The Wasp Factory

It would do this book a great injustice to say that one of my favourite parts (of my edition, anyway) is the selection of reviewers' comments in the opening pages - especially the negative ones! They are hilarious, and are followed up by a highly enjoyable, if controversial, story. Yes, it is a challenging read. But, heck, I am a total animal lover, a pacifist and totally unimaginative when it comes to human cruelty, and I love this book. Somehow, Iain Banks writes a character who regularly sets wasps up to kill themselves in his little "factory" (sometimes with a helping hand), and has no trouble setting alight a rabbit or a sheep, and is, yet, not a total turn-off to read (and it's written in first person!). I don't know that I would show more say that I could identify with Frank, but I could handle going along with him on his misadventures. And that last page makes it all worth it...You know what? I haven't read this book in YEARS... I think it may have to go back on the "to-read" list... show less

I first read The Wasp Factory in 1985, when the first paperback edition came out. It was recommended to me by a science fiction bookseller of my acquaintance whose instincts on new books was usually pretty good, and who raved over it - "You must read this! It's not science fiction, but the author is definitely One Of Us!". Little did we then know that Iain Banks was actually a wannabe science fiction author who had not succeeded in selling any science fiction novels, and so tried his hand at writing "mainstream" fiction. The Wasp Factory was the result.

Remarkable for publishing the uncomplimentary reviews as well as the complimentary ones (in the paperback edition), this novel very quickly became notorious for its graphic content - show more murder of children and torture of animals run through this novel. And yet, I find myself reminded of my early teenage years growing up in a rural part of England: Frank Cauldhame is merely me and some of my contemporaries writ (very) large. In the distant past of the 1960s, 70s and early 80s, small boys were likely to do things that involved harm to small animals and other children. After all that, the central character's misogyny hardly registers on many readers' radar; if published today, it would certainly raise eyebrows if not hackles. Banks was almost certainly doing this for impact, especially in light of the novel's ending.

Many of Banks' later mainstream novels involve families with secrets, eccentric habits, or both. This trend starts here. What also comes over is the sensibility of the writer as a science fiction reader writing a mainstream novel. Here - as well as later - we see Banks' p.o.v. character reacting to events, or entertaining thoughts, that would be more expected from a science fiction reader. For instance, at one point Frank refers to his brother Eric's mental fragmentation in terms of a hologram, which although shattered into pieces still carries in each fragment a complete image of the whole.

Elsewhere, there is a lot of 1980s colour that was just ordinary scene-setting at the time but now looks very dated to us. And it took me a while to twig that this was the sort of thing kids did (though not the torture and murder stuff, obviously) before we all had smartphones...

Frank's obsessive behaviour, his adherence to ritual, is described in loving detail and with total conviction. Only towards the end of the novel do we realise that the whole island upon which Frank lives is itself a macro version of Frank's own Wasp Factory, the eccentric machine he has built to make predictions based on the movements of wasps injected into its innards. As rational adults, we know that this is nonsense; but Banks clearly depicts the teenage personality, making massive deductions based on very little direct knowledge or experience, and self-reinforcing beliefs based around nothing more than habit.

There are some interesting foreshadowings of the writer Banks was to become; Frank's father with his eccentric beliefs (the Earth is not a globe but a Möbius strip, and human flatulence can conceal a wealth of information about the health, diet and personality of the emitter) will reappear in The Crow Road as Uncle Hamish with his eccentric personal religion and its prayers ("Please visit vexation upon those wee rascals the Khmer Rouge and especially their leader Mr. P. Pot"), and I groaned with pleasurable pain on seeing that the failed book on the nature of noxious human emissions was called The State of the Fart. And the way in which Frank's father's books have collected rejection slips now sounds very much like Banks writing what he knew from recent bitter experience. Other signs of the writer to come are less Easter Egg-like.

There is an odd aspect to the whole story: Frank experiences a life-changing revelation towards the end of the novel, and yet the novel is written in the first person in a way that does not acknowledge that life change. It may not have been possible to write the novel in a way that would satisfy this anomaly without imposing a much more restrictive diary format on the book. Instead of seeing this as a fault, it made me speculate on Frank's future story. Given the life-changing revelations he receives, what course might the adult Frank chart through the world of the 1980s and 1990s? Banks was never interested in writing direct sequels to any of his books, so my musings would never have been answered in any case, but I found them fascinating.

This anniversary edition includes a foreword from Neil Gaiman and another from Banks himself, dated 2013, which leads me to speculate that this anniversary edition may well have been planned for the book's 30th anniversary, but events most likely put that plan on long-term hold.

This book's excesses will make it not to everyone's taste, though hopefully, no-one who obsesses over the evils of "cancel culture" or loudly promotes "free speech" will be amongst that number (or at least admit to it). But Banks completists must read this to get a rounded picture of the writer and his works. The sense of place about Scotland that was a recurring feature of his mainstream novels is clearly on view here, as long as the reader can see past the Sacrifice Poles and the Bomb Circle. show less

Great prose and the conceit of writing from the POV of a killer doesn't bother me, but at the same time it's about what you'd expect. Presumably this was more shocking back in 1984? It's more vivid than American Psycho, but lacks the comedic hyperbole and satiric attacks. The final reveal feels very much of its time and has aged poorly.

Perhaps Oates' book Zombie is a better choice for the disturbing confessions of a killer microgenre?

"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."
Those two lines begin one of the creepiest Scottish characters and novels that I have read in some time. Frank Cauldhame, is a weird and scary 16 year old who lives on a tiny island connected to mainland Scotland by a bridge. He maintains grisly "Sacrifice Poles" to serve as his early warning system and deterrent against anyone who might invade his territory. I can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to do that but you can bet he’s ready for them if they do. Those that choose to push their luck soon find that any luck they may have had has all run out. If Iain Banks was going show more for shock value he achieved it with flying colors creating characters carrying out some really sick and violent acts... the ultimate dysfunctional family is putting it mildly....the understatement of the century! This book is NOT for the faint of heart or stomach. This is Iain Banks' début novel but it shows the same undisputed talent for telling a long tall tale as he has in all his later novels. show less

Rating: 4.95* of five

The Publisher Says: Frank--no ordinary sixteen-year-old--lives with his father outside a remote Scottish village. Their life is, to say the least, unconventional. Frank's mother abandoned them years ago: his elder brother Eric is confined to a psychiatric hospital; & his father measures out his eccentricities on an imperial scale. Frank has turned to strange acts of violence to vent his frustrations. In the bizarre daily rituals there is some solace. But when news comes of Eric's escape from the hospital Frank has to prepare the ground for his brother's inevitable return--an event that explodes the mysteries of the past & changes Frank utterly.

My Review: Much has been said in disgust and even anger about this show more polarizing book. Some have called for it to be banned. Others have written the equivalent of a silent finger-down-the-throat mime.

You are all entitled to your opinion. Here is mine: This book is brilliant. It will be remembered long long after the pleasant entertainments of the day are more forgotten than Restoration drama. (Hands up anyone who knows who Colley Cibber is. And don't front. Or use Wikipedia.)

I'm also an ardent partisan of Lolita, that deeply disturbing and very beautiful book by a pedophile about his pursuit of the perfect lover. I loved Mrs. Dalloway, the chilling, near-perfect narrative of a wealthy woman's desperation and crushing ennui.

So here's the deal: Frank, and his brother Eric, aren't role models, aren't people you'd want to be around, aren't amusing compadres for a jaunt along the path to the Banal Canal. They are, like Hum and Lo and Clarissa and Septimus, avatars (in the pre-Internet sense) of the raw, bleeding, agonic (unangled, in this use) purposelessness of life. They are the proof that salvation is a cruel ruse. These characters rip your fears from the base of your brain and move them, puppetlike, eerily masterful withal, into your worst nightmares.

And all without resorting to the supernatural.

Humanity comes off badly in this book. The truth of what made Frank the person he is will leave you more chilled than any silly evocation of a devil in a religious text. Frank's very being is an ambulatory evil act. But the reason for it, the motivating factor, is the absolute worst horror this book contains. All the animal-torture stuff is unpleasant, I agree. It's not as though it's lovingly and lingeringly described. And it pales in comparison to Frank's raison d'etre.

So yes, this book is strong meat. It's got deeply twisted characters enacting their damage before us, the safely removed audience. It's making a serious point about human nature. And it's doing all of that in quite beautifully wrought prose, without so much as one wasted word.

But it's essentially a warning to the reader: Don't go there. Don't do the pale, weak-kneed versions of the rage-and-hate fueled horrors inflicted on Frank, and even on Eric. Pay attention, be mindful of the many ways we as lazy moral actors condone the creation of Erics and Franks in our world.

Pay attention. show less

Disturbing, genial novel narrated by the most unpleasant narrator character ever created, after Humbert Humbert and the guy in American Psycho. I was looking, in my deep ignorance, for some brain chewingum. I was given brain food, hard and chewy, but definitely nutritious, and divinely tasty.
Years after reading it, I still don't know what to do of this story. The plot, if I were to summarise it, would sound so improbable to become ridiculous. Yet, the psychology behind it is so punctual and realistic that, by the end of the novel, all seems perfectly fitting. Fitting by the point of view of a psychotic, murderous teenager whose last problem is the habit of torturing wasps. In the end of the day, he just does it in search of spiritual show more answers to the nonsensical world around him. You could not say better of the habits of most religious leaders.
A novel of devious survival to a horrible childhood. Coming of age, yes. Into what? show less

Question: Are violence and cruelty innate to human nature – or is man inherently civilised?

This is the question posed by that most controversial and loved/ hated novel, The Lord of the Flies. The same question is posed in this book too. However, whereas the canvas was a huge one there, in The Wasp Factory, the reader is viewing things under a microscope. Rather like watching bugs.

From chapter one onwards, Iain Banks invites us into the head of Frank Cauldhame, who is one seriously disturbed teenager. He has been blessed with a reclusive scientist father with an obsession for memorising the dimensions of various objects in the house: a mother who abandoned him: and a crazy elder brother who sets dogs on fire and stuffs maggots into show more children’s mouths for fun. Moreover, he has had an “accident” which has left him without a penis. To add to all this, Frank’s birth has never been registered with the authorities, making him officially nonexistent. Talk about teen angst!

As the story opens, Frank’s elder brother, Eric, has escaped from the asylum where he had been incarcerated and is slowly making his way home. His father is hopeful that he will be picked up before he reaches there: but Frank has his doubts. He knows that Eric is clever enough to dodge his stalkers, and that he’ll eventually arrive.

Against this backdrop of Eric’s impending arrival, the novel unfolds as a sort of interior monologue of the protagonist. Frank is anything but your ordinary teenager. Just listen to some of his private musings:

”Two years after I killed Blyth I murdered my young brother Paul, for quite different and more fundamental reasons than I’d disposed of Blyth, and then a year later I did for my young cousin Esmeralda, more or less on a whim.

That’s my score to date. Three. I haven’t killed anybody for years, and don’t intend to ever again.

It was just a stage I was going through.”

This callousness and lack of any empathy towards the world in general, accompanied by an astute brain and a technological bend of mind, and a strangely savage and ritualistic personal religion makes Frank Cauldhame an extremely interesting (though not likeable) protagonist. Frank kills animals and keeps their heads arranged on stakes on the beach, which he calls “The Sacrifice Poles”. He keeps the skull of the dog which mutilated him (subsequently killed by his father) in a disused World War II bunker, surrounded by the heads and skulls of his kills, and conducts strange rituals like burning wasps with a mixture of sugar and weedkiller. But his greatest achievement is the killing machine which he has devised, which he calls “The Wasp Factory”.

The Wasp Factory is made out of an old clock face, over which the wasp is left to wander at its will: it cannot fly away because the top is covered. Near each of the numerals, trapdoors have been created which will open if the wasp steps on it and dump it into a glass corridor, at the end of which is a method of death devised by its maker, which includes (to enumerate some) getting skewered, chopped up, eaten by a spider, drowned in urine, or burnt by petrol. The method of the wasp’s death gives information to Frank on a particular question posed to the Factory.

As the novel progresses, and Eric gets nearer and nearer to Frank, the story of who and what Frank is slowly unfolds. It is an eerie tale, with hardly any “normal” people in it: and towards the end, when the reason for Eric’s insanity is revealed, it is sufficiently disturbing, bordering on the disgusting. However, Frank’s big secret at the end fell flat for me, even though it proved impossible to guess.

The pluses of the novel are the narrative tone and curiously disturbing and nightmarish world created by the author. Even though the story is full of violent deaths, murder and mayhem, Banks uses a lot of wildly fantastic elements and overblown descriptions of bizarre deaths to distance us from the horror and focus more on the absurd: for example, Frank kills Esmeralda by tying her to a kite and making her float away over the sea! And Frank’s dispassionate narration is sometimes downright funny, as he uses the classic British understatement for his gruesome subject matter: so we find ourselves guiltily enjoying the colourful deaths of the members of the Cauldhame clan.

Banks uses the crazed brain of his protagonist to mock the sacred cows of the modern world: religion, technology and politics. See one of his political musings:

”Often I’ve thought of myself as a state; a country or, at the very least, a city. It used to seem to me that the different ways I felt sometimes about ideas, courses of action and so on were like the different political moods countries go through. It has always seemed to me that people vote in a new government not because they actually agree with the politics but just because they want a change. Somehow they think that things will be better under the new lot. Well, people are stupid, but it all seems to have more to do with the mood, caprice and atmosphere than carefully thought-out arguments."

He has just described Indian democracy to a T!

Also, the similarities between religious and scientific rituals are made so disturbingly clear that we catch ourselves asking the question: have we become worshippers of a God of Technology? Is Frank’s ingenious contraption for killing wasps, and the elaborate rituals that go along with it, much different from the intercontinental ballistic missiles developed by nations and the “rituals” surrounding the launching of the same?

Ultimately, this is the biggest plus point of the book – its ability to make us think about the inherent nature of man and the whole insane and unholy relationship between his great pastimes: technology, religion and politics. It captures the “big” problems and scales them down to microscopic level, that of a crazed teenager on a lonely Scottish isle.

Why then only the three stars?

Well, the ending. The “big” secret. It was so pointless. I could not make out what Banks was trying to convey to the readers with this revelation. That brought down the book from four to three stars for me.

But I would still recommend it to readers who are not very queasy about the subject matter of what they read. Though disturbing, the novel is powerful, and will stay with you after you have finished. One added advantage: it’s a quick and easy read. show less