Iain Banks has been on something of a roll as far as I’m concerned in recent years. It’s been a while since I didn’t enjoy one of his books and ‘Transition’ isn’t the book to break that run.
There’s been some debate as to why ‘Transition’ isn’t an Iain M Banks novel because it is unashamedly sci-fi, featuring as it does people able to travel between parallel worlds. In ‘Walking On Glass’ and ‘The Bridge’ it however has quite established precedents in the Iain Banks canon even if they are somewhat in the distant past.
At times ‘Transition’ reads like a Ken MacLeod novel not least because Banks has created a detailed world which would probably bear revisiting. But, although many of its concepts seem barely touched upon, the story itself feels properly resolved even if there is something of an open ending.
Told from multiple points of view (although not as many as may first appear), ‘Transition’ is one of those books that challenges you to keep up on its terms given that there is a minimum of exposition in each thread (not unlike some of the early Ken MacLeod books). But it is successful in that goal as each tale is involving making this something of a page turner.
Given its nature, I felt that I hadn’t necessarily picked up on everything first time round and so I quickly re-read it. Curiously, despite the fact that I knew who the patient turned out to be, reading the book for the second time gave me a totally misleading interpretation of who he might be.
I remember going to see Banksy at the Pittenweem Arts Festival a number of years ago and was astonished when a number of people turned away when they found he was reading from the then current Iain M Banks novel. I suspect that these narrow minded people will be disappointed by this book, but no-one else should be. Buy it here.
I once met him at a work do when I was pissed. He was sitting down and so I kneeled down in front of him and asked him some scary fan stalker type questions all of which he bore with good grace. To get a connection i started to tell him of when i lived in glasgow and ended by mumbling somethig about liking whisky too, before the one ounce of sobriety i had left told me to get the fuck away from him. I cringe whenever i see his name
David, I’m sure we’ve all had experiences of a similar nature, my particular favourite is usually being tongue tied and blethering any old shite to say something. My other Banksy story was when he was appearing at Pittenweem, I was appointed as car parking attendant to ensure he got the space next to the hall. It was amazing how many bearded people pulled up in sports cars that night before the man himself did! And I’m sure we were blocking the janny’s driveway where we eventually parked IMB.