The Welsh Man by Dave Lewis

 

Our Rating 3⭐s

You can buy The Welsh Man...here

About the author...here

• The Blurb..

An authentic British road trip and old-fashioned love story. A violent but compelling tale of grim landscapes and dark morality. Paul Thorne is no angel. A hard man with a troubled past, his mistake was to fall for the wrong girl. When he said yes to love, he opened the door to death.

A tragic accident finds him running for his life from a vicious London crime boss. He seeks sanctuary in a sleepy, Welsh seaside town but instead of solace, he finds jealousy and betrayal.

A brutal journey through the underbelly of 80s and 90s Britain. Violent and sad. Powerful, beautiful prose lingers like a bruise, haunting the mind, long after the last page is read.

• Our Review...

The Welsh Man tells the tale of Paul. Big  lovable but rough man from a lovable but rough part of the world. The Welsh Valleys are a place like no other. To most brits going to the valleys is like going back in time 50 years, which can be a good thing or a bad thing.

 Due to their weird geography they are not your average urban rough area. Most valleys run north–south, roughly parallel to each other, creating a “hand and fingers” pattern of development. flanked by steep hillsides, often covered in open moorland or dense forest. Between the valleys lie high, relatively remote plateaux that contrast with the busy valley floors. The topography restricts movement between valleys, with only a few high passes connecting them. Settlements stretch along the valley bottoms and lower slopes, forming long, narrow towns rather than compact cities.The geography shaped the rise of coal and iron industries in the 18th and 19th centuries, with mining communities built into the hillsides. Railways and roads snake through the valleys, linking communities but rarely crossing the uplands. 

The result is often ribbons of semi autonomous urban wasteland. very different to the rougher areas of London, Manchester or Glasgow. I often thought of the valleys as being like heroin. Amazing but cruel and can even drag you down to despair. But I love it (The valleys not drugs obv) 

The humour is self deprecating. eg. more blown out windows than Beirut, twinned with Mordor. Being a valley commando (as locals are known within Wales) is akin to being a member of the mafia, or the IRA. Once you're in you're never out. Fierce enemies and fierce friends, they will rob your last penny but will give you their last penny. They are honest and honest to your face, which some find rude. 

It is hard to find novels set in the valleys. As always Wales flies under the radar. So I chose this novel to read in part to see how the author (a fellow valley boy) portrays the mothership. And he's got it bang on. Hard as nails with a heart of gold.   

We follow Paul from Porth. A kind but tough kid from a broken home who finds his way into being a bouncer back in the 90s. He meets and falls in lovely with Charley. So far so good, but Charley one day just leaves, leaving Paul heartbroken. He eventually drifts to London and ends up working for some very serious gangsters. I'll leave the story there to avoid spoilers.

The story isn't a particularly complex one, but then not all stories have to be complex. The novel is very violent, as the subject matter dictates. The prose is sparing but accurate. Reminded me of Cormac McCarthy but from Wales with better punctuation.

 Overall I though it was OK and nice to read about the valleys.  

• Selected Quotes...

The valleys left a mark on you for sure and I’ve certainly inherited the sick sense of humour and extraordinary spirit about the place. Deprivation and hardship became a badge of belonging. You know what I mean? Everyone’s had to suffer something; otherwise you wouldn’t fit in.

The bouncers know the clubs are swimming with drugs, the punters know, the dealers know, the manager knows and of course the cops know. Nobody does anything though. There is just too much money to be made and it’s too much hassle to try to stop it. Everyone knows this except the poor, law-abiding parents of the unfortunate sods that get poisoned every weekend.

It’s getting late and Charley decides it’s time Cara was safely tucked up in bed. Michael wasn’t arguing and was keen to do the tucking, with a capital F.

The legacy of the Tory policy to divide and conquer, leaving the hapless and hopeless to scrounge around for the scraps thrown to them by those lucky enough to have been dealt a better hand in life’s sick poker game.

I decided enough time had elapsed to risk it. I’d go home. Back to the land of my father. The father who was god knows where.

• If You Liked This Then You May Like...

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