If I had perused this prior to learning about IS and Boko Haram, I would have been inclined to believe that the portrayal of cruelty and the complete absence of decency or empathy was exaggerated. However, at present, I am no longer as certain.

It is an undeniable fact that humans are the cruelest animals on this planet. To gain Iain Bank's perspective on this matter, one should read the last few chapters of this book.

The initial slow pace might give the impression that we humans are not so terrible after all, but that was merely a warm-up. As the story progresses, the true nature of human cruelty is gradually revealed, leaving the reader with a profound sense of shock and reflection.

Perhaps it is through such literary works that we can better understand the dark side of human nature and strive to make positive changes in the world.

A spectacularly unsuccessful exercise in miserablism, this book tells the story of a sadistic nobleman who finds himself caught up in an endless civil war. It's truly a dismal affair.

2019 has been my year of reading terrible books by some of my favorite authors, and this one takes the cake as probably the worst. Nothing in this book seems to work. The protagonist is a dull, passive, and almost comical parody of a DeSade ripoff. None of the so-called "twists" are even remotely surprising, let alone capable of shocking the reader. The author's voice is so overbearing and flowery that it completely drowns out any possibility of nuance or an emotional connection with the characters.

If there is an analogy hidden within the pages, it is so imprecise and unoriginal that it serves no purpose whatsoever. This book is a total disaster from start to finish, leaving the reader with a sense of disappointment and frustration.

This is an extremely dark and disconcerting book. It's not quite at the same level of disturbing as "The Wasp Factory," but it comes close. The prose is clearly the result of careful vetting, with every other word being thoughtfully considered and placed with great precision. It delves into subjects that are of utmost importance. However, it quickly becomes tiresome and excruciatingly dull, almost to the point of being unbearable.

Set in an unnamed, war-torn country during an unspecified time period, "A Song of Stone" is narrated in the first person by Abel, an aristocrat. He flees the fighting armies along with his wife - or sister? or both? - Morgan and a few of their servants. They join a stream of refugees, carrying their most precious belongings in a small carriage. But his plans are soon thwarted when a band of soldiers - or are they mercenaries? brigands? - led by a female soldier known only as the Lieutenant spots them. They commandeer their carriage and order them to turn back and guide them to the place they just left - their ancestral castle, where they intend to set up their quarters.

The vagueness of the setting and period, as well as the lack of character names - most of the characters Abel describes remain unknown, and the soldiers he encounters are only known by their nicknames - occasionally reminds me of Anna Kavan's famous novel "Ice." However, it is possible to identify a definite historical event that took place around the time of the publication of "A Song of Stone" and might have influenced or even inspired the novel.

The event I'm referring to is the Bosnian War, the most devastating and deadly conflict in Europe since World War 2. It occurred between 1992 and 1995, and an estimated 100,000 people lost their lives, while over 2.2 million were displaced from their homes. The war in Bosnia was part of a larger conflict - the breakup of Yugoslavia, where the collapse of the state and political opportunism rekindled old ethnic hatreds. It was in Bosnia, specifically in Srebrenica, where the first case of genocide on European soil since 1945 took place. Millions of Europeans watched the conflict on television, and by the time they finally decided to take action, it was already too late.

Still, as previously mentioned, "A Song of Stone" does its best to be as vague as possible and at times reads almost like a fable, albeit a rather perverse one. Our narrator provides us with long descriptions of his sexual fantasies or encounters, and there isn't much of a story to tell. The novel progresses slowly and only becomes more and more depraved and dark as it goes on. As poetic and careful as Banks' writing can be, one can't help but think that he was secretly pulling our leg and playing out a modern version of "The Aristocrats!" I'll be happy to read more of Banks' work, but I wouldn't start with this one.

The unreliable and rather unlikeable narrator, Abel, a former aristocrat, along with his partner(?), Morgan (accompanied by their servants!), is fleeing with numerous other refugees. It seems that society has completely broken down, with warring factions rampant everywhere. They are accosted by Lieutenant ('Loot') and her group of fighters, who take them back to their castle home to use it as a sort of fortress base of operations.

It is here that the breakdown of civil, or indeed any society, causes them all to slowly but surely descend into dark paths.

Ultimately, especially with the insular aristocrat narrator, this reads and feels like a literary work that examines what occurs when the constraints of society are removed and we are left to fend for ourselves. Neatly alongside that, we also gain a somewhat linear understanding of the mindset of the ruling classes in such a situation. However, since he is just one individual, he can't truly be expected to represent his entire class.

The juxtaposition of the aristocratic, highly educated, and highly self-absorbed narrator sharing the horrors of unrestrained humanity during a time of war, through his perspective, is quite interesting. This is what makes this book so readable despite its clearly nihilistic tendencies. It earns a 7.5 out of 12, a strong Three Star read.

2022 read

The other reviews here all cover the plot sufficiently well that I have no need to do the same.

What I'd like to add is an opinion on what the message of the story is.

To me, this is a tale about the impermanence, the transient nature of all things. We know that life will end; we never admit that love comes to an end, although we should. But above all, even that which seems permanent and impregnable to us will one day cease to be; indeed, once it never even was. This is the castle. This is the song of stone.

I drop a star for the rather obscure nature of the story's underpinning message, which is so easy to miss and leads to the easy sense of dissatisfaction it leaves you with. It gets a star back for having made me contemplate such things unexpectedly some hours later. It got under my skin, but not because of the debauched nature of the content.

The lead character's overly poetic delivery was rather tiresome though and I thought about giving up halfway through, a first for me reading Banks. Another star gone, I'm afraid.

In conclusion, while the story has its flaws, such as the obscure message and the tiresome delivery, it also has its redeeming qualities, like making me think about the transient nature of things. Overall, it's a mixed bag, but one that I'm glad I read.

To paraphrase Woody Allen in “Annie Hall,” this story can be described as a tale of the miserable and the horrible.

It commences in a state of misery and concludes in a truly horrible manner. So horrible, in fact, that I felt compelled to begin another book *extremely late* last night. I needed to do this in an attempt to rid my mind of the events that occurred in the final three chapters, which kept swirling around in my head.

The story is set in a world at war and follows three groups of people who come together by chance but ultimately fall out in a horribly tragic way. What makes this book even more challenging to read is the fact that there isn't a single sympathetic character in it.

It's a tough read that forces the reader to confront the harsher realities of war and human nature.

Song of Stones has a rather distinctively "literary" flavor. It stands out for being more centered around themes rather than being driven by a complex plot. In fact, the story itself is actually quite straightforward. The main draw throughout the narrative is the process of untangling the mysterious connection between the narrator, his lover, and their castle, which almost takes on the role of a character.

Even if one were to argue that the story lacks substance in some respects, the language used in the book is undeniably captivating. It is rich, poetic, and abounds with vivid imagery and fascinating wordplay. The author's use of language creates a world that is both enchanting and thought-provoking. However, it must be noted that there are a few sections of philosophical contemplation that can become a bit tiresome after a while. These sections, while well-intentioned, sometimes seem to disrupt the flow of the narrative.

Perhaps the most thoroughly bleak book I've ever read.

That's not to say that it's not a good book -- it is, at times, quite good. But the reader must be prepared to deal with the feeling of utter hopelessness in the face of inevitable horrors.

The rest of this review contains significant spoilers!!

Although a story of wartime and the fall of the once powerful to utter ruin, this is no tragedy, no story of a great peoples brought low by a corrupt few, or of huddled masses yearning to breathe freely, united by a great leader. We begin at the end of a devastating war in a vaguely European, vaguely late 20th-century country. The war's causes, its partisans, the outcome -- all are left unknown, indeed, the questions are never even asked. Banks allows us no stories of noble warriors, self-sacrificing heroes, righteous causes, victories against insurmountable odds. To do so would be to give meaning to the violence and destruction, to justify it, to hint at the possibility of redemption, when really, Banks says, all there is is destruction and the horrific pleasure some humans experience and crave from inflicting violence upon others.

The narrator, Abel, is one of Banks' most thoroughly unlikable and amoral voices. He is the last in the line of some minor nobility, fancying himself a great wit and a sort of nouveau Marquis de Sade. He leads a life of debauchery with his partner, Morgan. Abel is not a tragic hero; he has always been a creature of privilege and appetite, unrepentingly spoiled and bored by anything that doesn't give him pleasure. The story begins with Abel and Morgan already having quit his ancestral castle, part of a river of refugees. Abel's wealth and privilege are just exterior accoutrements; at heart, he is no different from the anonymous masses.

Abel & Morgan are taken by a group of former soldiers turned mercenary. We watch through Abel's eyes as he narrates the progressively heightening degradation and violence inflicted upon his home and himself, interspersed with memories of his debaucheries. These vignettes reveal Abel's core sexual obscenity and the mysterious nature of his relationship with Morgan. The secret, though not hard to figure out, explains a lot about Abel's character, his detachment, nihilistic outlook, and acceptance of his fate.

Abel is not entirely unsympathetic. I felt an ounce of pity for him, especially considering the brutal indignities he suffers. We can also sympathize somewhat when we learn that the soldiers who torment him have no tragic backstory, pursue no noble cause, and seek no redemption. They are just as base and cruel as him, but born to a life of labor and filled with resentment.

Even so, Banks does not offer hope. Abel only recognizes the shared proclivity for depravity in others. He fails to see any link between his life of privilege and the violence that has shattered his land. The antagonists also have no epiphanies or deathbed conversions. What are we left with? A tale that begins in darkness and descends further. By the end, any hope of a last-minute reprieve is dashed. There's only cruelty and death, then more cruelty and more death. Hope belongs to a different book, a different world, perhaps a different type of creature than the human beings in this book.

A few months ago, I vividly recall that there was a lively discussion in some comment thread. The topic was about who might be the most unpleasant character in any good mainstream novel. I'm fairly certain that the top contenders were Humbert Humbert from Lolita and John Self from Money.

However, I think that the antihero of Song of Stone also has strong competitiveness. He bears a resemblance to Humbert. He writes with elegance and proficiency (it's yet another first-person narrative). At the beginning, you don't immediately become aware of just how creepy he truly is. But as the story progresses, you will. Oh yes, you will. You'll gradually discover the disturbing aspects of his character, and it will send shivers down your spine.

It's fascinating to explore these complex and often unlikable characters in literature, as they add depth and intrigue to the stories they inhabit.

Update from previous review:

It has been several months since I delved into this book, and during this time, I have been engrossed in another work by the same author, Excession. First and foremost, I must concur with several reviewers on other platforms who opined that this might not be the ideal starting point for those new to Banks' oeuvre. Currently, as I am reading Excession, I can see that while the two books may seem disparate on the surface, the incisive prose that is characteristic of Banks is very much present.

I still firmly believe that SoS is one of the darkest and most perturbing books I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. I highly doubt that I will ever have the inclination to revisit it. And yet, the story continues to haunt me. Random snippets of dialogue have lodged themselves in my mind and refuse to be dislodged. It is rather like beholding an exquisitely detailed and beautifully crafted knife. One can admire the intricate details and be captivated by its aesthetic appeal - but make no mistake, it is still a knife. Just when you begin to forget this fact, another jarring reminder from Banks' brutally honest prose jolts you back to reality, making you acutely aware that you are holding a weapon in your hands. This story is deliberately designed to inflict a certain amount of pain, perhaps even a great deal. Some stories are simply like that. Unlike other authors, Banks feels no compulsion to offer us a glimmer of hope or an uplifting ending to ease the pain of our arduous journey. Song of Stone commences in a dark vein and only gets darker as it progresses.

I have gone from vehemently swearing that I would never recommend this book to anyone to tentatively entertaining the thought that there might be a select few individuals who would not loathe the idea of having it suggested to them.

Another quote:

"We each contain the universe inside our selves, the totality of existence encompassed by all that we have to make sense of it; a grey, ridged mushroom mass ladled into a bony bowl the size of a mallish cooking pot. In my more solipsistic moments, I have conjectured that we do not simply experience everything within that squashed sphere, but create it there too. Perhaps we think up our own destinies, and so in a sense deserve whatever happens to us, for not having had the wit to imagine something better."

Original review follows:

I am at a loss to understand what it is about my personality that prompts so many of my friends to recommend books to me that they themselves find, in this particular case, "dark, disturbing and weird" (a description that barely begins to scratch the surface of Song of Stone). It would be one thing if this occurred only sporadically, but it seems to happen with some regularity. It's rather like telling your friend, 'hey, I suspect this pot roast has gone bad, give it a taste - what do you think?'

I might be exaggerating just a little.

Still, this book was recommended with the caveat that it was "dark, disturbing and weird." And it most certainly lives up to all of those descriptors and more. I am still in the process of determining whether I despised it or actually liked it. Song of Stone is rife with violence, taboo subjects, terror, torture, and a sense of meaninglessness set against a bleak and desolate backdrop. It has taken me weeks to gather my thoughts sufficiently to pen a review.

The story commences with Abel and Morgan, his self-proclaimed beloved, attempting to flee their castle, which they correctly surmise will soon become a target for soldiers, renegades, or looters. However, they are quickly forced to turn back by a small band of soldiers and are held captive within their own keep.

It soon becomes evident that the only glimmer of tenderness to be found in this story will be through Abel and Morgan's relationship. When the two exchange meaningful glances in the wagon as their fate is being decided by the "Lieutenant," it initially appears that we are meant to feel profound sympathy for their plight. However, as the story unfolds, that initial warmth gradually gives way to something far colder:

"our pleasure became pain and I discovered that you suffered in silence, and screamed - quiet, hoarse, bitten off - for satisfaction only."

As the story descends into what seems like arbitrary violence, it becomes increasingly difficult to remain engaged with the narrative. However, it is the writing itself that managed to hold my attention. Banks has a remarkable ability to turn a phrase (such as "the amber wreckage of your eyes"), but he truly excels in his visceral descriptions and solipsistic musings - reveling in the sound of his own voice.

The premise of the story is encapsulated in one well-written paragraph:

"This castle makes its mark upon the earth by being no longer part of the world from which it's raised; these stones inflict themselves upon the air with hard demand that's free to join that higher level only not joining any rest. We took that as our premise; what else?"

And of war, from Loot:

"Opinion amongst us is divided on the subject of whether it is better to go a bit crazy every now and again and try to get it out of your system, though at the risk of losing it completely, or bottle it all up in the hope we are overtaken by events and peace breaks out so we can be post-traumatically stressed in comfort." (Loot's dialogue is actually a welcome respite to read after spending extended periods in the main character's head.)

Banks is not the first author to employ a surreal construct to explore the contradictions in our daily lives. The difference, particularly when compared to authors like Murakami who excel in the surreal, is that the construct, the absurd example that serves to illustrate something (or many things) in our daily existence, is actually intended to keep us "in the fight" in our own reality. The surreal/absurd story presents an extreme variation of something that we often shy away from confronting directly. We emerge from the experience of the story with a new understanding of something within ourselves and our relationship to the world. This is precisely what is lacking in A Song of Stone. The meaningful path that would lead us back from the meaninglessness and randomness simply does not exist (at least not for me).

Instead, I reached the end of the book and found myself wondering, "what do I take from this?" If the author's intention was to leave the reader feeling hollowed out, raw, exhausted, and despairing - then that objective was most certainly achieved.

Finally, the story rests on this:

"All is construction in the end, including this; a dying man addressing a burned-out building. My ultimate mistake, my final folly. But then we are naming the beast, the animal that thinks with language, and all about is is called what we so choose, for lack of better terns and everything we name means - as far as we are concerned - just what we want it to connote."

If you are a fan of Cognac McCarthy's The Road, then this particular work is likely to be worthy of your time and attention.

It shares a similar tone with The Road, being both bleak and darkly beautiful. However, what sets it apart is the complete absence of the glimmer of optimism that was present in The Road.

The story unfolds in a desolate and unforgiving world, where hope seems to be a distant memory. The characters are faced with numerous hardships and challenges, and yet they continue to persevere.

The writing style is atmospheric and evocative, drawing the reader into the heart of the story and making them feel as if they are a part of this desolate world.

Overall, this is a powerful and thought-provoking work that is sure to leave a lasting impression on anyone who reads it.

I'm really not sure what to make of this particular piece. It had a very strong allegorical feel to it, but unfortunately, I just couldn't quite figure out what the allegory was actually about. It left me feeling a bit frustrated and confused.

Moreover, it also seemed to have an unduly misogynistic undertone. Just because the story has a flawed narrator doesn't mean that I want to have to slog through all that unpleasantness. It made me uncomfortable and it really detracted from my overall enjoyment of the piece.

I'm not sure if the author intended for it to come across this way, but that's definitely the impression that I got. Maybe with a bit more explanation or a different approach, it could have been a more engaging and thought-provoking read. As it stands, however, I'm left with a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.