After reading Douglas Stuart’s Shuggie Bain, I expected Young Mungo to be another gritty experience. However, I was surprised to find it more uplifting than his earlier work, which had notably divided one of my book clubs.

The two books share many similarities: both are set in Glasgow and follow the story of a teenage boy in a dysfunctional family where alcoholism looms large. Yet, Young Mungo stands out as a surprisingly touching love story.

Mungo Hamilton, the 15-year-old protagonist of Young Mungo, is named after Glasgow’s patron saint and is torn between the expectations of his Protestant family and his love for James, a Catholic boy. Set in 1993, a time when homophobia is rampant, Mungo faces immense pressure from his tough family, particularly his elder brother, who expects him to prove his masculinity through violence, thievery, and aggression. Life is harsh for the entire family, with the novel unfolding against a backdrop of poverty. It’s no surprise that Mungo’s bright sister, Jodie, longs to escape.

Like Shuggie Bain, the story in Young Mungo teeters on the edge of becoming unbearably bleak but narrowly avoids it. Physical and sexual abuse are frequent themes, and alcoholism—driven by a desperate need to escape grim realities—prevents Mungo’s mother from fully loving him. Despite these harsh conditions, Mungo’s inherent goodness shines through. This is especially evident in his moments of compassion and resilience, contrasting sharply with the more harrowing and traumatic experiences he endures, such as the fishing trip with the men his mother barely knows.

Every now and then, a book tugs at the reader’s heartstrings, and Young Mungo does just that. It is both tender and tough, heartbreaking and full of love, violent and forgiving. The story is narrow in its setting yet universal in its themes, making it impossible not to care deeply for Mungo and hope for the best for him. Stuart masterfully evokes a strong emotional response, almost akin to a sense of love for the characters, while steering clear of anything remotely twee. It is real, gritty, and believable. As a middle-aged mother, I find myself seeing different things in this book than a twentysomething reader might, yet I imagine it would resonate equally with both.

In many respects, Young Mungo serves as a rite of passage for several characters, with this journey often tied to a desperate need to escape—from themselves, their circumstances, or both. For Mungo and James, however, the need to escape isn’t about running away from who they are, but rather a quest to find a place where they can be their authentic selves. Young Mungo is a remarkable read, skillfully using character and setting to depict not just the bad and the ugly but also the goodness of life.