Swearing

You may not have noticed but in this twenty one year old blog, written swear words are as rare as hens' teeth. I don't like gratuitous swearing. It jars my sensibilities and it rather irks me when I come across unnecessary swear words in other people's blogs.

It's the same with fiction and film, I feel uncomfortable with swearing that is clearly there for sensational effect and/or does not seem in tune with the context. It makes me bristle.

But I am not stupid. I know that  many people do swear. It's part of their natural vocabulary, an element of who they are. And I have to admit that when angry, frustrated or self-flagellating in the privacy of my own home, swear words will often boil out of me like steam from hot water. I can curse with the best of them.

And with all of this in mind, I have just finished reading a novel by the Glaswegian author, James Kelman. It won The Booker Prize in 1994 and its title is "How Late It Was, How Late".  It has sometimes been called a "stream of consciousness" novel. The central character and narrator is a working class Glaswegian who drinks and smokes and has been in prison for petty criminal activity. He is called Sammy and he swears like a trooper. Hardly a page goes by without a bunch of swear words to accompany his story telling.  

But here's the thing. I did not mind the swearing one iota in "How Late It Was, How Late". It was "right" for Sammy. He's filled with anger, self-loathing and a strong sense of injustice. Good fortune never seems to be on his side. It is very appropriate that his narrative voice should include a lot of swear words. What is more, I was hugely impressed by James Kelman's rare ability to think himself into the mind of an anti-hero like Sammy. In my view the novel was a supreme act of sustained creativity built on the perceived reality of Glasgow's mean streets. Deprivation invariably impacts on the language that disregarded and unsuccessful people use.

As a reader, I think it was pretty helpful that I spent my university days up in Scotland. It made the process of "tuning in" a little easier I think.

Here's a taste of the language:-

Fuck it, he had to get going, he had to get going; he would get going, it just took a while to get started; it's no he was lazy, he wasnay lazy, he just needed time to sort things out; once he had that right he could move as fast as any cunt; in fact sometimes he moved too fast for his own fucking good; that was how come he was in this situation. Typical, fucking typical. Nay wonder he didnay like moving fast man see when he did, he fucking

he fuckt things man, he just fuckt things, he fuckt things up.  (page 115)

I hope that in transcribing that  sweary extract, I have not immediately lost some of my most loyal blog visitors...

COMMENTS

Bob Slatten -  August 25, 2026 at 11:47 PM

I was outraged by the presence of both the "f" word and the "c" word in this foul-mouthed blogpost and I won't ever come back. You can stick your Yorkshire pudding up yer ****ing arse! (American: ass) 

Finally, I do not wish to give too much away about the novel but I will say that  Sammy has unexpectedly become blind after an assault in a  police cell. Let's just leave it at that.