Against all odds, the quartet from Trainspotting (1993) has reached their fifties. Thirty years after his breakout, Irvine Welsh reconnects with Mark Renton, Francis Begbie, Sick Boy and Spud in Marked for Death (Anagrama). As soon as this crew shares a drink—Begbie’s mineral water included—things can spiral. In literary terms, the novel moves fast, is wildly grotesque, satirical, funny, and tinged with melancholy. It feels like Phil Lynott’s line—the boys are back in town—resonating through the pages. Marked for Death is positioned to complete the arc started with Trainspotting and continued in Porno, Skagboys, and The Blade Artist. Whether that happens remains to be seen.
Why did it feel meaningful to bring back Trainspotting’s four central figures in their fifties?
The drive came from reimagining Begbie in The Blade Artist, and the novel’s ending, where Begbie and Renton cross paths on a plane, left no other option but to pull the thread. It marked a new beginning, a final one with the old crew.
Which of the four characters is most enjoyable to write?
All four offer rich opportunities. They feed off each other. When one grows dull, another takes over the page, keeping the world’s energy alive. Begbie’s volatility can be balanced by Spud’s calm, and so on.
What would Renton, Sick Boy, Spud, and Begbie, in their twenties, think of the fifties they inhabit now?
They wouldn’t dwell on aging. Youth rarely contemplates old age, and for many, time speeds up after thirty. The idea of pondering the elderly isn’t on their list of priorities.
Their lives have long since diverged, with debts still unsettled between them. What sustains their friendship over time?
Friendships formed in youth endure because of shared history and a sense of self-justification. Each member seeks validation from the others, hoping their actions prove some worthwhile life has been lived.
How has Edinburgh evolved in the thirty years since Trainspotting first appeared?
The city center now showcases wealth, while the broader metropolitan area changes to accommodate business, tourism, and student life. Cities appear designed for conferences and crowds rather than solely for their longtime residents. This is a broad trend affecting many places, not just Edinburgh.
In Marked for Death, Renton expresses an affection for Barcelona, regardless of tourism or nobility. Do you share that sentiment?
Amine—Barcelona is hard to beat. The city feels central, from port to Tibidabo, and it exudes a magnetic magic that many places struggle to match. Some say the charm is fading, but there remains a tangible allure that draws people in.
Is it possible for people to change, or do their darker sides stay put?
Change is difficult to achieve. The characters in Marked for Death strive to become better, yet their pasts linger. The tension between aspiration and history drives the narrative forward.
Have you considered offering them some form of redemption, a pardon, perhaps?
Redemption surfaces because readers crave shifts in the characters. Even in moments of darkness, there are glimmers that keep the hook strong and the pages turning.
Begbie seems to satirize the art world, doesn’t he?
Absolutely. Begbie’s actions carry a creative edge that can feel destructive, almost anarchic. The character lets destruction double as a form of creativity, a device that exposes the allure some affluent circles hold for wild, working-class artists, and it makes for engaging, provocative reading.
Is Sick Boy also a satire of the sexual revolution?
Sick Boy has moved beyond that era. The speculation is that he longs for a different identity, perhaps a different gender perspective guiding his choices, reflecting a deeper, ongoing exploration of power and self-discovery.
Renton moves from Iggy Pop devotee to disc jockey manager. Does this evolution mirror your own interests?
That shift mirrors the author’s own life in part. Managing disc jockeys is not something he would choose—far from it—yet the concept serves to reveal how creative drive can shape even unglamorous roles. The author’s longtime immersion in electronic music informs this portrayal, and his recent project, the Jack Said What record label, underscores that enduring passion for club culture.
Does Marked for Death really cap the Trainspotting saga?
There is no firm intention to write a novel with older protagonists. Yet the temptation to mine the past occasionally surfaces. In truth, the author never knows what will come until the writing begins, and that uncertainty keeps the work alive.
What is Trainspotting’s contribution to English literature?
The author believes he was among the first in Britain to chronicle the collapse of regular work and the birth of another social world. Trainspotting captures how people cope when stable employment disappears, a transformation that hit the working class—and society—hard, reshaping cultural and economic landscapes.
In Trainspotting’s final plotline, Edinburgh’s gang heads to London to sell heroin, with an alibi tied to a Pogues concert and the death of singer Shane MacGowan. Did that loss influence your writing?
MacGowan’s death was a heavy blow. The friends in London from the punk era reconnected in Dublin in the early 2000s. Sharing photos on social media briefly crossed the author’s mind, but most old party pictures wouldn’t feel like fitting tributes to a remarkable songwriter. Shane’s public image as haunted by excess can obscure the warmth and inspiration he represented for many—and that truth mattered more than any souvenir.
What did the Pogues symbolize for you in the 1980s?
The author was a devoted fan. Those years, straddling punk’s end and the rise of acid house, felt brutal under Thatcher’s rule. Yet Shane and The Pogues offered a beacon of vitality and rebellion that mattered deeply during that era.