Craig A. Smith’s 2013 debut novel, The Mile, was one of the few to deal directly with the then-impending independence referendum, but it also looked at the history of Scotland leading up to that point. Over ten years later, The River looks at specific events in the 20th century through the lives and loves of everyday people. SNACK spoke to Craig to hear all about it.
Can you describe The River for readers?
It’s the story of one man’s seemingly aimless life and it follows him through seven decades of Scottish history, taking in various cultural, political, and sporting disappointments on the way. Ultimately though, it’s a story of hope.
Why was this a story you wanted to tell?
It’s a bit of a reaction to the social media generation. The fabrication of success and clambering for one-upmanship. If the story was a song, it’d be Teenage Fanclub’s ‘Everything Flows’. Lachlan doesn’t know which way to flow but somehow gets to where he wants to be. I think I just wanted to give a bit of hope to life’s drifters. Not everything has to be a battle.
How did the central character of Lachlan McCormack come about? Does his story mirror that of Scotland at the time, or am I reading too much into that?
You’re spot on. He’s really like a piece of driftwood. He sometimes fails to make the big decisions at the right time and relies on outside events to propel him onwards. In The River, it’s only the death of others that has the power to do this, the old ‘death as a rebirth’ thing – a cyclical regeneration, which does reflect Scotland’s ongoing battle for an identity.
At its heart is a beautiful love story between Lachlan and Morag, which lends the novel warmth and optimism. What was that like to write, and did you always know how it would unfold?
I had this idea of childhood friends who turn out to be soulmates, but life drags them apart and decades pass before their paths cross again. My wife helped with the romantic element, although she did worry I was writing a Mills & Boon at one point.
Is it also a love letter to Scotland? What did you want to say about the country during this period?
My first novel, The Mile, was kind of an allegory, with the journey through the capital’s pubs reflecting three centuries of Scottish history. The River focuses on that last part, the post-war slow decline while the undercurrent of nationalism gains momentum. There is a political thread throughout, but it’s not as much of a polemic as The Mile. It just reflects what’s been going on over the decades. It’s up to the reader how they view that, I guess.
You capture the innocence of youth in a manner which is so evocative, and which makes the end of that innocence all the more powerful. Was this taken purely from your own experiences, or were there other influences?
I grew up in Whitburn in the 1970s and we seemed to be surrounded by wilderness, with just the rumble of the M8 reminding us there was a world elsewhere. It did seem like a sunnier decade, with a lot more freedom, but every generation probably says the same thing. There was always the threat of violence from some local bampot. One book that’s stuck with me was Des Dillon’s Me and Ma Gal, which was a brilliant evocation of a Scottish working-class childhood.
It’s also a state-of-the-nation novel, one which looks at the history, politics, and culture of Scotland. Can you talk about that style of storytelling?
I’m a huge fan of James Robertson. And the Land Lay Still was a big influence. William Boyd’s life-spanning books, like Sweet Caress, Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, and Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance are favourites of mine – they all take you into worlds and cultures you may not be familiar with, but have believable, identifiable characters that draw you in. If The River can come close to that, I’d be delighted.
Reading The River brought to mind James Kelman’s claim that the greatest drama is to be found in ordinary people’s everyday lives. What do you think about that idea?
Absolutely. We can reveal more of the human character by exposing them to the sometimes awful, occasionally joyful, moments that we all experience in day-to-day life. I think people really start to enjoy books when they see themselves reflected on the pages.
Are there other writers and books which inspired The River, and your writing more generally?
Way back in 1989 I read Gordon Legge’s The Shoe and was blown away. It was the first book I’d read that seemed to be about me and my mates. Football and music. It was perfect, and opened the door to James Kelman. From there, Iain Banks, Alasdair Gray, Des Dillon, James Robertson. Scottish writing really flourished in the 90s.
How do you view The Mile now, and that particular period of Scottish history?
I was proud of that wee book. I wrote it over three months in early 2013, signed the contract in the summer, and it was published that November. It was all a bit of a whirlwind. The paperback sold out, and it’s still being borrowed in libraries. A few people have told me it convinced them to vote Yes, which was all I could hope for. The referendum debate energised Scotland like nothing we’ve seen before and gave us a glimpse of what we could be. Whether we ever get another shot at it is anyone’s guess.
The River is available now, published by Into Books. Available here.
