The Crow Road

Title: The Crow Road
Author: Iain Banks
Published: 1992 originally, this ed. 1998 by Abacus.
Genre: Family mystery drama
Pages: 501


Crow Road, man. Friggin' Crow Road... I read this when the book first came out in Finnish, in the late 90's, and it's been in the back of my mind ever since. Not like, can't stop thinking about it: more like hmm, that was a darn good book, I ought to read it again one day. And this August, the book just fell into my lap twice within two weeks: first, for 50 cents in Finnish, and then for a few euros in the original lingo. And yeah, it was still a friggin' ride.

Friggin'. What a weird word.

So, what's it about then. Prentice McHoan is this young, Scottish guy with a family full of mysteries. For one, his uncle Rory apparently disappeared into thin air some years before, when Prentice himself was still a kid. His father Kenneth still believes that his younger brother Rory is alive somewhere. Prentice, currently not in speaking terms with his father, takes it upon himself to figure out what the hell happened to Rory.

The book jumps almost dizzyingly between the time it's set in and various pasts: for example, we have both Prentice's and Kenneth's childhoods and a lot of their teenage years. And it all comes together, telling the story of a whole messed-up family.

You know what? This book's like the TARDIS. It's so much bigger on the inside. Man, I wish I could write stuff like this.

I've been trying to figure out which one came for me first, the miniseries or the book. The miniseries came out in 1996 and the book in Finnish in 1998, so it could've been either. Anyways, I remember really liking it the first time around, and really liked it the second time around, too. I was a little annoyed when I could remember the solution to the mystery, although the details had escaped me after... 14 or so years.

Oh! Oh! Oh! I have to mention this!!! This book has one of the best opening sentences ever:

"It was the day my grandmother exploded."

Brilliant, eh? You just go, wait, what?  

Thinking about it, though, aren't all books kinda like the TARDIS?

Okay, okay, I'm gonna reign my ADD in check now, give you a nice quote, and get back to staring at the wall. But yeah, definitely one of the books I'd recommend to just about anyone.


I leant on one of the chair's wheels. 'Let me get this right; your moles itch when one of us is talking about you?'
She nodded, grim. 'Sometimes they hurt, sometimes they tickle. And they can itch in different ways, too.'
'And that mole's Uncle Rory's?' I nodded incredulously at the big mole on her right wrist. 
'That's right,' she said, tapping the stick on one footrest of the wheelchair. She held up her wrist and fixed the raised brown spot with an accusatory glare. 'Not a sausage, for eight years.'
I stared at the dormant eruption with a sort of nervous respect, mingled with outright disbelief. 'Wow,' I said at last.