Born with a birthmark in the shape of a turtle, Donny is cursed (in his mother’s eyes, at least) to drown at the age of eighteen. His youth is dominated by a sense of isolation, as the family manipulates one another – there is little kindness in Turtle. The novel skirts the borders of magic realism when Donny encounters a talking turtle who becomes his mentor, teaching him to swim and to survive.

Clearly, the metaphor of the turtle figures strongly in this book. Like the reptile, Donny has built a shell around himself. If a turtle hides away, it also possesses an unusual freedom: an ability to ride the oceans. If the turtle is a metaphor for isolation, it is also one for the liberation that Donny seeks. But are families and the damage they cause so easily escaped, or has Donny been too hard on his own family?

Written in an accomplished and lyrical style, but at times overdone, Turtle negotiates the narrative currents without great drive. But its brief moments – a poisoning at the fish shop, Donny’s father’s rise in the criminal world, the success of Donny’s rock’n’roll brother ‘Mr Disco’ – are engaging and sometimes delightful. It is surprising that Bryson does not give us much of a picture of Glasgow itself.

The rambling structure comes together in the end, and there is more than enough in Turtle to make it an unusual and fine début novel.