Iain Banks's Complicity. A nasty, gonzo-style tale about a nasty, gonzo-style journalist, and the exceedingly nasty disposal of certain nasty other persons in inappropriately appropriate ways. I bought it in the local OxFam bookshop, read it, then was so ashamed of having read it to the end that I put it back in the tray outside the shop without saying I'd done so to the staff. I'd only picked it up on the strength of the author's name (he's "Iain M Banks" to SF readers); it's put me right off him. The sort of book I want to wash my mind out with bleach after reading.