Add to Cart About Morvern Callar Morvern Callar, a low-paid employee in the local supermarket in a desolate and beautiful port town in the west of Scotland, wakes one morning in late December to find her strange boyfriend has committed suicide and is dead on the kitchen floor. What she does next is even more appalling. Morvern is utterly hypnotizing from her very first sentence to her last. She rarely goes anywhere without the Walkman left behind as a Christmas present by her dead boyfriend, and as she narrates this strange story, she takes care to tell the reader exactly what music she is listening to, giving the stunning effect of a sound track running behind her voice. In much the same way that Patrick McCabe managed to tell an incredibly rich and haunting story through the eyes of an emotionally disturbed boy in The Butcher Boy, Alan Warner probes the vast internal emptiness of a generation by using the cool, haunting voice of a female narrator lost in the profound anomie of the ecstasy generation.
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Strolling past palm trees and apartment complexes, along dusty streets, Warner is incongruous: a 6ft 3in Scottish novelist, too hot in the afternoon sun of this small Spanish resort town. The distractions are minimal. Warner peruses the drinks menu, contemplating whether the mojitos here could ever rival those consumed this past weekend at his 50th birthday celebrations in Benidorm. It has long been the custom that any journalistic profile of Warner must be laced with hard liquor.
Warner is half-revisiting his own past here. They are details, he explains, that are digested in early drafts and then thrown out, the facts making way for his imagination.
And Ballard said something similar — that you fictionalise to reach the truth. It defends you from your own faults and the troubles going on around you. Morvern, he explains, began predictably enough, as a story told through the eyes of her boyfriend. I thought the rhythm was very strange. And then, suddenly, one gets wings, and I feel it — this is the one, here we go.
And into that I insert notes, dialogue, pictures, things ripped out of newspapers, sketches, everything. Jesus, what can happen there? And on it goes, like that. He praises the "fullness and massiveness of the novel", the poetry of John Burnside "all his collections add up to one poem about frost on the underside of leaves and the fragility of the morning" and the short stories of Cormac McCarthy. Because people rarely think in similes and metaphors, just the odd cliche, you know?
He is, he explains, craving a kind of ordinariness in fiction. And the way he unquestioningly made the main character, a bus conductor, have profound thoughts. It was something to do with homesickness. I just see it as a democratic improvement, as a way forward. Morvern buries him up the hill!
What she does next is even more appalling. Moving across a blurred European Morvern Callar, a low-paid employee in the local supermarket in a desolate and beautiful port town in the west of Scotland, wakes one morning in late December to find her strange boyfriend has committed suicide and is dead on the kitchen floor. Morvern is utterly hypnotizing from her very first sentence to her last. She rarely goes anywhere without the Walkman left behind as a Christmas present by her dead boyfriend, and as she narrates this strange story, she takes care to tell the reader exactly what music she is listening to, giving the stunning effect of a sound track running behind her voice.
His parents were in their forties when he was born, and ran a coal delivery business in Mull , a shop in Kilchoan , and a small hotel in Oban, before in buying the bedroom Marine Hotel, close to Oban ferry terminal. He explained in an interview with the Scottish Review of Books in "I had presumed novels were an art form which only happened elsewhere and had died out in Scotland around the time of Walter Scott. What a very curious but genuine assumption. On the other hand, I could argue this was because local bookshops were stuffed with Scott and not a single work of modern Scottish literature. On his return to Scotland he studied at Glasgow University, where he wrote a dissertation on Joseph Conrad and the theme of suicide. He then spent some time participating in the Spanish rave scene, before working in Scotland as a train driver, musician, bouncer and barman. Adaptations of his work[ edit ] Morvern Callar has been adapted as a film , directed by Lynne Ramsay.