Porno: The Sequel to Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh

By the time I finished one-third of it there was nothing to keep me hooked; other than the fact that it was written by Irvine Welsh. But then things started moving and by the end my toes were literally curled!

Welsh takes most filthy of human dreams and most wild & creative of human dreams, mixes them with bare emotions – the best & the worst and presents them to you in a way that might make sick to your stomach but you cannot deny their existence and cannot keep from reading on.

Porno is a sequel set 10 years after Trainspotting – with Sick Boy trying to deny his failures – still high on himself as ever, Spud still in mess, Begbie out of jail and obsessed with Mark Renton. And Mark Renton doing better than most can imagine. And with two new notable characters – Nikki – she is the new age woman and Terry “Juice”.

They all get in a great “scam” of making pornography, talk about wildest dreams we all had, and unsettled business in hearts of many.

I’ve never seen characters age so well in any novel. It actually seems 10 years later – the pace of story matches their age and thinking. That’s the reason it’s slower than Trainspotting.

The beautiful transition from age of smack to age of crack and the beautiful evolution (or non-evolution of some) of characters, the core nature that doesn’t change and things that are long forgotten – it’s all amazingly well done.

I’ve never read a better sequel. If you liked Trainspotting, let this one take you back and forward.

In words of Begbie, “… thill be some cunts thit’ll be huvin sleepless nights whin they find oot thit ah’m back oan the fuckin scene.”

It’s not the penises that are the problem, it’s the attachments; they come in varying sizes alright, varying sizes and degrees of annoyance.

Every woman should have a sweet young wife.

Age makes most girls into women, but men never really stop being boys. That’s what I evny about them, their ability to wallow in silliness and immaturity, which is something.

Cats like me have become extinct. Cannae adapt, so cannae survive. Sortay like the sabre-toothed tiger. The funny thing but, is that ah never really dug how that species became extinct, when less hard cats survived.

The most horrible thing a man can say to me is that I’ve got a great body. Because I don’t want a good, great, lovely, beautiful body. I want a body good enough to be in the magazines and if I had one I would be in them and I’m not cause I don’t.

But knowing intellectually is not enough, because ‘real’ isn’t ‘fact’ any more. Real knowledge is emotional and in feeling and real feelings are engendered by the airbrushed image, the slogan and the soundbite.

Just letting somebody use your body, or the images of it you create, that’s fuck all. It’s when you let them use your emotions; that’s real hooring. You can never, ever prostitute those!

I also found that it was better to use charm rather than threats, and that love and affection worked easier than violence. With the former, all you had to do was withdraw it, or threaten to.