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daviddavidkatzman's review against another edition
5.0
Joyous anarchy. Scotland Before the Bomb was a blast to read.
See what I did there? Bomb. Blast. Get it? Tough crowd, I'll show myself out. Don't forget to tip your bookseller staff for the holidays--they are a long suffering lot what with ebooks and paper being anti-enviromental and no one reading anymore because of Netflix and etc. etc. But never mind all that I'm sure everything will work out what with the U.S. poised to re-elect a psychopath as President (as if we live in some kind of surreal mashup of Frank Miller's Elektra: Assassin in which a demon takes over the mind of a Presidential candidate who wins the election and 1984 in which half the country's minds are taken over by the fascistic Fox News and the other lying liars who lie). But nevermind the never minds, I'm reviewing this book Scotland Before the Bomb. The name is prophetic because we are all right now right before "The Bomb." Right before civilization falls. Right before global warming slams the lid down on us squirming frogs in a slow boiling pot.
To offer up some reference points that almost no one will recognize, I would describe SBtB as being a bit like the transgressive Stewart Home with a splattering of Mark Leyner, a sprinkle of Flann O'Brien and a smidge of David Markson. It's experimental but accessible. It's weird but entertaining. It's ridiculous yet kept me interested. It's unafraid to show its insecurities, if you follow me. But not too closely please. Nicholls takes chances, and I appreciate his courage. There are no sensitive characters here struggling with their relationships. There are no relatable relatables. There is no unexpected redemption in the end. There are no characters to root for nor did Ellen DeGeneres leave this book as a gift under your seat. She's too busy partying with that guy who started the Iraq War based on lies, you know the (weapons of) mass (destruction that don't exist) murderer guy? The prequel to Trump the Movie that we let go about his business afterwards like there was nothing to see here, move along?
Anywho.
If you enjoy word-play and absurd humor and violent illogic then this book might be for you. Nicholls probably didn't write it for you though. I think he wrote it for himself, which is the kind of book I love the most. Iconoclastic. Original. Fierce. Uncompromising. [Insert other words here that sound dramatic. Also, play dramatic music here. Dance a little perhaps. Eat something, you look hungry, don't you like my soup?]
In conclusion: the end.
See what I did there? Bomb. Blast. Get it? Tough crowd, I'll show myself out. Don't forget to tip your bookseller staff for the holidays--they are a long suffering lot what with ebooks and paper being anti-enviromental and no one reading anymore because of Netflix and etc. etc. But never mind all that I'm sure everything will work out what with the U.S. poised to re-elect a psychopath as President (as if we live in some kind of surreal mashup of Frank Miller's Elektra: Assassin in which a demon takes over the mind of a Presidential candidate who wins the election and 1984 in which half the country's minds are taken over by the fascistic Fox News and the other lying liars who lie). But nevermind the never minds, I'm reviewing this book Scotland Before the Bomb. The name is prophetic because we are all right now right before "The Bomb." Right before civilization falls. Right before global warming slams the lid down on us squirming frogs in a slow boiling pot.
To offer up some reference points that almost no one will recognize, I would describe SBtB as being a bit like the transgressive Stewart Home with a splattering of Mark Leyner, a sprinkle of Flann O'Brien and a smidge of David Markson. It's experimental but accessible. It's weird but entertaining. It's ridiculous yet kept me interested. It's unafraid to show its insecurities, if you follow me. But not too closely please. Nicholls takes chances, and I appreciate his courage. There are no sensitive characters here struggling with their relationships. There are no relatable relatables. There is no unexpected redemption in the end. There are no characters to root for nor did Ellen DeGeneres leave this book as a gift under your seat. She's too busy partying with that guy who started the Iraq War based on lies, you know the (weapons of) mass (destruction that don't exist) murderer guy? The prequel to Trump the Movie that we let go about his business afterwards like there was nothing to see here, move along?
Anywho.
If you enjoy word-play and absurd humor and violent illogic then this book might be for you. Nicholls probably didn't write it for you though. I think he wrote it for himself, which is the kind of book I love the most. Iconoclastic. Original. Fierce. Uncompromising. [Insert other words here that sound dramatic. Also, play dramatic music here. Dance a little perhaps. Eat something, you look hungry, don't you like my soup?]
In conclusion: the end.
camprocter's review
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? N/A
- Strong character development? N/A
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
1.5
It had its high points: Edinburgh, Lothians, Dumfries, Lorna_k's TripAdvisor review for Spean Bridge. Then again, I stopped reading many chapters halfway through because I just found it tedious and unfunny.
I imagine there are plenty of people out there who will find humour throughout all of this book, but alas, I'm not one of them. Into the village book bin it goes.
I imagine there are plenty of people out there who will find humour throughout all of this book, but alas, I'm not one of them. Into the village book bin it goes.
jeffchon's review
5.0
Wow, this book man….
If you aren't familiar with M.J. Nicholls, familiarize yourself. He's one of the most intelligent satirists working today. Every book is an exquisitely constructed literary prank.
Post-Brexit Scotland finally wins its independence. Then Dundee declares its independence from the rest of Scotland, and then other cities follow suit, until Scotland becomes a mini-continent of its own--and then it’s eventually nuked by Luxembourg. Soul-crushing hilarity ensues, and ensues, and ensues, and that’s the joy that is this novel--M.J. Nicholls takes an absurd situation and then escalates the absurdity with each passing sentence until you’re wondering how he was able to sustain the comic energy as he takes us from life in one city to the next:
The smog in Stirling is so stifling people begin to ration their words, and spoken language deteriorates into nothing.
Argyll & Bute hires Scandinavian consultants to shadow each citizen in order to teach them how to be happier, more productive people.
Edinburgh devolves into a giant art festival (imagine Patreon but as a giant organic, all-consuming blob) you can’t leave without paying the performers.
And so on.
When all the strands finally tie together in a brilliant way, you’re left marveling at the weight that would’ve crushed a less capable writer. I’ve never seen world-building done on such a microscopic level. I’d say Calvino is probably the most obvious analogue here (or Zinn/Terkel with a keen satirical bent), but Nicholls takes it even further, going from city to city and finding humor in the mundane minutiae most of us leave in discrete google docs we’ll never look at again.
If you aren't familiar with M.J. Nicholls, familiarize yourself. He's one of the most intelligent satirists working today. Every book is an exquisitely constructed literary prank.
Post-Brexit Scotland finally wins its independence. Then Dundee declares its independence from the rest of Scotland, and then other cities follow suit, until Scotland becomes a mini-continent of its own--and then it’s eventually nuked by Luxembourg. Soul-crushing hilarity ensues, and ensues, and ensues, and that’s the joy that is this novel--M.J. Nicholls takes an absurd situation and then escalates the absurdity with each passing sentence until you’re wondering how he was able to sustain the comic energy as he takes us from life in one city to the next:
The smog in Stirling is so stifling people begin to ration their words, and spoken language deteriorates into nothing.
Argyll & Bute hires Scandinavian consultants to shadow each citizen in order to teach them how to be happier, more productive people.
Edinburgh devolves into a giant art festival (imagine Patreon but as a giant organic, all-consuming blob) you can’t leave without paying the performers.
And so on.
When all the strands finally tie together in a brilliant way, you’re left marveling at the weight that would’ve crushed a less capable writer. I’ve never seen world-building done on such a microscopic level. I’d say Calvino is probably the most obvious analogue here (or Zinn/Terkel with a keen satirical bent), but Nicholls takes it even further, going from city to city and finding humor in the mundane minutiae most of us leave in discrete google docs we’ll never look at again.
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