I was feeling guilty for blowing off a telephone interview with Scottish novelist Irvine Welsh last week.
In addition to a crunch of deadlines, here's why I failed to call the author at the Four Seasons Hotel in Philadelphia: I couldn't get past page 100 of his new 391-page novel, "Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs."
The book – The New York Times calls it "Welsh's extraordinarily bad new novel" (British reviews are lukewarm) -- is about a self-abusive restaurant inspector who searches for his biological father, who may or may not be a famous chef (hence the title, and hence this blog's initial interest).
Anyway, there's all the usual drinking, drugging, fornicating and swearing that have made Welsh's previous novels (particularly, for me, "Filth," which includes a talking tapeworm) pleasures to read. But there isn't much meat to enjoy. It was like trying to read haggis.
Welsh will read from "Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs" at 7:30 p.m. Friday at Elliott Bay Book Co., 101 S. Main St., Seattle.