JAMES HOGG defies categorisation. A prolific poet, songwriter, playwright, novelist, short-story writer and parodist, he wrote with equal skill in Scots and English.
Labelled the Ettrick Shepherd, the former Borders farmhand, whose life spanned the 18th and 19th centuries, befriended many of the great writers of his day, including Walter Scott, John Galt and Allan Cunningham.
Even though he was celebrated off and on in his own lifetime, some details of the author’s life remain unclear. Records place his baptism on December 9 1770, but Hogg long believed that he had been born on January 25 1772 Burns Night, no less.
This complicates attempts to commemorate his 250th birthday, unless we embrace his fantastical world view. Fiction mattered to him more than fact. Besides, Hogg’s sestercentennial will inevitably be overshadowed by Scott’s own such celebration on August 15 this year.
Despite little formal education, Hogg wrote one of the finest novels in Scottish literature, a disturbing tale of the divided self that still resonates.