Product Description

Nineteen-year-old Millie O'Reilley is clever, spiky and adored by men - yet utterly forlorn. Increasingly disillusioned, she seeks an escape in the underbelly of Liverpool...Shockingly candid and brutally poetic, Helen Walsh has created a portrait of a city and a generation that offers a female perspective on the harsh truth of growing up in today's Britain. Brass is an unsettling but ultimately compassionate account of the possibilities of identity and the desirability of love.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #222310 in Books
• Published on: 2005-05-05
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 304 pages

Arena
The female Irvine Welsh.

About the Author
HELEN WALSH was born in Warrington in 1977 and moved to Barcelona at the age of sixteen. Working as a fixer in the red-light district, she saved enough money to put herself through language school. Burnt out and broke, she returned to England a year later and now works with socially excluded teenagers in North Liverpool. Brass is her first novel.

Customer Reviews

Bold As
An emotional coming-of-age story is not the kind of book I generally go for, so I was surprised at just how enjoyable Brass was to read. It's not the most original plot in many ways; without revealing anything too significant it is obvious from the off that the life of Millie is not as ideal as it seems. That's not a bad thing; it allows the author to concentrate more on the characters than the situations, and this is a very character lead book. Told alternately from the point of view of Millie, a student with a successful father and Jamie, her platonic older male friend, we see two sides of the same story, how in a friendship nothing is always as clear cut as it appears.

The language is bold, striking and above all realistic and natural. It's crude, but it does not feel forced; the use of Scouse slang works well, the situations and ideas are described vividly and propel the story along at a stunning pace. By the end of the novel you will have been shocked and amused, and you'll be wanting to read more, but you're at the back page by now. It's three am, and you've logged onto Amazon to see if there's anything else by the same author, but not yet. I have no doubt that there will be soon. A great debut novel.

Fresh New Voice
Helens brilliant portrayal of nihilistic urban living shows both a gritty insight yet a romantic allure to the heady narcotic world of prostitution and female sexuality and disaffection in contemporary Britain. Her sassy voice cuts right to the core of the readers cosy world and shakes it. You will find yourself wishing you were Millie, lost in a thumping House music bass, spinning in a kaliedoscope world of Scouse gangsters and Ecstasy. Walsh's writing is a refreshingly accurate reflection of what it's like growing up in an inner city. It's even cooler that she's gorgeous too! Wait. Stop. Think:

The main factor about writing is that, like the other arts, it can only ever be a reflection of an aspect of the creators' character. So, in Brass, we are offered an insight into the mind of a self reverential promiscuous drug taking girl (Millie aka Walsh) who is disillusioned with her semi affluent background. Frankly, it is astounding that this book made it into print without anyone pointing out the authors rampant conceit.

Revelling in 'experimental' sex (why does every new generation think they invented the sex act?), drug taking and 'cool' nihilistic posturing is an easy evasion of self and real emotion. Life and depth start where these stop. What we need is the challenge of being human, not forlorn middle class self pity.

Just this once I wish I was George Bush
Some months back I read an interview in The Guardian with Helen Walsh. And, although she didn't come across as a particulary likeable person her attitude towards female sexuality was strangely compelling. So, one Saturday I brought a copy of her debut novel and stole a few hours of solitude (in a Liverpool cafe) to sit and read.

I felt rather 'hip' really, with my black coffee, marlboro lights and this contentious piece of contemporary literature. The front cover just screamed, 'look at me-I am debauchery' and I was ready for it...I wanted to feel dirty and rock n' roll.

Instead...it left me angry, disappointed and actually,bloody astounded. How did something this awful wind up (not only) in my possession, but in print at all? When I finish a book I often find myself stroking the sleeve in a habitual display of affection. When I finished Brass it was tossed to one side with absolute abandon.It is the most uninteligent,shallow and loathesome work of fiction I have ever had the misfortune to read. It is a tacky piece of trash lit that belongs in the world of that glossy gossip magazine in your dentists waiting room.

If the cranky little Texan in the big chair wants to wage another war then I've got one for him-a war on the pseudo-intellectual and pretentious drivel, masquerading as 'gritty' and cutting edge in our nations bookstores. Oh, I forgot, he's probably safe...can he read?