Genre: Fiction, druggies, heroin (are those genres?  Why not)

Notes: If ye kahnt, read this, ye cunt, ye dinae want ta try and read this book.  Tha cunts and lassies talk like this in the book, likesay.  Welsh writes in dialekt, sortae what ah’m traein tah do here.

Review: Confession: My thoughts took on a Scottish accent.  Thank god none of it slipped out in general conversation – that would have been a little embarrassing.  Reading the book gets easier when you just go with the flow and the accented, lilting speech of Scotland.

This books is not uplifting.  Don’t read it if you want to feel like rainbows and unicorns and little baby kitties are falling out of the sky.  Trainspotting  follows a group of Scottish heroin junkies as they tell their stories.  The novel is basically a short story collection told in first person from each member’s point of view.  Sometimes it’s a little confusing who is talking and who they are talking about, but just go with it.

Some of the passages are really graphic.  One person got gangrene in his leg after her tried injecting heroin into his artery and the doctors had to cut it off.  One woman, as a waitress, got pissed at some guys who hit on her and mixed their beer with her pee, poop with their chocolate cheesecakes, and (honestly) blood off of her tampon.  I gagged reading that chapter.  GAGGED.  Ew.

No matter how you feel about junkies, but the end of reading this book, I promise you’ll see things their way for a little bit.

Choose us.  Choose life.  Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting in a couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food intae yir mooth.  Choose rotting away, pishing and shiteing yersel in a home,  a total fuckin embarrassment tae the selfish, fucked up brats ye’ve produced.  Choose life.

That passage really sums it up.  They inject themselves with heroin to live a more exciting life because they feel life sucks and then you die.  So why not live it up?  They all have shitty lives anyway (losing your leg to gangrene and still thinking about injecting into your stump doesn’t sound like a sweet life at all) and the heroin does nothing but lead them further down the road to losertown.  At least it’s a short life.  It’s ironic, the thing that they use to escape is the thing that led them to such  disappointing life.

Bottom Line:  Don’t read this book if you’re queasy.  I never watched the movie, but I’m sure it’s as graphic as “Requiem for a Dream.”  Which is graphic.  And you probably need to follow this book with a candy cane sweet book about puppies or something.