I need to start off with a disclaimer. Or maybe it’s more of a confession. I’ve been caught in a love/hate relationship with Iain Banks/Iain M Banks pretty much since I first heard of him, back when I came across a TV interview he did for the release of The Bridge. I was fascinated by the idea of the novel, so I picked up a copy and read it. And loved it.
After that first encounter with his fearless storytelling, I would occasionally try another Banks, TBR pile allowing. Which is where the problem started. You see, some of his books took root really easily. The Wasp Factory left me breathless. The Crow Road instilled a sort of melancholy nostalgia in me that I don’t think I’ve ever lost. Complicity was pacier than I expected. Dark and playful. Coming along just as I’d gotten into reading old Gonzo articles and grisly murder mysteries, it felt made for me. There were trickier reads ahead, though.
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