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Iain Banks, Espedair Street

Eine weitere Leihgabe von Regina und die Geschichte eines schottischen Songwriters in der 70ern und 80ern liest sich auf ihre Weise noch bizarrer als Eifelsheim. Immer wieder erkennt man beim lesen Sachen wieder, kann etwas nachvollziehen, dann wird es wieder total abgehoben. Aber bis jetzt auf sehr fesselnde und vergnügliche Weise - das ist ja die Hauptsache.
Achja, und der Ich-Erzähler kommt aus Paisley. Wie Gerry Rafferty. Das nimmt ihn schon sehr für mich ein.

My dreams came true, and I discovered that once they did, they were no longer dreams, just new ways of living, with their own problems and difficulties.
...
I think I hoped to find myself in my fantasies, to see the shape of who I really was in the pattern of my realised dreams, and when it all happened, and I did, I just wasn't very impressed with what I found there. It wasn't that I actively disliked myself, just that I wasn't as interesting and fine and noble a person as I'd thought I was. I used to think that all I needed was the opportunity, and I'd blossom, I'd spread my wings and fly ... but discovered in the end that I was a weed, and that some buds just never open, and that some caterpillars were only ever worms with an identity crisis.

(Iain Banks, Espedair Street, 1987)