The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs

I finished reading Irvine Welsh’s sixth novel today. The more books I read of his, the more he is becoming my favorite author. I relish his descriptions like the first sip of a bevvy on an excruciatingly hot day. The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs was such a gripping read and chock-a-block full of said descriptions.

I picked it up having read nothing about the plot, so I will abstain from disclosing any information on the subject because I think it’s the best way to fully enjoy this novel.

I will however leave you with a passage I liked that shouldn't give too much away.

“After a while the pisshead was just one big giant whisky glass talking, telling the same, sad stories, over and over again. Alcohol had just one voice. No matter who it possessed, all it let them do was add their own distinctive tone, before even that was subsumed into a general jakey growl. And that glass didn’t need to take responsibility, it only had to sit there and be refilled.”