This was a very poignant novel, subtle but deep, sparse but full of meaning. I haven't read any of his poetry previously but I might go and look it out now!

The action is largely set in a shopping mall, a community center, and the streets of the formerly mining town, which I found to be a nuanced and poignant novel that did a great job of establishing the sense of place. Moving between the present and the past gave it a somewhat fragmentary tone, and the passages set in mine are incredibly poetic and sensuous. The reader is placed in a similar situation by the usage of the "Fieldnotes" sections to discuss the anthropological research carried out by the university in the village; we are uncomfortable observing the town's poverty in this somewhat clinical and voyeuristic manner. The references to Michael Gove and Grinder give the book a contemporary, urgent tone. In some respects, the portrayal of neglected landscapes and the frail young men attempting to navigate them brought to mind Ocean Vyoung's or Shuggie Bain's novels. Pity is an evocative, beautiful book about what we carry forward and what we leave behind, written in a way that only a poet of Andrew's caliber is capable of. The book's brief length belies its limitless depths and delights; it is only nominally a debut.

I am a huge fan of Andrew's poetry and so I knew I had to request this title ASAP. I wasn't disappointed, as the prose here carries the same finesse of language, alongside a deep, loving understanding for the people and history of the working-class milieu of its characters.

I thought this was a subtle and moving novel that created the sense of place very well, locating much of the action in a shopping centre, in a community centre and in the streets of the former mining town. It had a somewhat fragmentary style as it moved between the present and the past and the sections set in mine are very poetic and sensory. The use of the 'Fieldnotes' sections to describe the anthropological research done by the university in the town puts the reader in an analogous position, we feel uncomfortable viewing the poverty of the town in this somewhat clinical and voyeuristic way. The novel also feels modern and urgent with the references to Michael Gove and Grinder. In some ways it reminded me of Ocean Vyoung's novel or of Shuggie Bain in the description of neglected landscapes and fragile young men trying to navigate them.

In supple, honest prose, Pity questions how we can bear the weight of what came before us. Through an acute exploration of social class, masculinity, sexuality and resistance, McMillan deftly portrays a town grappling with loss amid its post-industrial legacy, while offering a hopeful vision of what the future could look like, if we were given the power to redefine our histories and tell our stories on our own terms Written with the kind of concise and impactful writing only a poet of Andrew's level can wield, Pity is an evocative, brilliant book about what we leave behind and what we carry forward. Its short length belies its endless depths and delights; this is a debut in name only.