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By Irvine Welsh

An epic novel concerning the bonds of friendship from the writer of Trainspotting.

the tale of 4 boys growing to be up within the Edinburgh tasks, Glue is set the loyalties, the reports, and the secrets and techniques that carry acquaintances jointly via 3 a long time. the men develop into males: Juice Terry, the work-shy fanny-merchant, with corkscrew curls and sticky palms; Billy the boxer, pushed, managed, taking part in to his strengths; Carl, the Milky Bar child, drifting alongside to his personal soundtrack; and the doomed Gally, really thin-skinned and liable to disaster at each flip. We stick with their lives from the seventies into the recent century—from punk to techno, from velocity to E. Their mutual loyalty is fused in road morality: again up your pals, do not hit ladies, and, most crucial, by no means snitch—on a person. Glue has the Irvine Welsh trademarks—crackling discussion, scabrous set items, and black, black humor—but it's also a grown-up ebook approximately transforming into up—about the way in which we are living our lives, and what occurs to us while issues turn into unstuck. "Stocked together with his traditional quirky, sympathetic characters, this rollicking new story flickers with the writer's trademark satiric wit. Its heft and narrative breadth may still persuade any last skeptics that Welsh—now successfully the grand outdated guy of in-your-face Scottish fiction—is a author to be taken seriously."—Publishers Weekly starred evaluation

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The blade did the trick! That Polmont’s jist standin daein nowt. The Clerie boy’s doon and Dozo’s bootin at him. Then Polmont nods at me n eh takes the chib off ays, and ah jist gie’s um it, n eh bends doon n rips the opposite gadge’s face aside wi it. My hert jist is going bang, as ah see the boy’s epidermis open up and not anything for a moment, then a gash and blood tearin oot ay it. Doyle appears to be like doon on the boy. — Fuckin Clerie wank! The boy’s hudin ehs face thegither, n eh’s sayin stuff, daft stuff thit ability nowt n ah’m lookin doon at um. It wis intended tae be a square-go . . . Dozo n the boy . . . Ah jist stand rooted tae the spot as Polmont arms the blade again tae me. Ah take it, ah dinnae ken what fir. reason it’s mine, ah think. Polmont appears at me and makes a face, and Dozo shakes ehs heid. They snigger and begin walkin away. a pair ay men come over, staring at me, staring at the boy, the blood. Then they’re long past. One sais somethin, yet ah cannae listen um. The guy’s nonetheless goat ehs palms ower one part ay his face n eh appears to be like up and sees me wi the knife. Eh appears to be like at me in disgust, like ah’m an animal. Ah flip n run acroass the car-park doon the lane n intae the most street. Ah run fir a long time, merely stoapin whin ah’m oot ay breath. Then ah throw the knife away, intae one ay they large packing containers. It takes ays it slow tae understand whair ah am. Ah’ve been gaun within the flawed path. Ah go into reverse, yet by way of a roundabout wey n take the backstreets hame, avoidin the most roads. It begins tae rain. The lighting fae the road lamps mirror oan the blue-black pavement makin ays consider in poor health n dizzy n ah zip up ma Harrington n button the collar. My guts burn wi each step ah take. Everytime ah listen a police siren or see a cop motor vehicle, ah imagine it’s fir me. Ma hert flies up tae ma mooth n ma blood jist runs cauld. Ah see the toon switch; the shoaps turn into the luxurious toon hooses, then it’s the tenements, then it’s like nowt for a while, then the twin carriageway n the lighting fixtures ay the scheme. A (Virgin) Soldier’s music Wir hingin aboot the shoaps at Stenhoose Croass oan Sunday mornin. Sundays are shite they usually git shiter the longer they cross oan. Thir’s nowt tae dae yet tae speak aboot the weekend and suppose the terror and the melancholy creep up oan ye till it’s Monday mornin. Ah as soon as sais tae muh Uncle Donald whae works oan the property at Rentokil, — Does it git any larger whin ye go away college n move tae paintings? Eh jist shook ehs heid n laughed at ays as though tae say; aye, that’ll be fuckin correct. Bit it’s nonetheless the mornin n aw the weekend triumphs ur clean. specially wi that vast cunt Terry whae is going, — Ma fuckin cherry’s nonetheless goat a nip oan it fae ma wee schoolgirl final evening. Smooooth fuckin experience, eh huds ehs arms oot n thrusts ehs hips aw gradual. He goat nowt offay her, no offay Caroline Urquhart. Fill ay fuckin shite that cunt. —What aboot aw that ‘ah widnae contact her’ rubbish ye used tae come oot wi? ah is going. — good, Terry smiles, — ah thoat, now thit ah’m workin, it’s no undesirable huvin a wee chicken fae the varsity tae journey now n then. Billy appears to be like aw inspired through the lyin cunt, n ye kinfolk inform thit Terry laps that up.

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