Iain Banks / Iain M Banks

Iain Banks and Iain M Bans are one and the same. The presence of the 'M' indicates the work in question is science-fiction, its absence contemporary fiction set in the real world, more-or-less. Both names belong to a hirsute Scottish author who at one time seemed to promise great things but who now barely barely registers with me any more.

I've read a lot of Banks's work over the years - I'm shocked at how much. He might be lazy, but he's certainly busy, producing work of little notice, while resting on the laurels he earned in the 80s and early 90s. A shame to see how he seems to have settled for prolific mediocrity

Here are potted reviews of what I've read of what he wrote. As noted above, I've pretty much stopped reading Banks and I'm scared to re-read his older stuff in case it spoils it, so I might be a bit vague on detail. I've respected Banks's decision to distingush his sci-fi from his mainstream work, and the order within these categories is, I think, chronological.

As Iain M Banks:

• Consider Phlebas - Good. A shameless space opera set in the Culture universe. This was Banks in his grand phase, his titanic imagination working over time. Good characters, human and machine, cunning plot and grand settings. **
• The Player of Games - Another very good thing, though I discern a totalitarian streak in the Culture novels that I find a bit uncomfortable. Okay, maybe the Culture is run by super-intelligent computers, but aren't they just behaving like a bunch of neo-cons intent on 'regime change'? Still, put aside the philisophical navel-gazing, and it's terrific story. **
• Use of Weapons - Probably his best work as either Iain Banks or Iain M Banks. A mammoth space adventure, following one man's quest for redemption. Nicely structured forwards-backwards narrative, a terrific main character, a stonker of a twist and then (because when Banks was good he was really, really good) an second stonker just to leave you seeing a galaxy load of stars. ***
• The State of the Art - So-so short stories. Some good, some mediocre. No stars
• Against a Dark Background - Interesting sci-fi, set in a non-Culture environment. Much more restrained than previous sci-fi outings, and bleak on a galactic rather than an individual scale. I think I remember that the conclusion is weak, but it is still a good effort and worth reading. *
• Feersum Endjinn - Banks's attempt to be Anthony Burgess is interesting more than successful, but still just about hangs together. *
• Excession - A worthy Culture novel, with interesting and well realized machine characters. Banks was still trying at this stage, still challenging himself. *
• Look to Windward - Not bad in itself, but a definte diminishing of scope and ambition. Returning to The Wasteland for his title signals the triumph of the repetitive and lazy over the original and exciting. No star
• The Algebraist - Tediously long and convoluted tale that leads nowhere. Stale space opera with a long, drawn out quest segment. No star

As Iain Banks:

• The Wasp Factory - Strange little gothic tale. Yes, we all loved it when we read it when we were too young to know better. Take my advice and preserve it as a cherished memory, don't re-read it. Oh, and don't make the mistake I made of looking at the last page to see how many pages there are. Rather spoils it. *
• Walking On Glass - Deeply odd multi-narrative tale that doesn't really work for me on any level. I suspect he was trying to imitate Alan Garner's fabulous Red Shift, and failed absolutely. Yes, 'tis very strange, but strangeness in itself doesn't make for a worthwhile read. No star
• The Bridge - Like The Wasp Factory, on first encounter this many-stranded tale is stranfggely fascinating and I loved it at first. From a more mature standpoint, it strikes me as contrived, pretentious, show-offy and silly. Very studenty, which is probably why it is so beloved by students, but now it seems arid and smug. Just like Walking On Glass seemed suspiciously like Red Shift, The Bridge reminds me too much of Alastair Gray's mad and brilliant 1982, Janine. *
• Espedaire Street - The big disappointment of my re-reading of Banks. I enjoyed this maudalin tale of prog-rock excess when I read it the first time. I recall re-reading it with pleasure, but another visit proved one too many. It no longer seemed convincing, either as a chronicle of rock'n'roll excess, or as a tale of Davey Weir's personal salvation. And the idea of a sort of Scottish Pink Floyd taking the world by storm is less credible than Banks' more esoteric sci-fi imaginings. No star
• The Crow Road - The start of Banks' strange fixation on family sagas. Nothing much of interest here. THat is to say, nothing overtly bad, but nothing that makes me want to jump up and down and say "You've got to read this!" No star
• Whit - In effect, another family saga and very undistingushed. Very high 'Why bother?' quotient. You could perhaps justify reading this or The Crow Road, but I wouldn't recommend both. No star
• Complicity - I hoped this signalled Banks turning the tide in his battle against mediocrity, but it turned out to his last stand. I enjoyed Complicity. Clunky, obvious and flawed, but the sustained rage and disgust - at pretty much everything from Bon Jovi to Margaret Thatcher - made it enjoyable. Helps if you were fascinated by the Civilisation computer games in the 1990s. **
• Dead Air - Banks sinks into utter irrelevance. Writing about something as shocking and relevant as the terrorist attacks of September the 11th, he botches it, settling for an irrelevant and indulgent story about a banal prat mouthing off and getting himself into petty trouble. Unsuccessful on every level. No star