For diehard romantics ... Douglas Stuart's latest novel, John of John, is an epic tale of gay love and loneliness set in the Outer Hebrides. The story follows 22-year-old Cal as he returns home to Harris, where his father John's influence looms large.
A Homecoming Shrouded in Repression
The novel opens with a strange ritual: John, a precentor, reads Gaelic scripture to Cal over the phone, demanding he sing back with full belief. This sets the tone for a story steeped in repression and self-denial. John orders Cal home, ostensibly due to his grandmother's illness, but deeper tensions simmer beneath the surface.
Set within a tight-knit Free Presbyterian community in what appears to be the 1990s, John of John reimagines the prodigal son parable. It explores the half-lives of queer men forced to love and suffer in silence. The narrative blends pastoral drama, familial fracture, love story, and an inquiry into loneliness—between fathers and sons, lovers, man and God, and between a small island and the wider world.
Father and Son: A Fractured Bond
John disapproves of Cal's appearance, his "flame-coloured" hair, and his sartorial choices, disturbed by what he sees as a confused signal of masculinity and femininity. Cal's refusal to be "saved" creates a rift that erupts in violence. Meanwhile, Cal's childhood friend and hookup partner Doll brushes him off, weary of his absence. Feeling isolated, Cal becomes drawn to his father's sole friend, the confirmed bachelor Innes MacInnes, struck by his gentleness and benevolence.
However, this cannot be the May-December romance Cal desires. Innes and John are lovers, we learn early on, and their tortured relationship—kept secret for decades—forms the novel's core. They are masters of discretion, meeting only after ensuring they are alone. Their bond is tested by Cal's presence, John's other liaison with a married man, and the impending transfer of Ella's house to Cal's mother.
The Torment of Self-Contempt
John is tormented by his own perceived depravity: "He loved God. He loved Innes. He loved God and God hated how he loved Innes." He fantasizes about a family with Innes and Cal, but cannot imagine Cal being gay. The novel is outstandingly canny on self-contempt, the art of deceit, and the contradictions we all contain. As secular values encroach, John and Innes living together could deal a death blow to their congregation, leaving readers wondering if father and son will come out to one another.
Stuart also touches on crofter subservience to absentee landowners, mainland prejudice, and the place of the Western Isles in the English imagination.
A Melodramatic Yet Moving Tale
John of John is enthralling, but the ambient Weltschmerz and characters' frequent self-pity can be draining. Stuart's previous novels, Shuggie Bain and Young Mungo, were heartfelt, operatic stories that felt guileless and real despite their miserabilist tenor. Here, Stuart leans heavily on melodrama: a pregnancy, an attempted shotgun wedding, a death, and a momentous departure. While this may not appeal to those with a low tolerance for excess, diehard romantics will find much to love. Cal, John, and Innes—knottily entangled and imperfectly endearing—are characters to be cherished with readerly devotion.
