John of John by Douglas Stuart
There is a moment early in John of John by Douglas Stuart when a young man hangs up a public phone after listening to his father read scripture from three hundred miles away. He has just been told that his grandmother’s feet are the colour of calves’ liver. He cannot mention where he is sleeping, who he has slept with, or what he has eaten to stay alive that week. His father cannot say very much at all. Between them sit sea, rock, and Gaelic psalm, and in that careful distance an entire novel is already breathing. This is Douglas Stuart’s third book, after the Booker-winning Shuggie Bain and the wrenching Young Mungo. For this one he leaves Glasgow behind and steers the small ferry north and west, towards the Isle of Harris, where the rain comes sideways, the sheep outnumber the souls, and the Free Presbyterian Church still keeps quiet account of who has missed a Sunday and who has been seen too often with whom. The Setup, Spoiler-Free John-Calum Macleod, called Cal, comes …



