Listen to the music
A shy teen on a trip to the US with his dad finds his voice in the music of the Mississippi.
Booker Prize-winning Scottish writer James Kelman’s ninth novel is the tale of anguished son and father Murdo and Tom, who travel from their home off the west coast of Scotland to visit relatives in America’s Deep South. Grieving the death, years earlier, of Eilidh,
Murdo’s sister, and, more recently, the death of Murdo’s mother, the two make their way by ferry, train and plane to Memphis, where the story really begins.
Theirs is a strained relationship, although it’s unclear whether it has always been that way or if their personal tragedies are to blame. We’re in Murdo’s point of view; every observation and conversation is filtered through his shy, naive, 16-yearold mind. He bristles when his father admonishes him for staring at strangers or for falling asleep when he should have been minding their luggage, and it’s easy to see theirs as a not-unusual relationship between a father and his teenage son. But through
Tom’s overly protective behaviour and Murdo’s meandering thoughts, we feel their pain, inexpressible but present: “Dad didn’t talk much anyway. As soon as they sat down he brought out his book and began reading. Murdo sat thinking about stuff. If anybody had asked what about he wouldn’t have known. All sorts and everything.”
Murdo’s obsession is music, but he feels stranded: he’s not only forgotten his phone, but he’s left his accordion behind in Scotland: “Some folk needed music. Murdo was one of them. Music keeps ye sane. People said that and it was true. More true was it kept ye safe. But he needed to play. Listening was good but wasn’t enough.” A missed bus between Memphis and his aunt and uncle’s house in Alabama forces
them
to spend a night in a cheap motel in Allentown, Mississippi. It’s here that Murdo, drawn to the music he hears playing streets away, meets Queen Monzee-ay, self-proclaimed Queen of Zydeco, and her extended family, and is given a chance to accompany her on a beautiful turquoise accordion. Murdo, finding his voice in the music, wins the admiration of Queen Monzee-ay and her band and is invited to join them when they play at the famous music festival in Lafayette, Louisiana.
Murdo desperately wants to play with them, but has no accordion, no money for the bus fare and no support from his father. This quandary informs the rest of the novel: will Murdo get to the festival?
Anyone who has read Kelman’s previous work will recognise his depiction of working-class Scots who long to be self-reliant. The anger – in action and language – that is a hallmark of much of his writing is absent here, replaced by an uncertain inertia and reticence.
The end is, paradoxically, both telegraphed and somewhat implausible. But the pitch-perfect spareness and subtlety in Kelman’s writing convincingly convey the joy and wonder Murdo finds. Although his immediate future is more certain and optimistic than Tom’s, we can see healing – and a way forward – for them both.
DIRT ROAD, by James Kelman (Canongate, $32.99)