Irvine Welsh Escoria Critical Thinking - Essay for you

Essay for you

Irvine Welsh Escoria Critical Thinking

Rating: 4.7/5.0 (40 Votes)

Category: Critical thinking

Description

Crime by Irvine Welsh

Now bereft of both youth and ambition, Detective Inspector Ray Lennox is recovering from a mental breakdown induced by occupational stress and cocaine abuse, and a particularly horrifying child sex murder case back in Edinburgh. On vacation inMore Now bereft of both youth and ambition, Detective Inspector Ray Lennox is recovering from a mental breakdown induced by occupational stress and cocaine abuse, and a particularly horrifying child sex murder case back in Edinburgh. On vacation in Florida, his fiancée Trudi is only interested in planning their forthcoming wedding, and a bitter argument sees a deranged Lennox cast adrift in strip-mall Florida. He meets two women in a seedy bar, ending up at their apartment for a coke binge interrupted by two menacing strangers. After the ensuing brawl, Lennox finds himself alone with Tianna, the terrified ten-year-old daughter of one of the women, and a sheet of instructions that make him responsible for her immediate safety.

Lennox takes her across the state to an exclusive marina on the Gulf of Mexico, and quickly suspects that he has stumbled into a hornet's nest: a gang of organized paedophiles, every bit as threatening as the monster that haunted him back in Edinburgh. His priority is to protect the abused girl, but can the edgy Lennox trust his own instincts? And can he negotiate her inappropriate sexuality, as well as his own mental fragility, while still trying to get to grips with the Edinburgh murder and the emotions it unleashes in him?

A novel about the corruption and abuse of the human soul and the possibilities of redemption, Crime is a thrilling journey into the bright glamour of the Sunshine State and a seething underworld of utter darkness. Less

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Community Reviews

João Carlos rated it really liked it

over 1 year ago


A narrativa de “Crime” começa num voo para Miami com o detective escocês Ray Lennox a viajar com a sua namorada Trudi, em busca de uma férias retemperadoras na Flórida e a planear a festa do seu casamento.
Ray Lennox é um detective em “fuga”. Read full review

Stephan van der Linde rated it it was ok

almost 6 years ago

Ray Lennox, a character in one of my favourite novels 'Filth' is starring in Crime. Lennox is a cop, and is heading off to Miami to prepare his wedding.

Tired with his nagging-too posh girl, cold turkey from the booze, Ray is already bored in the plane.

Jaslo rated it did not like it

over 8 years ago

What a disappointment.
Seriously, I am upset.

It's not just the American setting. and the cynical, cruel, unfriendly gaze on American culture (which I could understand.) It's a claustrophobia in the story-- that makes me itch to escape and throw away the book. I felt like. Read full review

Manab rated it it was ok

ভালো বই না। আমি কাউরেই সুপারিশ করবো না।
বিষয়বসতু খারাপ না, সবীকার করতে বাঁধা নাই। সকটিশ এক কোকেনখোর পুলিশ আমেরিকার রাসতায় এক মেয়েকে বাঁচানোর চেষটা করে যাচছে এক দঙগল পেডোফাইলের হাত থেকে। সমসযার সূতরপাত কোথায় তাহলে? হয়ত সকটিশ আর কোকেন, এই দুই পরসঙগ বাদ দিলে এই ধরনের লেখালেখি. Read full review

Prakriti rated it really liked it

almost 4 years ago

I was going through a breakup (which I had initiated) when I picked this book up. There was a lot of guilt inside me, a lot of anger at the girl, a continuous feeling of nausea, and an inability to understand why am I feeling like this.

Welsh's protagonist, Detective Inspe. Read full review

Ian Mapp rated it really liked it

about 8 years ago

Does Welsh ever disappoint. I think the worst reviews I saw for him were for Filth (which I loved) and this is a follow on of sorts with Ray Lennox given a much bigger role in this, which is an attempt at genre fiction.

The thing that stands this book above other UK crime. Read full review

James Barker rated it it was ok

about 2 years ago

Clearly 'Crime' was a bad choice as my first dip into Irvine Welsh's work. Characters, plot, writing style. all are poor. And he really needs to stay away from similes. His use of them was the crime that affected me the most.

David rated it it was ok

about 3 years ago

Irvine Welsh, known best for his druggy humour, scatological bent and the gruff pub vernacular of his characters, plays it amazingly straight and close to the vest here. So close and earnest, in fact, that you can hardly believe you’re reading Welsh.

Muthulakshmi rated it really liked it

almost 2 years ago

I can't write an honest review for this book without mentioning that this is by far the most disturbing work of literature I've ever read. Seriously, I read Guts by Palahniuk and didn't give a fuck.

Lolita explores pedophilia through the eyes of a man impossibly in love w. Read full review

JK rated it really liked it

over 1 year ago

This Irvine Welsh novel is just as gritty and harrowing as the rest of them. It's extremely dark, at times a lot darker than Welsh's other novels. It's also very obviously well-researched, tackling the difficult issue of child abuse.

I feel like Welsh has attempted to brea. Read full review

Other articles

Irvine Welsh

Irvine Welsh
  • You can't just have stuff that is free and escapist, you have to have stuff that is confrontational as well. You need stuff that is mystical but you need the realism too.
    • "Alan Black Interviews Irvine Welsh for 3AM", 3:AM Magazine (2004).
Trainspotting (1993) Edit
  • Sometimes ah think that people become junkies just because they subconsiously crave a wee bit ay silence.
    • Renton, "Kicking: The Skag Boys, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Mother Superior" (Chapter 1, Story 1).
  • That beats any meat injection … that beats any fuckin cock in the world … Ali gasps, completely serious. It unnerves us tae the extent that ah feel ma ain genitals through ma troosers tae see if they're still thair.
    • Alison and Renton, "Kicking: The Skag Boys, Jean-Claude Van Damme and Mother Superior" (Chapter 1, Story 1) (ellipses in the original).
  • "We are all acquaintances now". It goes beyond our personal junk circumstances; a brilliant metaphor for our times.
    • ibid
  • The rhetorical question, the stock-in-trade weapon ay burds and psychos.
    • Tommy, "Relapsing: Scotland Takes Drugs in Psychic Defense" (Chapter 2, Story 1).
  • Ah hate cunts like that. Cunts like Begbie. Cunts that are intae basebaw-batting every fucker that's different; pakis, poofs, n what huv ye. Fuckin failures in a country ay failures. It's nae good blamin it oan the English fir colonising us. Ah don't hate the English. They're just wankers. We are colonised by wankers. We can't even pick a decent, vibrant, healthy culture to be colonised by. No. We're ruled by effete arseholes. What does that make us? The lowest of the fuckin low, tha's what, the scum of the earth. The most wretched, servile, miserable, pathetic trash that was ever shat intae creation. Ah don't hate the English. They just git oan wi the shite thuv goat. Ah hate the Scots.
    • Renton, "Relapsing: The Glass" (Chapter 2, Story 2).
  • The only people that ever made a difference to Billy were the Provos, and they were cunts as well. Ah've no illusions aboot them as freedom fighters. The bastards made ma brar intae a pile ay cat food. But they jist pulled the switch. His death was concieved of by these Orange cunts, comin through every July with thir sashes and flutes, fillin Billy's stupid head with nonsense aboot crown and country and aw that garbage. They'll go home chuffed fae the day. They kin tell aw thir mates aboot how one ay the family died, murdered by the IRA, while defending Ulster. It'll fuel thir pointless anger, get them bought drinks in pubs, and help establish their doss-bastard credibility wi other sectarian arseholes.
    • Renton, "Bang to Rites".
  • I dinnae Tam, ah jist dinnae. Life's boring and futile. We start oaf wi high hopes, then we bottle it. We realize that we're aw gaunnae die, withoot really findin oot the big answers. We develop aw they long-winded ideas which jist interpret the reality ay oor lives in different weys, withoot really extending oor body ay worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short, disappointing life; and then we die. We fill oor lives up wi shite, shite like joabs n relationships, tae delude ourselves intae thinkin that it isnae aw totally pointless. Smack's an honest drug, because it strips away these delusions. It's the only really honest drug. It disnae alter yir consciousness. It jist gies ye a hit and a sense ay well-being. After that, ye see the misery ay the world as it is, and ye cannae anesthaetise yirsel against it.
    • Renton, "Relapsing: Cock Problems" (Chapter 2, Story 4).
  • Funny scene, likesay, how aw the psychos seem tae ken each other, ken what ah means, likes?
    • Spud, "Kicking Again: Na Na and Other Nazis" (Chapter 3, Story 2).
  • Rents once sais, thirs nothin like a darker skin tone tae increase the vigilance ay the police n the magistrates: too right.
    • Spud, "Kicking Again: Na Na and Other Nazis" (Chapter 3, Story 2).
  • How many shots does it take before the concept ay choice becomes obsolete?
    • Renton, Blowing It: Courting Disaster" (Chapter 4, Story 1).
  • Ah wonder if anybody this side of the Atlantic has ever bought a baseball bat with playing baseball in mind.
    • Sick Boy, "Blowing It: Deid Dugs" (Chapter 4, Story 3).
  • Ah cannae feel any remorse, only anger and contempt. Ah seethed when ah saw that fuckin Union Jack oan his coffin, and that smarmy, wimpy cunt ay an officer, obviously oot ay his fuckin depth here, tryin to talk tae my Ma. Worse still, these Glasgow cunts, the auld boy's side, are here through en masse. They're fill ay shite aboot how Billy died in service ay his country n all that servile Hun crap. Billy wis a daft cunt, pure and simple. No a hero, no a martyr, just a daft cunt.
    • Renton, "Bang to Rites".
  • Society invents a spurious convoluted logic tae absorb and change people whae's behaviour is outside its mainstream. Suppose that ah ken aw the pros and cons, know that ah'm gaunnae huv a short life, am ay sound mind etcetera, etcetera, but still want tae use smack? They won't let ye dae it. They won't let ye dae it, because its seen as a sign ay thir ain failure. The fact that ye jist simply choose tae reject whit they huv to offer. Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting oan a fuckin couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fuckin 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.
    Well, ah choose no tae choose life. If the cunts cannae handle that, it's thair fuckin problem. As Harry Lauder sais, ah jist intend tae keep right on to the end of the road.
    • Renton, "Blowing It: Searching for the Inner Man" (Chapter 4, Story 4).
  • Still, failure, success, what is it? Whae gies a fuck. We aw live, then we die, in quite a short space ay time n aw. That's it; end ay fuckin story.
    • Renton, "Blowing It: House Arrest" (Chapter 4, Story 5).
  • Ah thought that every cunt over twenty was a toss an no worth speakin tae, until ah hit twenty. The mair ah see, the mair ah think ah wis right. After that it's aw ugly compromise, aw timid surrender, progressively until death.
    • Renton, "Blowing It: Bang to Rites" (Chapter 4, Story 6).
  • He had noted that with older people. They often try to control younger, more popular and vivacious people; usually due to the fact that they are jealous of the qualities the younger people have and they lack. These inadequacies are disguised with a benign, protective attitude.
    • Renton, "The First Shag in Ages".
  • Ah suppose man, ah'm too much ay a perfectionist, ken? It's likesay, if things go a bit dodgy, ah jist cannae be bothered, y'know?
    • Spud, "Speedy Recruitment".
  • Ah've never felt anything about countries, other than total disgust. They should fuckin abolish the lot of them. Kill every fuckin parasite politician that ever mouthed lies and fascist platitudes in a shell-suit and a smarmy smile.
    • Renton, "London Crawling".
  • He died a hero they sais. Ah remember that song: Billy Don't Be A Hero. In fact, he died a spare prick in uniform, walkin along a country road wi a rifle in his hand. He died an ignorant victim ay imperialism, understanding fuck all about the myriad circumstances that led to his death. That was the real crime, he understood fuck all about it. All he hud tae guide him through this great adventure in Ireland, which led tae his death, was a few vaguely formed sectarian sentiments. The cunt died exactly how he lived: completely fuckin scoobied.
    • Renton, "Bang to Rites"
The Acid House (1994) Edit
  • Ah jist shrugged, -- Well, as one anarchist plumber sais tae the other: smash the cistern.
    • A conversation between plumbers.
    • "A Blockage in the System".
  • That cunt Nietzsche wis wide ay the mark whin he sais ah wis deid. Ah'm no deid; ah jist dinnae gie a fuck. It's no fir me tae sort every cunt's problems oot. Nae other cunt gies a fuck so how should ah? Eh?
    • God talking to Boab, the story's main protagonist, in a pub.
    • "The Granton Star Cause".
  • Bad luck is usually transmitted by close proximity to habitual sufferers.
    • The narrator talking about Ange after they are released from prison.
    • "Stoke Newington Blues".
  • The duty sergeant was going through his routine of asking each brawling set of prisoners who the Billy and who the Tim was. If the handshake is right he will let the Billy go and slap the Tim around a bit. That way everybody's happy. The Billy gets to feel superior and delude himself that being a non-churchgoing 'protestant' is somehow important; the Tim gets to feel persecuted and indulge his paranoia about masonic conspiracies; the sergeant gets to slap the Tim around.
    • "The Two Philosophers".
  • There's nothing worse than a violent beating from an unremarkable person. Physical violence with someone is too much like shagging them. Too much id involved.
    • A Smart Cunt: A Novella. "Associates as Opiates" (Chapter 3).
  • That's all very well as an abstract moral principle, Avril, a coffee-table theoretical construct, but there's no denying the sheer gratuitous pleasure to be derived from seeing members of the ruling class in pain and torment.
    • A Smart Cunt: A Novella. "Marriage" (Chapter 13).
    • Darren and Brian explaining their own notions of anarchy to Avril.
  • Once you've been with each other in a primal, shagging state, it's hard to talk about the weather.
    • A Smart Cunt: A Novella. "Marriage" (Chapter 13).

Irvine Welsh

With his bleakly humorous tales of dead-end pleasures and post-rave burnout, Irvine Welsh was the first writer to take up the challenge of defining the chemical generation. As the filmatic sequel to his debut novel Trainspotting hits cinemas, we return to 1995 and i-D’s Tough Issue, to talk Edinburgh, ecstasy and the art of the expletive with the man himself.

Wendy Syfret 10 November 2016

After waiting 20 years for a sequel, why stop there?

Matthew Whitehouse 14 April 2016

Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose the new Irvine Welsh novel.

Hannah Ongley 30 March 2016

And the script is 'really, really, really good,' according to OG cast member Ewan McGregor.

Charlotte Gush 5 December 2015

Danny Boyle will start filming with Ewan McGregor, Jonny Lee Miller, Ewen Bremner and Robert Carlyle in 2016, for a 2017 release date.

Charlotte Gush 17 June 2015

Having moved from the terraces to the clubs and onto the catwalk, the founders of the Manchester streetwear brand are now headed for the small screen.

Tish Weinstock 3 June 2015

With Lost River released on video today we catch up with its star to talk Ryan Gosling, fighting the critics, and self expression.

Все книги Irvine Welsh

«Now bereft of both youth and ambition, Detective Inspector Ray Lennox is recovering from a mental breakdown induced by occupational stress and cocaine abuse, and a particularly horrifying child sex murder case back in Edinburgh. On vacation in Florida, his fiancee Trudi is only interested in planning their forthcoming wedding, and a bitter argument sees a deranged Lennox cast adrift in strip-mall Florida. He meets two women in a seedy bar, ending up at their apartment for a coke binge interrupted by two menacing strangers. After the ensuing brawl, Lennox finds himself alone with Tianna, the terrified ten-year-old daughter of one of the women, and a sheet of instructions that make him responsible for her immediate safety. Lennox takes her across the state to an exclusive marina on the Gulf of Mexico, and quickly suspects that he has stumbled into a hornet's nest: a gang of organized paedophiles, every bit as threatening as the monster that haunted him back in Edinburgh.His priority is to protect the abused girl, but can the edgy Lennox trust his own instincts? And can he negotiate her inappropriate sexuality, as well as his own mental fragility, while still trying to get to grips with the Edinburgh murder and the emotions it unleashes in him? A novel about the corruption and abuse of the human soul and the possibilities of redemption, «Crime» is a thrilling journey into the bright glamour of the Sunshine State and a seething underworld of utter darkness.»

With the festive season almost upon him, Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson is winding down at work and gearing up socially — kicking off Christmas with a week of sex and drugs in Amsterdam. Irvine Welsh has here created one of the most corrupt characters in contemporary fiction.

Читать онлайн Filth автора Уэлш Ирвин - RuLit - Страница 1

‘A serious, perceptive and hideously funny study of reactionary temperament. As a humourist, a moralist, and a violent horror writer Welsh is firing on all cylinders in this one. probably the best thing he has done since

‘There is an energy and vigour in Welsh’s invention and his handling of prose that reminds that reminds one of the great, coarse, vivid novelists of the 19 th century. there is no denying that [this novel] has a peculiar kind of brilliance’

Filth provides yet more evidence that Irvine Welsh is a uniquely exciting and gifted writer’

‘Better than Ecstasy and equal to Trainspotting

‘As haunting as his psychological masterpiece, Marabou Stork Nightmares. The lav’d up Filth beats the luv’d up

Ecstasy hands down’

‘Written in the trademark Welsh vernacular, Filth is a wonderfully black and funny novel about sleaze, power, and the abuse of just about everything’

‘The writing and structure are obscenely stylish, and Welsh’s wrecked way of looking at life is compelling’

‘A masterful piece of comic invention. superb’

‘One of the joys of this new novel is that it reminds us of his strengths as a storyteller. Detective Bruce Robertson is assigned to the case and it is his monologue that unfolds to reveal a heart of darkness that would make Joseph Conrad blush. His character is driven solely by misanthropic hate, a devil’s brew of every prejudice known to man and a few that are uniquely his own. He is consumed by his fury to the point of implosion, unable to function without a target for his loathing. He is plagued by tapeworms and scabrous rashes, metaphors for a self hell-bent on devouring its own bile. It is an exploration into the fragility of conscience, a tale of how memory and imaginings can make madmen of us all’

Filth marks a return to form for Irvine Welsh. In a toxic, chemical generation way, Welsh is our best writer of surreal social satire’

For Susan, Andrew, Adeline and Jo.

Thanks for keeping me out of trouble.

I started making up a list of people to thank but it got too long – you know who you are. Eternal gratitude to everybody who’s supported the stuff I’ve done (with their hard-earned cash or through shoplifting) and who can see through all the bullshit, both positive and negative, that tends to surround this sort of thing.

‘We shall do best to think of life as a desengano. as a process of disillusionment: since this is, clearly enough, what everything that happens to us is calculated to produce.’

‘When you woke up this morning everything you had was gone. By half past ten your head was going ding-dong. Ringing like a bell from your head down to your toes, like a voice telling you there was something you should know. Last night you were flying but today you’re so low – ain’t it times like these that make you wonder if you’ll ever know the meaning of things as they appear to others; wives, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers. Don’t you wish you didn’t function, wish you didn’t think beyond the next paycheck and the next little drink? Well you do so make up your mind to go on, ’cos when you woke up this morning everything you had was gone.’

– ‘Love, Love, Love & The Doctor’

Wheels Of Steel

The trouble with people like him is that they think that they can brush off people like me. Like I was nothing. They don’t understand the type of world we’re living in now; all those menaced souls clamouring for attention and recognition. He was a very arrogant young man, so full of himself.

No longer. Now he’s groaning, blood spilling thickly from the wounds in his head and his yellow, unfocused eyes are gandering around, desperately trying to find clarity, some meaning in the bleakness, the darkness around him. It must be lonely.

He’s trying to speak now. What is it that he is trying to say to me?

Help. Police. Hospital.

Or was it help please hospital? It doesn’t really matter, that little point of detail because his life is ebbing away: human existence distilled to begging for the emergency services.

You pushed me away mister. You rejected me. You tricked me and spoiled things between me and my true love. I’ve seen you before. Long ago, just lying there as you are now. Black, broken, dying. I was glad then and I’m glad now.

I reach into my bag and I pull out my claw hammer.

Part of me is elsewhere as I’m bringing it down on his head. He can’t resist my blows. They’d done him in good, the others.

After two fruitless strikes I feel a surge of euphoria on my third as his head bursts open. His blood fairly skooshes out, covering his face like an oily waterfall and driving me into a frenzy; I’m smashing at his head and his skull is cracking and opening and I’m digging the claw hammer into the matter of his brain and it smells but that’s only him pissing and shitting and the fumes are sticking fast in the still winter air and I wrench the hammer out, and stagger backwards to watch his twitching death throes, seeing him coming from terror to that graceless state of someone who knows that he is definitely falling and I feel myself losing my balance in those awkward shoes and I correct myself, turning and moving down the old stairway into the street.