Book review: Strip the Willow, by John Aberdein

JOHN Aberdein's debut novel, Amande's Bed, won the Saltire Society Scottish First Book of the Year when it appeared in 2004, and was compared by a staggering array of Scots authors (such as Jackie Kay, Ali Smith, Andrew Greig and Duncan McLean) to a staggering array of international titans (such as James Joyce, Thomas Pynchon, Jorge Luis Borges and Kurt Vonnegut).

It would be safe to say his second novel was "eagerly awaited", the anticipation perhaps piqued by Aberdein's role as an unofficial legal adviser to Tommy Sheridan during his libel trial against the News of the World in 2006. Readers hoping for a roman clef of leftist intrigue might be disappointed – although the villain of the piece, Rookie Marr of the sinister LeopCorp, has a fleeting resemblance to Rupert Murdoch. Readers wanting more of Aberdein's unique blend of satire and sentiment, rambunctious Doric and wry literary allusion, metaphysical wit and carnivalesque anger will be amply rewarded. Strip The Willow is a major work by a significant new voice in Scottish writing.

The novel is set in Uberdeen – the city formerly known as Aberdeen, and driven by bankruptcy to sell itself to the multinational corporation LeopCorp. Union Street – renamed UberStreet – is now a 24-hour "Spectacle" of multimedia advertising, co-ordinated by Rookie Marr's event manager, Guy Bord. As the novel explains, "Guy Bord" is a nom de guerre adopted by the character in homage to the French Situationist Guy Debord, the so-called "philosopher of the May 68 uprising". Our Guy has flirted with Situationist and anarchist politics before applying their strategies and techniques to corporate PR. For those thinking such a volte-face is the stuff of fiction, it's worth noting that Carlo Freccero, former chief programmer for Berlusconi's Canale 5 and Italia 1, was once a pupil of Guy Debord.

Guy's ambitions are temporarily held in check by Lucy, a sixty-something council worker, and her colleague Alison. As Guy plans his next Spectacle – UberStreet will be transformed into a cross between a giant bowling alley and GrottoLotto's new live draw system – Lucy becomes intrigued with a mysterious beggar, who seems to know her, and whose history might be revealed in a curious manuscript about events in 1968. Alison, meanwhile, learns just how far LeopCorp will go to ensure its dominance.

As befits such a riotous – in all senses – novel, there is a far larger cast, comprising Polish immigrants, a Cretan thinker (who doesn't want a Chair in Philosophy but a Great Stride instead), corrupt councillors, king prawn specialists, and eventually, representatives of nearly every nation on earth, co-opted as human cogs in the Lottery draw. Characters from Amande's Bed resurface, including the Rabelaisian Spermy McClung, Amande herself, and that novel's thwarted hero, Peem.

Strip The Willow is every bit as linguistically daring as its predecessor, mixing dialect and dialectic in a unique blend. Aberdein has a fondness for puns, but his quibbles conceal sometimes mordant meanings. An injured spectator is "chequed out" to the tune of 2,000; "rex" is misheard as "wrecks", and Provost Swink's malapropisms constantly reveal his real concerns. Brand names are particularly well-satirised, with mineral water called "Pche" and a chain store called "UCKU".

Each miniature chapter is headed with a phrase which occurs in the story, and often these are ironic, poetic and telling. "change would be a fine thing" runs one; the change in question being loose rather than revolutionary. These aren't affectations or personal whims. The novel's structure rests on LeopCorp's attempts to control meaning, to render it inert and homogenous, while the rag-tag assemblage of refuseniks thrive on linguistic creativity and fecundity.

The novel's ending – or endings – might be melodramatic, but in the context of such uproarious antics they seem apposite, and also manage to retain a core of emotional resonance. There are pantomime victories offset by ongoing struggles, and a fine sense that the freedom to imagine underpins a great many other freedoms.

Strip The Willow is a global novel with a local accent. It invites comparison with Flann O'Brien, Jonathan Swift, John Kennedy Toole, Ken Kalfus and a host of experimental, engaged and cantankerous authors; but is firmly rooted in a Scottish tradition. Hugh MacDiarmid, the grand old man of the Scottish Renaissance, would have loved it. I sincerely hope that no further internecine socialist dust-ups distract Aberdein from his next novel.