Irvine Welsh has produced more than his share of revolting characters in his short yet spectacular writing career, but in the creation of Detective Sergeant Bruce Robertson he has surpassed himself. The protagonist of Filth is, both personally and professionally, utterly corrupt; a thief, drug user, misogynist and racist, with standards of appearance and personal hygiene that are simply beyond belief. It goes without saying that his wife and children have left him but, oddly, he still has few drinking mates, and even some of the women he so hideously abuses are still prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. "The undeniable sexuality which is part and parcel of the complete dominance over another human being", opines the viciously selfish Robertson, is just part of what makes, "poliswork such a satisfying career." But, strangely, as we chart his inevitable decline...from what is admittedly a very low baseline--a solid, almost conventional, underlying morality begins to assert itself. Amid the degradation we come across a hint of reason as Welsh's stunningly direct dialogue and hideously imaginative plot combine in a thrilling, undeniably unsettling novel. --Nick Wroe

2008-07-03 interesting........

I have read my share of misanthropic novels - I frequently enjoy journies to the dark side of life. This novel, though, belongs to a different genre entirely. Harvey Pekar is misanthropic. Holden Cauldfield is something of a misanthrope. Bruce Robertson is a bigot. And a sexist bigot at that. Whether he was intended to be a vehicle for Welsh to vent his spleen, or whether Robertson was created as a detestable character who embodies the evil thoughts we all have, I don't know. Nevertheless, his hatred is borne more out of prejudice than of genuine misanthropy derived from observing human nature. He is, as a result, a pretty unattractive specimin. Yet strangely, you do warm to him. A bit. But only in the way you warm to any anti-hero.

Anyway, semantic arguments about the difference between misanthropy and bigotry aside, this novel proved to be somewhat interesting in the end. And it was doubtful there, for a while, because about two thirds of the way in, I began to get strong suspicions that the final third was just gonna be more of the same.

Thankfully, it wasn't.

Basically, the first two thirds consists of a half-arsed attempt at a police investigation interspersed with Robertson's work-avoidance tactics - which include his predilection for charlie, bizarre sex acts and acts of back-stabbery perpetrated against his colleagues. These are all intentionally corrupt and foul but whether you count them as genuinely shocking or not kind of depends on your attitude. Yes, if these were real-life events, I am sure we should all be outraged. As elements of a work of literature? Well, put it this way: Anyone can out-do any act of literary depravity by throwing in a dog,a well-oiled dwarf and.....you get the idea. The main thing would be to determine whether these activities are enough to make you hate Robertson. Most people would probably say "Yes". Sadly, though, these activities are very repetetive and there are only so many times you can read about a man trying to do things with his rotten man-veg before getting bored.

So, the conclusion. I can't decide whether the ending represents a kind of deus ex machina that allowed an uninventive Welsh to end his novel, a deus ex machina that gave his character the kind of background that justified his persona, or whether it was a genuine plot device used to flesh out a character in need of flesh. Either way, it was strangely affecting - and I don't know whether that's a good thing or not. Ultimately, I am giving the book the benefit of the doubt. You do get a good idea of Robertson as a character and your allegiance (to him or against him) does make you question your values. It just takes quite a lot of time to get there - and there's a lot of repetition in the process.