You think you know Trainspotting. You've seen the poster. The orange one with Ewan McGregor looking gaunt and that "Choose Life" monologue that ended up on every university dorm wall in the late nineties. But honestly, if you haven’t touched the Irvine Welsh Trainspotting books, you’re only getting the sanitized, high-speed version of a much darker, much more sprawling universe.
It's not just one book. It's a whole "Leithverse."
Welsh didn't just write a one-off hit about junkies in Edinburgh and call it a day. He’s been obsessively tracking these characters—Renton, Begbie, Sick Boy, and Spud—for over thirty years. They’ve aged. They’ve moved to California. They’ve become "successful" artists and DJ managers. Some of them have died. If you’re trying to navigate the mess of prequels, sequels, and spin-offs, it’s easy to get lost.
The Reading Order That Actually Makes Sense
Most people grab the original 1993 novel and stop there. Big mistake. To really get under the skin of these characters, you have to decide if you want to read them as they were written or as they happened in "real life."
1. Skagboys (The Prequel)
Published in 2012, but set in the early 80s. This is the origin story. It’s long. It’s dense. It basically explains how a group of bright, working-class kids in Leith got swallowed by the heroin epidemic during the Thatcher years. You see Renton as a university student before the "skag" took hold. It’s heartbreaking because you know exactly where they’re heading.
2. Trainspotting (The OG)
The 1993 masterpiece. Forget the movie’s linear plot. The book is a collection of jagged, short-story-like chapters. It’s written in thick Scots dialect. At first, you’ll struggle. You’ll be googling "what does bairn mean" or "what is a swedge." Then, suddenly, your brain clicks. You start "hearing" the characters. It’s visceral. It’s the book that changed British literature because it refused to apologize for its language or its filth.
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3. Men in Love (The New Gap-Filler)
Published very recently (2025), this one slots right between the end of the first book and the next major jump. It follows Renton and his escapades in the immediate aftermath of his big betrayal.
4. Porno (The 10-Year Jump)
Set a decade after the original. Sick Boy is back in Edinburgh trying to grift his way into the adult film industry. It’s meaner and funnier than the first book. This served as the loose basis for the T2 movie, but the book is much more cynical about the "lads" and their middle-aged desperation.
5. The Blade Artist
This is a Begbie solo book, mostly. It’s a shock to the system. Franco Begbie is now "Jim Francis," a world-renowned sculptor living in California with a wife and kids. He’s "rehabilitated." Or is he? It reads like a high-tension thriller.
6. Dead Men’s Trousers
The "final" chapter. The four of them are in their fifties. They’re facing mortality. It’s dark, absurd, and features a subplot about organ harvesting that only Irvine Welsh could make funny. One of the main four doesn't make it to the end. I won’t spoil who, but it hits hard.
Why the Scots Dialect Isn't Just a Gimmick
You’ll hear people complain that the Irvine Welsh Trainspotting books are "unreadable" because of the phonetic Scots.
"Ah'm no feelin choice, Ken?"
It looks like a mess on the page. But there’s a reason Welsh writes like that. He’s reclaiming a voice that was systematically erased from "serious" literature. In the 80s and 90s, if you were from a scheme in Edinburgh, your voice didn't belong in a Booker Prize-nominated novel. Welsh changed that.
The dialect forces you to slow down. You can’t skim. You have to live in Renton’s head. You have to feel the rhythm of the street. It’s an immersive experience that a "standard English" translation would completely kill. Honestly, by the time you're halfway through Skagboys or Trainspotting, you won't even notice you're reading a "different" language. You’ll be thinking in it.
The Misconception of Heroin Chic
In the mid-90s, the media accused Welsh of "glamorizing" drug use.
Absolute nonsense.
If you actually read the books, there is nothing glamorous about what happens. There are scenes involving overflowing toilets, infected limbs, dead infants, and the crushing, repetitive boredom of addiction. Welsh doesn't judge his characters, but he doesn't save them either.
The books are actually a scathing critique of deindustrialization. These guys didn't just wake up and decide to be junkies for fun. They were living in a vacuum where the old jobs—the docks, the factories—were gone. Heroin filled the void. It was a "lifestyle choice" because society hadn't offered them any other viable ones.
Begbie: More Than a Cartoon Psychopath
In the movies, Francis Begbie is a terrifying force of nature. In the books? He’s even worse, but also more complex.
Welsh uses Begbie to explore a specific type of Scottish masculinity—one built on repressed trauma and performative violence. In The Blade Artist, we see a man trying to suppress the monster inside him through art. It’s a fascinating look at whether people can actually change or if we’re just hard-wired by our environment.
Most people think Begbie is just "the crazy one." Welsh shows us he's the product of a very specific, very broken social structure. He’s the shadow that follows the other three, the physical manifestation of the consequences they can’t run away from.
Tips for Your First Read
If you’re diving into this world for the first time, don't start with the sequels.
- Start with the original Trainspotting. It’s the heart of everything.
- Read it out loud. If a sentence doesn't make sense, say it at a normal speaking pace. The sounds will tell you what the words mean.
- Check the Glossary. Most editions have a glossary in the back for the slang. Use it.
- Watch the chronology. You don't have to read Skagboys first. In fact, reading it after the original makes the tragedy of their downfall feel more earned.
What’s Next?
The "Leithverse" is bigger than just these characters. If you finish the Irvine Welsh Trainspotting books and want more, you should check out Glue. It’s a standalone novel, but characters from the Trainspotting world pop up in the background. It’s like the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but with more swearing and less spandex.
Welsh is still writing. He’s still angry. And as long as there’s a wealth gap and a sense of social displacement, these books are going to stay relevant. They aren't just "drug books." They’re historical documents of a lost generation.
Your next move: Pick up a physical copy of Trainspotting—the dialect is much easier to parse on paper than on an e-reader—and commit to the first fifty pages without stopping. Once you find the rhythm, you won't be able to put it down.