7 and 12 is what it's all about. It's a marvellous sustained piece of writing and a beautiful work of art. Nothing else to be said.

a rich inner life, 13 Aug 2008
I meant to wait till the paperback was out. Then I read the first paragraph and knew I had to read on. So I bought the hardback and read avidly. The book occupied train journeys, evenings when I should have been doing something else, and days of a seaside holiday.

This isn't a novel about plot but about the way life changes - and the way children are changed by life. But from that first paragraph I cared about Kieron as an individual human being and I wanted to follow him - so I did. He seemed real in his perceptions, the physical and sensory details of his experiences, and the speech patterns and rhythms which bring his thoughts to life.

In an early essay, James Kelman argued that most of English literature denies the working class - especially working-class Glaswegians - a rich inner life. Kieron's inner life is undoubtedly rich and, as a reader, I mourned every small opportunity that was closed to him.

The novel is in no way political but the sense that children like Kieron are as fully human as other children - and as deserving of opportunities - forces a political response that says a good deal about our society today.

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

Novel of the year, 31 Aug 2008
This is a hugely moving book that tightly grips itself around your heart and mind like a beanstalk animated upwards at a rate of knots. Its vivid period setting gives great texture to the narrative, but the truth of being a boy between the ages of 7 and 12 is what it's all about. It's a marvellous sustained piece of writing and a beautiful work of art. Nothing else to be said.

a rich inner life, 13 Aug 2008
I meant to wait till the paperback was out. Then I read the first paragraph and knew I had to read on. So I bought the hardback and read avidly. The book occupied train journeys, evenings when I should have been doing something else, and days of a seaside holiday.

This isn't a novel about plot but about the way life changes - and the way children are changed by life. But from that first paragraph I cared about Kieron as an individual human being and I wanted to follow him - so I did. He seemed real in his perceptions, the physical and sensory details of his experiences, and the speech patterns and rhythms which bring his thoughts to life.

In an early essay, James Kelman argued that most of English literature denies the working class - especially working-class Glaswegians - a rich inner life. Kieron's inner life is undoubtedly rich and, as a reader, I mourned every small opportunity that was closed to him.

The novel is in no way political but the sense that children like Kieron are as fully human as other children - and as deserving of opportunities - forces a political response that says a good deal about our society today.



Great introduction from a future Booker Prize winner, 09 Oct 2007
As short story collections go, this one is way better than average, because the young author sticks to the world he knows and does not pretend to have any great new ideas, or literary pretentions. This is simply street writing by someone we can easily believe has been there himself. The language is very fresh and completely unpolished, although the way it's written, especially in the excellent title story, achieves poetry. It was no surprise the author later went on to win the Booker prize.

title story a CLASSIC!, 19 Sep 1999
A collection of superb short stories "Not Not While The Giro" is a classic in its field ."Jim Dandy" and "No Longer the warehouseman" similary describe the angst undergone by what the Tories and new labour might class as the Sub Species of Society.Brilliant Kafkaesque despair beneeath the humour.

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

Novel of the year, 31 Aug 2008
This is a hugely moving book that tightly grips itself around your heart and mind like a beanstalk animated upwards at a rate of knots. Its vivid period setting gives great texture to the narrative, but the truth of being a boy between the ages of 7 and 12 is what it's all about. It's a marvellous sustained piece of writing and a beautiful work of art. Nothing else to be said.

a rich inner life, 13 Aug 2008
I meant to wait till the paperback was out. Then I read the first paragraph and knew I had to read on. So I bought the hardback and read avidly. The book occupied train journeys, evenings when I should have been doing something else, and days of a seaside holiday.

This isn't a novel about plot but about the way life changes - and the way children are changed by life. But from that first paragraph I cared about Kieron as an individual human being and I wanted to follow him - so I did. He seemed real in his perceptions, the physical and sensory details of his experiences, and the speech patterns and rhythms which bring his thoughts to life.

In an early essay, James Kelman argued that most of English literature denies the working class - especially working-class Glaswegians - a rich inner life. Kieron's inner life is undoubtedly rich and, as a reader, I mourned every small opportunity that was closed to him.

The novel is in no way political but the sense that children like Kieron are as fully human as other children - and as deserving of opportunities - forces a political response that says a good deal about our society today.



Great introduction from a future Booker Prize winner, 09 Oct 2007
As short story collections go, this one is way better than average, because the young author sticks to the world he knows and does not pretend to have any great new ideas, or literary pretentions. This is simply street writing by someone we can easily believe has been there himself. The language is very fresh and completely unpolished, although the way it's written, especially in the excellent title story, achieves poetry. It was no surprise the author later went on to win the Booker prize.

title story a CLASSIC!, 19 Sep 1999
A collection of superb short stories "Not Not While The Giro" is a classic in its field ."Jim Dandy" and "No Longer the warehouseman" similary describe the angst undergone by what the Tories and new labour might class as the Sub Species of Society.Brilliant Kafkaesque despair beneeath the humour.

Hard going, 01 Dec 2006
I guess James Kelman isn't everyone's cup of tea. He seems (from reading only two of his works!) to do interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk very well. The trouble is, the interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk can be quite repetitive and rather dull. And, in case anyone is wondering, nothing happens. There isn't some brilliant twist that pulls it together at the end. Wysiwyg.

Having read A Disaffection, I feel that I know Patrick Doyle pretty well.I understand his failings and inadequacies. I understand how he is envious of his brother's family, as his brother is envious of Partick's education and job. I understand how hopeless is his infatuation with Alison and his inability to deal with women. But I'm not sure it was worth investing two weeks of very slow reading to get to this point. Maybe I'm just shallow...

Don't get me wrong, I didn't hate the book. Neither do I imagine it will fade from the memory as quickly as the latest murder mystery. It is a deep study of human nature. But I'm quite glad now to have my hands on a murder mystery as an antidote.

depressing tedium, 24 Jan 2002
Goes nowhere, does nothing except depress the reader (which may be the whole point of course, but who *really* wants to spend a couple of days with this guy?), "experimental" techniques with language = mostly poor writing (in my opinion of course!). A book that those who like to think they are in the know will love, but that most people will reject or give up as the hopeless tosh it is.

The most important novel of the 1980s, 23 May 2001
Pat Doyle is a 29-year-old teacher who hates his job, and develops a crush on a fellow colleague, Alison. The story opens when he picks up a pair of pipes from outside the art centre. Throughout the novel he treats the pipes, and Alison, as a means of escapism - to the point of obsession. Naturally, it looks as if neither of these desires will transpire to much, mainly because Pat appears to be a dreamer. Even when he seems to take positive steps, we are sceptical.

Kelman uses familiar surroundings and dialect to create something entirely original. Like A Chancer, there's a sense of frustration when the main character seems so trapped - usually due to a lack of money and motivation. This could be said to mirror Kelman's own life; in an interview he's mentioned that his wife still has to work at the Social Security, despite him winning the Booker Prize for his novel How Late it was, How Late.

The key to the success of this book - aside from the deep sense of character so common in Kelman's work - is in the experimental language. There are traces of Joycean stream-of-consciousness, but with none of the pretension attributed to copyists, and, most importantly, no sense of the confusion common in Ulysses or Finnegans Wake. We may not know all of the literary references, but we definitely understand.

This is one of the most important novels of the 80s - if not ever. It's certainly one of Kelman's best.

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

Novel of the year, 31 Aug 2008
This is a hugely moving book that tightly grips itself around your heart and mind like a beanstalk animated upwards at a rate of knots. Its vivid period setting gives great texture to the narrative, but the truth of being a boy between the ages of 7 and 12 is what it's all about. It's a marvellous sustained piece of writing and a beautiful work of art. Nothing else to be said.

a rich inner life, 13 Aug 2008
I meant to wait till the paperback was out. Then I read the first paragraph and knew I had to read on. So I bought the hardback and read avidly. The book occupied train journeys, evenings when I should have been doing something else, and days of a seaside holiday.

This isn't a novel about plot but about the way life changes - and the way children are changed by life. But from that first paragraph I cared about Kieron as an individual human being and I wanted to follow him - so I did. He seemed real in his perceptions, the physical and sensory details of his experiences, and the speech patterns and rhythms which bring his thoughts to life.

In an early essay, James Kelman argued that most of English literature denies the working class - especially working-class Glaswegians - a rich inner life. Kieron's inner life is undoubtedly rich and, as a reader, I mourned every small opportunity that was closed to him.

The novel is in no way political but the sense that children like Kieron are as fully human as other children - and as deserving of opportunities - forces a political response that says a good deal about our society today.



Great introduction from a future Booker Prize winner, 09 Oct 2007
As short story collections go, this one is way better than average, because the young author sticks to the world he knows and does not pretend to have any great new ideas, or literary pretentions. This is simply street writing by someone we can easily believe has been there himself. The language is very fresh and completely unpolished, although the way it's written, especially in the excellent title story, achieves poetry. It was no surprise the author later went on to win the Booker prize.

title story a CLASSIC!, 19 Sep 1999
A collection of superb short stories "Not Not While The Giro" is a classic in its field ."Jim Dandy" and "No Longer the warehouseman" similary describe the angst undergone by what the Tories and new labour might class as the Sub Species of Society.Brilliant Kafkaesque despair beneeath the humour.

Hard going, 01 Dec 2006
I guess James Kelman isn't everyone's cup of tea. He seems (from reading only two of his works!) to do interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk very well. The trouble is, the interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk can be quite repetitive and rather dull. And, in case anyone is wondering, nothing happens. There isn't some brilliant twist that pulls it together at the end. Wysiwyg.

Having read A Disaffection, I feel that I know Patrick Doyle pretty well.I understand his failings and inadequacies. I understand how he is envious of his brother's family, as his brother is envious of Partick's education and job. I understand how hopeless is his infatuation with Alison and his inability to deal with women. But I'm not sure it was worth investing two weeks of very slow reading to get to this point. Maybe I'm just shallow...

Don't get me wrong, I didn't hate the book. Neither do I imagine it will fade from the memory as quickly as the latest murder mystery. It is a deep study of human nature. But I'm quite glad now to have my hands on a murder mystery as an antidote.

depressing tedium, 24 Jan 2002
Goes nowhere, does nothing except depress the reader (which may be the whole point of course, but who *really* wants to spend a couple of days with this guy?), "experimental" techniques with language = mostly poor writing (in my opinion of course!). A book that those who like to think they are in the know will love, but that most people will reject or give up as the hopeless tosh it is.

The most important novel of the 1980s, 23 May 2001
Pat Doyle is a 29-year-old teacher who hates his job, and develops a crush on a fellow colleague, Alison. The story opens when he picks up a pair of pipes from outside the art centre. Throughout the novel he treats the pipes, and Alison, as a means of escapism - to the point of obsession. Naturally, it looks as if neither of these desires will transpire to much, mainly because Pat appears to be a dreamer. Even when he seems to take positive steps, we are sceptical.

Kelman uses familiar surroundings and dialect to create something entirely original. Like A Chancer, there's a sense of frustration when the main character seems so trapped - usually due to a lack of money and motivation. This could be said to mirror Kelman's own life; in an interview he's mentioned that his wife still has to work at the Social Security, despite him winning the Booker Prize for his novel How Late it was, How Late.

The key to the success of this book - aside from the deep sense of character so common in Kelman's work - is in the experimental language. There are traces of Joycean stream-of-consciousness, but with none of the pretension attributed to copyists, and, most importantly, no sense of the confusion common in Ulysses or Finnegans Wake. We may not know all of the literary references, but we definitely understand.

This is one of the most important novels of the 80s - if not ever. It's certainly one of Kelman's best.

Not sure if i love or hate this book..., 24 Apr 2008
Very hard going in places and defo at least 100 pages too long. Quite hard to follow in places - takes a bit of getting used to when deciphering when the main character is recalling a conversation if he is thinking, speaking, listening. Could have been a lot better but for some reason i still enjoyed it. Some great moments but sadly to few and far to far between. I'm still no sure if its genius or pash to be honest...

U S of Nay, 27 Feb 2006
This was a massive let down. Kelman has persistently turned out brilliant novels and short-story collections, most of which have been based in or around the milieus of the Scottish working classes. Thus you can see what he was trying to do with this book (and his previous effort, Translated Accounts): to show that he is not just a one trick pony.
The Scottish working class guy is still here, but Kelman has dumped him in America's nowhere land. Here he spends most of his time in bars making himself an object of suspicion and making others the object of his suspicion. When he has a bit of time left over he muses upon his girlfriends and ex-girlfriends and rails against bureaucracy.
It's fairly plotless, as is Kelman's wont, and this is not where my problem lies. The book just doesn't feel as authentic as his previous efforts. There are some fine set pieces, but the novel ultimately feels a bit tacked on, which is the antithesis of what Kelman has come to stand for.
It's hard to describe why this is, because, as I said, Kelman has never been one for plot, or characters you can empathise/sympathise with, so such absences are not why this book doesn't pull 'it' off.
The book started strongly, but dissipated into fritterings. I don't know if Kelman felt the need to produce something bigger than his standard 300-page novels (doubtful, considering the man's general disregard for most 'accepted' things), but 'Land of the Free' would've greatly benefited from losing 100 pages or so. Kelman's previous works use patois to develop a real narrative flow, creating a lyrical bounce not dissimilar to poetry. This was definitely lacking here, and is probably the key factor behind my dislike of the novel: it feels more like an Irvine Welsh than a James Kelman, which is no good thing. This lack of bounce also made it a slower and less enjoyable read than 'A Dissafection' or 'How Late it Was...'; and the protagonist, Jeremiah, had less Kelmanesque impudent charm as a result.
I still give it three stars though, because it is far superior to many other contemporary novels and because Kelman is to an extent a victim of his own high standards.

You have to be persistent in the land of Kelman, 14 Nov 2005
It's not easy being a James Kelman fan. You often find yourself defending him from the eternal optimists who think he's just a sour-faced old Weegie with an axe to grind. Then there's the London circle of the so-called 'quality' papers, lambasting his vulgarity and 'unnecessary' swearing . And to top it all, with his last effort, 'Translated Accounts', Kelman gave us a novel without chapters, characters or setting, a 300 page exercise in unreadability. The devil!

Yet we endure all this happily for the following reason. Kelman is one of very the few writers out there who combines genuine literary talent with a true appreciation of what real life is really like for the average Joe, a million miles away from that which the dons of News, TV and advertising would have us believe.

In 'You Have to Be Careful...', Kelman has evidently decided to treat us, the faithful few, to a slighly less-demanding but no-less serious a novel as 'Translated Accounts'. We get a protagonist, ex-patriate Scot Jeremiah Brown. We get a setting, an anonymous town in the backwater of the American Mid-West. We even get a love interest, ex-girlfriend Yasmin, albeit through Jeremiah's memories alone. Lucky us!

The plot, so much as there is one (Kelman's not big on once-upon-a-time), is that Jeremiah, a Glaswegian, self-proclaimed 'unassimilatit alien' living in America, is holed up in a bar for a night (when he really should be catching a plane home as he promised his mother he would), letting his thoughts slide freely between past and present, hopes, fears and regrets. In this sense, the novel is really just an extended character study, but one which takes us deep into the psyche of a character caught between two worlds, not completely at ease in either.

This is a definite return to form for Kelman, a writer who takes his art very seriously indeed. Although it may lack the punch of 'How Late it Was, How Late', or the complexity of 'A Disaffection', 'You Have to Be Careful...' stakes its worth in its creation of a character both flawed and dignified, pessimistic and witty. And by elucidating his personal history, full of the simple tragedies and triumphs that all ordinary people go through, Kelman performs that rare Frankensteinean feat of bringing his character to life.

'You Have to Be Careful...' is a wonderfully liberated account of one man's experiences on the other side of the pond, and with its subtle yet sardonic attack on the US Immigration Service, Kelman is as politically charged as ever.

Did I miss something?!, 01 Sep 2005
I had great hopes for this novel, emblazoned as it was with praise for the writer. However this should have been the first hint that something was amiss - said praise focussed purely on the writer and not the actual novel. So while his previous work may have changed the world, You Have to be Careful in the Land of the Free could easily break that pattern... and it does.

So I kept hoping I was missing something... I think of myself as an intelligent being and do not require a novel to have a traditional structure to impress me. But this never quite took off. I have given it two stars because at times Kelman's prose is captivating - but these moments were too few and far between. I was left feeling that the only lesson I learnt was this - you have to be careful which books you choose in the library...

great book - bad night, 19 Aug 2004
a fantastic read,
a perfect summary of what goes on in one's head when is on a batter by oneself, sums up perfecly the conversations one has with oneself and others

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

Novel of the year, 31 Aug 2008
This is a hugely moving book that tightly grips itself around your heart and mind like a beanstalk animated upwards at a rate of knots. Its vivid period setting gives great texture to the narrative, but the truth of being a boy between the ages of 7 and 12 is what it's all about. It's a marvellous sustained piece of writing and a beautiful work of art. Nothing else to be said.

a rich inner life, 13 Aug 2008
I meant to wait till the paperback was out. Then I read the first paragraph and knew I had to read on. So I bought the hardback and read avidly. The book occupied train journeys, evenings when I should have been doing something else, and days of a seaside holiday.

This isn't a novel about plot but about the way life changes - and the way children are changed by life. But from that first paragraph I cared about Kieron as an individual human being and I wanted to follow him - so I did. He seemed real in his perceptions, the physical and sensory details of his experiences, and the speech patterns and rhythms which bring his thoughts to life.

In an early essay, James Kelman argued that most of English literature denies the working class - especially working-class Glaswegians - a rich inner life. Kieron's inner life is undoubtedly rich and, as a reader, I mourned every small opportunity that was closed to him.

The novel is in no way political but the sense that children like Kieron are as fully human as other children - and as deserving of opportunities - forces a political response that says a good deal about our society today.



Great introduction from a future Booker Prize winner, 09 Oct 2007
As short story collections go, this one is way better than average, because the young author sticks to the world he knows and does not pretend to have any great new ideas, or literary pretentions. This is simply street writing by someone we can easily believe has been there himself. The language is very fresh and completely unpolished, although the way it's written, especially in the excellent title story, achieves poetry. It was no surprise the author later went on to win the Booker prize.

title story a CLASSIC!, 19 Sep 1999
A collection of superb short stories "Not Not While The Giro" is a classic in its field ."Jim Dandy" and "No Longer the warehouseman" similary describe the angst undergone by what the Tories and new labour might class as the Sub Species of Society.Brilliant Kafkaesque despair beneeath the humour.

Hard going, 01 Dec 2006
I guess James Kelman isn't everyone's cup of tea. He seems (from reading only two of his works!) to do interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk very well. The trouble is, the interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk can be quite repetitive and rather dull. And, in case anyone is wondering, nothing happens. There isn't some brilliant twist that pulls it together at the end. Wysiwyg.

Having read A Disaffection, I feel that I know Patrick Doyle pretty well.I understand his failings and inadequacies. I understand how he is envious of his brother's family, as his brother is envious of Partick's education and job. I understand how hopeless is his infatuation with Alison and his inability to deal with women. But I'm not sure it was worth investing two weeks of very slow reading to get to this point. Maybe I'm just shallow...

Don't get me wrong, I didn't hate the book. Neither do I imagine it will fade from the memory as quickly as the latest murder mystery. It is a deep study of human nature. But I'm quite glad now to have my hands on a murder mystery as an antidote.

depressing tedium, 24 Jan 2002
Goes nowhere, does nothing except depress the reader (which may be the whole point of course, but who *really* wants to spend a couple of days with this guy?), "experimental" techniques with language = mostly poor writing (in my opinion of course!). A book that those who like to think they are in the know will love, but that most people will reject or give up as the hopeless tosh it is.

The most important novel of the 1980s, 23 May 2001
Pat Doyle is a 29-year-old teacher who hates his job, and develops a crush on a fellow colleague, Alison. The story opens when he picks up a pair of pipes from outside the art centre. Throughout the novel he treats the pipes, and Alison, as a means of escapism - to the point of obsession. Naturally, it looks as if neither of these desires will transpire to much, mainly because Pat appears to be a dreamer. Even when he seems to take positive steps, we are sceptical.

Kelman uses familiar surroundings and dialect to create something entirely original. Like A Chancer, there's a sense of frustration when the main character seems so trapped - usually due to a lack of money and motivation. This could be said to mirror Kelman's own life; in an interview he's mentioned that his wife still has to work at the Social Security, despite him winning the Booker Prize for his novel How Late it was, How Late.

The key to the success of this book - aside from the deep sense of character so common in Kelman's work - is in the experimental language. There are traces of Joycean stream-of-consciousness, but with none of the pretension attributed to copyists, and, most importantly, no sense of the confusion common in Ulysses or Finnegans Wake. We may not know all of the literary references, but we definitely understand.

This is one of the most important novels of the 80s - if not ever. It's certainly one of Kelman's best.

Not sure if i love or hate this book..., 24 Apr 2008
Very hard going in places and defo at least 100 pages too long. Quite hard to follow in places - takes a bit of getting used to when deciphering when the main character is recalling a conversation if he is thinking, speaking, listening. Could have been a lot better but for some reason i still enjoyed it. Some great moments but sadly to few and far to far between. I'm still no sure if its genius or pash to be honest...

U S of Nay, 27 Feb 2006
This was a massive let down. Kelman has persistently turned out brilliant novels and short-story collections, most of which have been based in or around the milieus of the Scottish working classes. Thus you can see what he was trying to do with this book (and his previous effort, Translated Accounts): to show that he is not just a one trick pony.
The Scottish working class guy is still here, but Kelman has dumped him in America's nowhere land. Here he spends most of his time in bars making himself an object of suspicion and making others the object of his suspicion. When he has a bit of time left over he muses upon his girlfriends and ex-girlfriends and rails against bureaucracy.
It's fairly plotless, as is Kelman's wont, and this is not where my problem lies. The book just doesn't feel as authentic as his previous efforts. There are some fine set pieces, but the novel ultimately feels a bit tacked on, which is the antithesis of what Kelman has come to stand for.
It's hard to describe why this is, because, as I said, Kelman has never been one for plot, or characters you can empathise/sympathise with, so such absences are not why this book doesn't pull 'it' off.
The book started strongly, but dissipated into fritterings. I don't know if Kelman felt the need to produce something bigger than his standard 300-page novels (doubtful, considering the man's general disregard for most 'accepted' things), but 'Land of the Free' would've greatly benefited from losing 100 pages or so. Kelman's previous works use patois to develop a real narrative flow, creating a lyrical bounce not dissimilar to poetry. This was definitely lacking here, and is probably the key factor behind my dislike of the novel: it feels more like an Irvine Welsh than a James Kelman, which is no good thing. This lack of bounce also made it a slower and less enjoyable read than 'A Dissafection' or 'How Late it Was...'; and the protagonist, Jeremiah, had less Kelmanesque impudent charm as a result.
I still give it three stars though, because it is far superior to many other contemporary novels and because Kelman is to an extent a victim of his own high standards.

You have to be persistent in the land of Kelman, 14 Nov 2005
It's not easy being a James Kelman fan. You often find yourself defending him from the eternal optimists who think he's just a sour-faced old Weegie with an axe to grind. Then there's the London circle of the so-called 'quality' papers, lambasting his vulgarity and 'unnecessary' swearing . And to top it all, with his last effort, 'Translated Accounts', Kelman gave us a novel without chapters, characters or setting, a 300 page exercise in unreadability. The devil!

Yet we endure all this happily for the following reason. Kelman is one of very the few writers out there who combines genuine literary talent with a true appreciation of what real life is really like for the average Joe, a million miles away from that which the dons of News, TV and advertising would have us believe.

In 'You Have to Be Careful...', Kelman has evidently decided to treat us, the faithful few, to a slighly less-demanding but no-less serious a novel as 'Translated Accounts'. We get a protagonist, ex-patriate Scot Jeremiah Brown. We get a setting, an anonymous town in the backwater of the American Mid-West. We even get a love interest, ex-girlfriend Yasmin, albeit through Jeremiah's memories alone. Lucky us!

The plot, so much as there is one (Kelman's not big on once-upon-a-time), is that Jeremiah, a Glaswegian, self-proclaimed 'unassimilatit alien' living in America, is holed up in a bar for a night (when he really should be catching a plane home as he promised his mother he would), letting his thoughts slide freely between past and present, hopes, fears and regrets. In this sense, the novel is really just an extended character study, but one which takes us deep into the psyche of a character caught between two worlds, not completely at ease in either.

This is a definite return to form for Kelman, a writer who takes his art very seriously indeed. Although it may lack the punch of 'How Late it Was, How Late', or the complexity of 'A Disaffection', 'You Have to Be Careful...' stakes its worth in its creation of a character both flawed and dignified, pessimistic and witty. And by elucidating his personal history, full of the simple tragedies and triumphs that all ordinary people go through, Kelman performs that rare Frankensteinean feat of bringing his character to life.

'You Have to Be Careful...' is a wonderfully liberated account of one man's experiences on the other side of the pond, and with its subtle yet sardonic attack on the US Immigration Service, Kelman is as politically charged as ever.

Did I miss something?!, 01 Sep 2005
I had great hopes for this novel, emblazoned as it was with praise for the writer. However this should have been the first hint that something was amiss - said praise focussed purely on the writer and not the actual novel. So while his previous work may have changed the world, You Have to be Careful in the Land of the Free could easily break that pattern... and it does.

So I kept hoping I was missing something... I think of myself as an intelligent being and do not require a novel to have a traditional structure to impress me. But this never quite took off. I have given it two stars because at times Kelman's prose is captivating - but these moments were too few and far between. I was left feeling that the only lesson I learnt was this - you have to be careful which books you choose in the library...

great book - bad night, 19 Aug 2004
a fantastic read,
a perfect summary of what goes on in one's head when is on a batter by oneself, sums up perfecly the conversations one has with oneself and others

Shots From the Hard Shoulder, 04 Oct 2005
After 'Some Recent Attacks'(1992), this is another collection of Kelman's non-fiction work featuring political/literary essays, newspaper articles, speeches and other bits and bobs including a section on Noam Chomsky, and 'A Look at Franz Kafka's Three Novels' which, in dissertation-style, dissects the eccentric's masterworks with a fine toothpick.

Kelman, an old-school hard-left activist and fierce anti-authoritarian, is a man who knows his stuff and is not frightened to tell it like it is. Here is somebody equipped with that most feared of weapons - the pen. And boy, does he use it. At times you feel you're receiving a sermon from a particularly indignant preacher; at other times maybe you're in a low-lit pub with a well-read (but whisky-fuelled) bar-room philosopher as he humourousy recounts the trials and tribulations of his life and the world around him. But that's Kelman for you - hard-hitting AND intimate, sometimes both at once. And whether you like it or not, you're gonna LISTEN.

Unearthing the lid on many a hidden truth and injustice, Kelman covers subjects that range from elitism in Literature (it should be FOR and BY everybody), to the UK government's reluctance to properly address the issue of asbestos-related death, through to the Kurdish war in Turkey (something you won't read about in the holiday brochures - or ANYWHERE according to Kelman). However, it's not all doom and gloom. Some of the esays give insights into Kelman's origins as a writer - grafting hard or on the dole reading his way through Zola and Dostoyevsky - and his choice to use "the language of the gutter". And a fine choice it was.

Stunning, 27 May 2005
Excellent collection of essays fuelled by Kelmans enormous and inquisitive intellect. Sometimes it just shouldn't make sense, but somehow it works perfectly.

Wonderful introduction to Noam Chomski was a highlight for me, going off at bizarre tangents and still managing to shine light on the subject matter. Great book. Nice cover too.

A worthwhile read, 11 Jul 2008
I literally stumbled upon this book whilst roaming around the huge Borders bookshop in Glasgow. I found myself in the Scottish literature section and "How late was, how late" had fallen on the floor causing me to trip over it. Taking this as a cosmic sign I bought the book and scurried back to work. What a find it was.

The book is written as a continuous train of thought from the main character Sammy (the bold Sammy) who wakes up from a weekend long bender to find himself in a police cell worse for wear. What really makes this book interesting is the writing style which flows of the page. The language may be a problem for some as it is written in the Glasgow vernacular although the author avoids becoming too incomprehensible to anyone outside the central belt. All in a all a great read and possibly would be a regular on the top 100 lists if it was not for the use of Glaswegian slang in the writing which may put some off. If there is one criticism, and the reason for four rather than five stars, is that it does lag a little at times part way through the second half. Otherwise though add it too your Amazon basket today!


How late it was, how late, 20 Dec 2007
This book is completely brilliant. It is a tour de force; an uncompromising and relentless exploration of the psyche of a particular type of marginalised person. It may be, I suppose, that you need to have had some considerable contact with hard-man disaffected indiduals for whom the world does not, and has never, worked, to realise how good this book is. I was totally captivated by the exporation of a particluar type of psyche, where the same maladaptive thought processes occur time after time after time despite their failure to achieve anything in other than terms of a personal logic/ethic. At one time I recommended it as a student text in psychology. If you drive an Audi (or even a Volvo),are in favour of goodness and against sin, you may not like it. I found it totally compelling and unlike some other reviewers, I couldn't put it down.

Eminently putdownable, 16 Sep 2007
Because my review is so negative I should stress that I very rarely like literary prizewinners' efforts and was unable to get past the first two pages of that other critically accaimed Scottish book "Train spotting". Having a mind to read, and given the choice between Mr Kelman's efforts and the telephone directory, I would be through to Zuckerman before turning to "How Late". If you don't like having to tackle dialogue written in an attempt to capture regional dialects and are uninterested in the alcohol intake of Glaswegians or their view of golf, and if you have already heard "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" and "Loving Her was Easier" etc. You might be tempted to pass on this little gem. In fairness, it should be said that I have not read the book from cover to cover due to chronic inability. My usual technique when I find a book hard to start (dip into the middle at various points and test the water, working backwards and sometimes going on to read the entire book both backwards and forwards) failed completely here so I fully accept that my review is biased and unfair and that I am a literary dullard. And now I must face the prospect of Amazon's clever CRM system reminding me every time this author has another shot, because of course they know full well that I have already made a purchase, but the system is insufficiently sophisticated to know how much I subsequently regretted it.

Very intense, 26 Mar 2007

I have previously read two Kelmans - You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free, and A Disaffection. From these two, I understood Kelman to be a master of the interior monologue of mundane/seedy characters. In YHTBC, it was a Scots alcoholoc in the USA, looking to return home. In Disaffection, it was a pretty hopeless teacher failing to hit it off with a pretty work colleague. I thought YHTBC was a masterpiece, but A Disaffection left me rather cold. The thing is, with these monologues, that you have to actually care about the character and his life - there's no plot or action worth speaking of, just a question of how the chaarcter got to the present situation and how they feel about it. The action is at best incidental.

In How Late It Was, How Late, the central character, Sammy (Mr Samuels) is a natural victim. He is afraid of authority and is hopelessly fatalistic. He wakes up after a bender, in the street, wearing rubbish trainers instead of his good shoes. He sees some policemen and picks a fight with them. He is arrested, beaten up and loses his sight. The monologue then sets out to explore how he came to be in that situation - apparently he is an ex-prisoner who has had a big row with his girlfriend; he also has an ex-wife and son; he has a reasonable set of friends; and a benefit dependency.

HLIWHL also explores how Sammy reacts to his sight loss. He initially curses his luck, but is fatalistically accepting, as he tries to find his way home from the police station. He has to decide how to become mobile and to feed himself. He is worried about losing his benefits (no longer available for work) so he sets off to the Broo. Sammy's natural instinct when dealing with authority is either to say nothing or to lie. This he does with aplomb, even though he might have been better served by telling the truth. He cannot explain how he lost his sight without mentioning the police, but he doesn't want to take on the police in a battle for compensation.

One is left in admiration for Sammy's resourcefulness as he tries to avoid seeking help from others. This adds to Sammy's complexity - that he would willingly accept the broo, but won't accept the help of an individual. But gradually, Sammy comes to see that he has to accept help and you can feel his pride ebbing into the pavement as he does.

Sammy brings misfortune on himself - and he knows this to be true - but without ever being malicious. He is just weak. His stoicism as he bears his punishments is remarkable, even though they seem to be out of all proportion to the original offence. To an extent this might be through cultivating a state of denial, but there is also a very practical attitude of dealing with the future rather than worrying about the past.

The text is very intense, and although it is possible to gallop through pages in short bursts, I found the need to escape frequently. The result is that I spent quite a while travelling along with Sammy. I feel I have grown from the experience.


Thinking hard...., 24 Feb 2005
How Late it was, How Late is a novel which is not constrained by any laws or artistic movements. Its use of the stream of consciousness style is a million miles from Mrs. Dalloway or The Crying of Lot 49 (modernist and post-modernist, check) and actually manages to represent the Glasgow ned in a caring, respectful way.

The most exciting fact about the novel is that its rambling style splits opinion down the middle.

My verdict is that its the Marmite of modern Scottish literature: spread it on thick, I love it!

Novel of the year, 31 Aug 2008
This is a hugely moving book that tightly grips itself around your heart and mind like a beanstalk animated upwards at a rate of knots. Its vivid period setting gives great texture to the narrative, but the truth of being a boy between the ages of 7 and 12 is what it's all about. It's a marvellous sustained piece of writing and a beautiful work of art. Nothing else to be said.

a rich inner life, 13 Aug 2008
I meant to wait till the paperback was out. Then I read the first paragraph and knew I had to read on. So I bought the hardback and read avidly. The book occupied train journeys, evenings when I should have been doing something else, and days of a seaside holiday.

This isn't a novel about plot but about the way life changes - and the way children are changed by life. But from that first paragraph I cared about Kieron as an individual human being and I wanted to follow him - so I did. He seemed real in his perceptions, the physical and sensory details of his experiences, and the speech patterns and rhythms which bring his thoughts to life.

In an early essay, James Kelman argued that most of English literature denies the working class - especially working-class Glaswegians - a rich inner life. Kieron's inner life is undoubtedly rich and, as a reader, I mourned every small opportunity that was closed to him.

The novel is in no way political but the sense that children like Kieron are as fully human as other children - and as deserving of opportunities - forces a political response that says a good deal about our society today.



Great introduction from a future Booker Prize winner, 09 Oct 2007
As short story collections go, this one is way better than average, because the young author sticks to the world he knows and does not pretend to have any great new ideas, or literary pretentions. This is simply street writing by someone we can easily believe has been there himself. The language is very fresh and completely unpolished, although the way it's written, especially in the excellent title story, achieves poetry. It was no surprise the author later went on to win the Booker prize.

title story a CLASSIC!, 19 Sep 1999
A collection of superb short stories "Not Not While The Giro" is a classic in its field ."Jim Dandy" and "No Longer the warehouseman" similary describe the angst undergone by what the Tories and new labour might class as the Sub Species of Society.Brilliant Kafkaesque despair beneeath the humour.

Hard going, 01 Dec 2006
I guess James Kelman isn't everyone's cup of tea. He seems (from reading only two of his works!) to do interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk very well. The trouble is, the interior monologue of down at heel, ordinary folk can be quite repetitive and rather dull. And, in case anyone is wondering, nothing happens. There isn't some brilliant twist that pulls it together at the end. Wysiwyg.

Having read A Disaffection, I feel that I know Patrick Doyle pretty well.I understand his failings and inadequacies. I understand how he is envious of his brother's family, as his brother is envious of Partick's education and job. I understand how hopeless is his infatuation with Alison and his inability to deal with women. But I'm not sure it was worth investing two weeks of very slow reading to get to this point. Maybe I'm just shallow...

Don't get me wrong, I didn't hate the book. Neither do I imagine it will fade from the memory as quickly as the latest murder mystery. It is a deep study of human nature. But I'm quite glad now to have my hands on a murder mystery as an antidote.

depressing tedium, 24 Jan 2002
Goes nowhere, does nothing except depress the reader (which may be the whole point of course, but who *really* wants to spend a couple of days with this guy?), "experimental" techniques with language = mostly poor writing (in my opinion of course!). A book that those who like to think they are in the know will love, but that most people will reject or give up as the hopeless tosh it is.

The most important novel of the 1980s, 23 May 2001
Pat Doyle is a 29-year-old teacher who hates his job, and develops a crush on a fellow colleague, Alison. The story opens when he picks up a pair of pipes from outside the art centre. Throughout the novel he treats the pipes, and Alison, as a means of escapism - to the point of obsession. Naturally, it looks as if neither of these desires will transpire to much, mainly because Pat appears to be a dreamer. Even when he seems to take positive steps, we are sceptical.

Kelman uses familiar surroundings and dialect to create something entirely original. Like A Chancer, there's a sense of frustration when the main character seems so trapped - usually due to a lack of money and motivation. This could be said to mirror Kelman's own life; in an interview he's mentioned that his wife still has to work at the Social Security, despite him winning the Booker Prize for his novel How Late it was, How Late.

The key to the success of this book - aside from the deep sense of character so common in Kelman's work - is in the experimental language. There are traces of Joycean stream-of-consciousness, but with none of the pretension attributed to copyists, and, most importantly, no sense of the confusion common in Ulysses or Finnegans Wake. We may not know all of the literary references, but we definitely understand.

This is one of the most important novels of the 80s - if not ever. It's certainly one of Kelman's best.

Not sure if i love or hate this book..., 24 Apr 2008
Very hard going in places and defo at least 100 pages too long. Quite hard to follow in places - takes a bit of getting used to when deciphering when the m