“I had been making the rounds of the Sacrifice Poles the day we heard my brother had escaped. I already knew something was going to happen; the Factory told me.”
Banks, The Wasp Factory, 1984

I have recently re-read Ian Banks The Wasp Factory. Frank, the central character, has inspired me to murder. I had forgotten what it was like to dream of amputees being bitten by snakes, and little girls drifting into the distance, with their wrists tied to the kite that was pulling them out to sea.
“I had, after all, accounted for two male children and thus done womankind something of a statistical favour.” Unspeakable crimes. Unimaginable plot lines. Unforgivable lies. Frank takes us on journey that doesn’t question the obvious as this sixteen year old boy is too involved in the abnormal ways of his life. He quietly collects fluff in his belly button while we try to fathom out what exactly the Wasp Factory is. This is a gothic classic, and one of my favourite novels. While I find myself laughing as Eric (Franks brother) burns dogs alive in phone boxes for lunch, I can appreciate Banks amazing talent to create a character who is so sure of his life, so fixed in his identity, that he doesn’t question the most fundamental fact in his life… This novel is a work of pure genius, making its reader laugh, cry and even look away in disgust. Banks has written many superb novels such as Whit (1995), and The Crow Road (1992), the most recent of which is The Steep Approach to Garbadale (2007). Banks also writes for a science fiction audience under the name Ian M Banks, these books are also worth a look. Consider Phlebas (1987) being his first, and most reputable of this genre.
The Wasp Factory is an amazing display of his talent and imagination, and should be read slowly and enjoyed thoroughly without the deliberate explosion of an old bomb to kill your five year old cousin.

‘Frank’ll get you,’ I hissed to myself.