This delightfully ‘tender’ session, hosted by Paisley Book Festival favourite Kirstin Innes, brought together the debut novels of two of Scotland’s most exciting literary prospects. Given the mark they’ve both already made on the Scottish scene, Kirstin said that it felt strange to be talking about first novels for Chris McQueer and Michael Pederson.
First up to read was Chris McQueer, and not by accident. Kirstin explained that since Chris’s material isn’t exactly all rainbows and unicorns, it made sense to let him go first. Chris duly obliged, treating the audience to an excerpt from his book: an introduction to Jaimie, one of the two distinct voices narrating the story (the other voice belongs to Jaimie’s mother, Fiona).
As Chris explained, what we were hearing was Jaimie’s version of childhood events, unreliable memories, he warned, because a few pages later, Fiona’s recollection of the same moments turns out to be… well, somewhat different.
After our brief, grimy dive into Jaimie’s world, Kirstin asked Chris for a bit more context.
The novel follows Jaimie, a 19-year-old who left school at 16 and, in the intervening years, has barely set foot outside his bedroom. McQueer paints the room in lovingly revolting detail: it’s a ‘manky’ zone of filth and terrible personal hygiene. Jaimie, riddled with self-loathing and clinging to a single friend, stumbles into the dark and dangerous world of online forums and chatrooms, where older, angry ‘incels’ wait to radicalise vulnerable young men like him, filling them full of hate and misogyny.
Kirstin, ever the gentle interrogator, asked Chris just how far down the rabbit hole he had gone while researching the novel.
“Much further than I ever intended for a work of fiction,” Chris admitted. He went on to describe his writing process: crafting the scenes of squalor in the dead of night, at three or four in the morning, until the grime seemed to cling to the walls around him. He relished the moments when Fiona’s voice returned — a brisk, no-nonsense blast of Dettol-scented sanity that cut through Jaimie’s rank world like fresh air.
It’s this essential clash — two voices telling the same story, but with wildly different textures and truths — that gives the novel its unsettling, haunting power.
Next up, Michael Pederson takes his turn at the lectern. He strides confidently across the stage, settling into the spotlight with the ease of someone who’s equally at home with words and with an audience. Before diving into an excerpt from his much-anticipated debut novel, Muckle Flugga, Pederson addresses the unspoken “rule” of the literary world: never tour before your book is published. He admits the folly of going against this advice, as publishers often insist authors wait, build the hype, and create anticipation. But Pederson is not one to follow conventional wisdom.
With his mischievous grin, he reads a passage from Muckle Flugga, followed by a short, poignant poem.
As in his acclaimed non-fiction work Boy Friends and much of his poetry, Muckle Flugga is deeply concerned with the complexities of masculine relationships. The novel explores the fraught dynamic between Ouse, a young man caught between his desire to become an artist and his father’s rigid expectation that he take over the family’s lighthouse-keeping legacy. The tension escalates when Firth, an urbane writer from the city, arrives, disrupting both Ouse’s world and the tight grip his father has over it.
Pederson, ever insightful, offers a candid glimpse into the world of book marketing. “My publisher was adamant we do not label the book as fantasy,” he reveals, “They didn’t want to isolate potential literary readers.” The novel, he stresses, is a character-driven drama, not a genre piece. This nuanced approach highlights Pederson’s skill in blending literary depth with narrative tension, making his work both accessible and deeply compelling.
Kirstin Innes steers the conversation towards the novel’s central themes: male friendships. “Let’s talk about these tender young men,” she suggests, turning the conversation toward how both writers approached the emotional depth of their characters’ relationships.
Chris McQueer responds first. “For a lot of men, talking with emotional intelligence is difficult. Guys are just stupid,” he says with characteristic honesty.
Michael, however, offers a different perspective, rooted in the pain of personal loss. “I lost a close friend a few years ago,” he reflects. “Some of the most significant friendships I’ve had are now gone. I wanted to keep them alive in some way, to celebrate them. For me, it’s never been about getting hammered down the pub or watching a game; it’s about real connections.”
In contrast, Chris’s approach to male friendship feels more reserved. “Guys don’t want to be seen as soft,” he says. “Naebody needs to know about my relationships.” It’s clear that, while both share an interest in exploring male bonds, they occupy very different positions in social space.
Kirstin asks how they each found the process of writing their novels.
Chris is candid: “I hated it, man. Short stories are quick; you can move on. But with a novel, you need attention span, and I just found the whole thing exhausting. I don’t think I’ll be doing it again anytime soon.” His honesty underlines the challenges of committing to such a large project.
Michael, ever the optimist, responds with a lighter tone: “As you might expect, I’m much more positive about it than Chris. I love jumping between genres, playing with styles. My aim is for the dissolution of genre altogether. It’s liberating to explore different modes of storytelling.”
When asked by an audience member whether his grief still lingers or if he’s found another Scott (a reference to a lost friend), Michael shares a quiet moment of reflection. “I wasn’t looking for another Scott. What I was trying to do was pay tribute to that friendship. To be grateful for it.”
As the evening draws to a close, Kirstin thanks both authors for their thought-provoking contributions, and the session ends to the warm, lingering applause of an audience that was moved by the raw honesty and deep emotional resonance of the conversation.
Joe Smith
