Our Fathers

As Hugh Bawn lies dying, his 35-year-old grandson leaves his life in England to care for him. Hugh, a legendary social reformer and local hero known as "Mr. Housing," was a key figure who championed the construction of Glasgow's high-rise tower blocks. Jamie tells the story of three generations of a Scottish family, exploring male grief, national identity, alcoholism, and the shattered ideals of the post-war socialist left as it explores the tragic irony that Hugh’s utopian dream of modern housing ultimately resulted in squalor and buildings that have since become condemned. In an ironic twist, Jamie is employed in the very industry that is responsible for tearing them down.

The book tackles toxic masculinity passed down through show more fathers and sons. Jamie’s grandfather, Hugh, was proud but overbearing, and his father, Robert, an abusive alcoholic. But O'Hagan also uses the family's fractured dynamics to reflect the broader historical disillusionment of post-war Scotland and an anti-English sentiment still seen today in the independance debate.

This book was shortlisted for the 1999 Booker Prize and is certainly a powerful piece of both social and personal history that turns a family saga into a national allegory of anger and defeat. However, as Jamie gradually comes to terms with his relationship with his father and grandfather, I personally feel that it could have done with a few lighter moments as the misery became relentless come the end. Nor did I find the final reconciliation between Jamie and his father very convincing, it seemed so unlikely given what had gone before. However, as this was the author's first novel its also a remarkable piece of writing. show less

This was Andrew O'Hagan's first novel and as such it was a successful beginning. I found it reminiscent of a memoir as it told the story of a son who returns home for the death of his grandfather and in doing so relates a tale of changes over time of both family and Glasgow.

Jamie recalls his torturous childhood and his enduring relationship with his mother Alice, who tortured her husband for years, while growing up under Robert Bawn, a nasty, raging alcoholic. Jamie eventually left home and lived in with his grandparents, Hugh and Margaret. Robert's father, Hugh, was a "visionary" urban planner who oversaw the development of public housing complexes in Glasgow in the 1970s, tall blocks of concrete and glass like those in the United show more States at the time. Hugh was an enthusiastic, ambitious father figure for young Jamie, and Margaret was a competent teacher.

Years later, when Jamie learns that Hugh is ailing, he rushes from England to help Margaret and Hugh. Robert has since vanished, but Jamie is happy to see Alice newly married and independent. Hugh's passing, however, is not without concern: a probe is looking into the elderly man's alleged misuse of funds while serving as "Mr. Housing," and his cherished buildings are being demolished to make room for the new. Which, Jamie discovers, includes glimpses of Scotland from Trainspotting, a dirty, historically rich, and obviously worn-out country. But Robert shows up at Hugh's funeral and then leaves right away. When Jamie catches up with him, he has calmed down and is now a contented, modest taxi driver. The story ends with a kind of reconciliation and cautious hope.

I enjoyed the novel and was moved tremendously by the emotional moments recounted as both memories of his early life and his experiences upon his return home for the final days of his beloved Grandfather. Most of all the author's gorgeous, almost poetic, prose engaged me in a way that few novels can. I would recommend this to all as I look forward to reading more from the pen of Andrew O'Hagan. show less

I really liked 'Be Near Me,' and this was truly disappointing. It was lauded by reviewers, and it's easy to see why. It deals seriously with serious themes, and when it's just doing that it's actually very good.
But the style... dear lord in heaven. As we look back on the worst excesses of romantic prose, so shall our grandchildren look back on the worst excesses of 'modernist' prose. And they're all here. Sentences without verbs. They’re the subject of the following sentence. Sometimes. No links between phrases, no temporal progression, no clauses. Each verbal unit stands alone. Short and 'powerful.' All this stated in a matter-of-fact manner. No excrescences. A sudden, unexplained torrent of emotion and sentiment is expressed in a show more nature metaphor. The emotion always grief. The metaphor seems fresh, insightful, stunning. The poetry of it is breathtaking. So are the descriptive passages full of color and life. But this is a lie. Only the sterility of the remaining prose gives this effect. The metaphor and the description are as hackneyed as anything the worst late romantic could erect.
Let us remember the beauty of syntax every now and then, and the benefits of clauses. Perhaps, too, we could take a break from novels of self-pity masquerading as self-criticism- I'm looking at you, Netherlands, and you, Philip Roth. show less

This book made me buy a lot of Andrew O'Hagan's stuff. The prose flows very well and I find myself flowing through the pages. The story itself might be a little on the dull side, although it's worth a read. The other stuff I've read by O'Hagan other than his essays has been too focused on celebrity, or issues I'm not really interested in. If anyone can recommend one of his books to me give me a shout.