From Booklist:
World Fantasy Award winner Millar takes a break from sf with this funny look at teenage angst in 1972 Glasgow. Reading, at times, like an autobiographical account, the novel has two narrative strands, one following 14-year-old Martin, who is painfully self-conscious bordering on self-loathing; the other strand follows the adult Martin, who proves himself a stalwart friend to depressed single mother Manx and looks back at his awkward teenage years with a good deal of tenderness. Fourteen-year-old Martin is a Led Zeppelin fanatic who turns to the band to escape the pressures of school and his crush on Suzy, who, by virtue of her waist-length blond hair and trendy afghan coat, is going out with the coolest kid at school. Then, much to the teens’ amazement, Led Zeppelin announces their concert tour will pass through Glasgow. That pivotal evening not only shakes up the teens’ social dynamics but also provides Martin with the most satisfying two hours of his young life. Millar’s self-deprecating humor and wild enthusiasm for the music of his youth deepen the pull of this bittersweet read. --Joanne Wilkinson
From Publishers Weekly:
Millar (Lonely Werewolf Girl; The Good Fairies of New York) is laconic as ever in this loving tribute to disaffection and the hopefulness of youth. It's 1972, and for 15-year-old Martin Millar, who narrates, it's a time of hazy ambivalence and chronic dissatisfaction. Millar and his best friend, Greg, vie for the attention of Suzy (though she has a boyfriend) and play make-believe games in which they are masters of the Fabulous Dragon Army of Gothar. The defining event of their young lives, a Led Zeppelin concert in Glasgow, is, of course, awesome, but after the postshow glow dims, Millar's personal life takes a few harsh blows. The author's prose is deliberately oversimplified (I know you have a short attention span, he explains), and while the result effectively portrays his resigned melancholy, the reader is often left in want of deeper self-reflection. Still, the character's passionate nostalgia for his one encounter with the best band in the world is an endearing reminder that fleeting happiness is better than none at all. (Sept.)
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