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An epic novel about the bonds of friendship from the author of Trainspotting.
The story of four boys growing up in the Edinburgh projects, Glue is about the loyalties, the experiences, and the secrets that hold friends together through three decades. The boys become men: Juice Terry, the work-shy fanny-merchant, with corkscrew curls and sticky fingers; Billy the boxer, driven, controlled, playing to his strengths; Carl, the Milky Bar Kid, drifting along to his own soundtrack; and the doomed Gally, exceedingly thin-skinned and vulnerable to catastrophe at every turn. We follow their lives from the seventies into the new century—from punk to techno, from speed to E. Their mutual loyalty is fused in street morality: Back up your mates, don't hit women, and, most important, never snitch—on anyone. Glue has the Irvine Welsh trademarks—crackling dialogue, scabrous set pieces, and black, black humor—but it is also a grown-up book about growing up—about the way we live our lives, and what happens to us when things become unstuck. "Stocked with his usual quirky, sympathetic characters, this rollicking new tale sparkles with the writer's trademark satiric wit. Its heft and narrative breadth should convince any remaining skeptics that Welsh—now effectively the grand old man of in-your-face Scottish fiction—is a writer to be taken seriously."—Publishers Weekly starred review
cause ma tongue’s in her mooth n thir’s nae resistance, so ah’ve goat ma cock oot, n she’s goat her hand oan it, well fuckin game. — No here . . . we cannae now . . . she goes, but she isnae in any big hurry tae lit go ay ma knob. — Fuck it, c’moan, Maggie kens the score, ah tell her. She looks at ays for a second but ah’m gittin ma gear oaf n she’s no far behind. We’re right under the covers. Ah’m feelin great n it’s barry thit ma cock’s still hard even though ah shot ah fair auld bit ay wad
And they could do it impersonally through lawyers. Terry had to admit that the possibility that the wee man would turn out different might not be a bad thing. Would he be like Terry? Terry tried to look twenty years down the line and see a couple of fit blonde birds going through a lesbian sex ritual in front of a grown-up Jason who was the image of Terry. Then he (Jason/Terry) would join in, fucking one after the other in different positions before blowing his muck. Then he’d peel off the
up wi the rest ay thum oot at the beach in Gullane. Ah looks at Terry, but waits for him tae say something. — What for Gullane? eh asks. — Because, ya daft cunt, the black bits ay Doyle’s eyes went aw big, — we need tae burn the plastic coatin offay the copper wire before wi kin flog it. A deserted beach’ll be the best place fir that. Terry nodded slowly, ehs bottom lip stuck oot. Ye could tell eh wis impressed by Doyle. Terry eywis fancied ehsel as a tea-leaf, but the likes ay the Doyles,
ice-cream might, but ma tastebuds’ll be different. Things change. Me, having my ain bar, my ain business. Sounds good. It’s the only way to make money, having your ain business, buying and selling. And having money is the only way to get respect. Desperate, but that’s the world we live in now. Ye hear the likes ay Kinnock n the Labour Party gaun oan aboot the doctors n nurses n teachers, the people that care for the sick and educate the kids and everybody’s nodding away. But they’re thinking aw
produced the works and started cookin, ah wis gaunny say ‘ah’ll just chase mine’ but it sounded so daft and pointless. So there ah wis, tappin up a vein. Larry spiked ays. As soon as the gear surged through ma system it completely overwhelmed me and ah lost control and passed out. Ah thought that ah’d been fucked fir just a few minutes but Muriel was shaking and slapping me and she was obviously relieved when ah was coming to. Ah smelt, then saw, the sick on my chest. Larry was sitting watching