The Big O

This is not the first time that I've marveled at the staid, moribund quality of a PW review. I'm pretty sure that if an author isn't named Hemingway, Fitzgerald or Faulkner, they just don't get it. And that's too bad because author Declan Burke has created a frantically paced comedy of errors that is a lot of fun to read. No, I won't be writing a thesis any time soon about kidnapper Ray's probable identity crisis, but when was the last time you read a line as funny as the one (right near the end of the book) in which he at last reveals his true identity? And that line is just the froth on this comic concoction. This book reminds me of some of my favorite movies: Libeled Lady, His Girl Friday, and of more recent origin, Snatch. Screwballs, every one of them. Some darker than others, some more romantic, but all of them with wild plot turns and breath-catching scenes that keep the viewer/reader fixed in place, waiting for the next laugh. If you're looking for deep meaning and deathless prose, go check out the latest bestselling, yawn-worthy, overwrought work of 'literature' (or even another PW review); if you're looking for a good time, call 1-800-THE BIG O.

A master of the aberrant behaviors of the fringe-dwellers of modern Irish society, Burke's novel attests to the endless creativity of those who indulge in usually non-violent crime to avoid the doldrums of regular employment. Ray is a soon-to-retire "babysitter" of sorts, a man who kidnaps specific targets for ransom until the money is paid and he gets his share; other than this peripatetic occupation, he paints murals on client's walls. Karen first meets Ray in the middle of a one-off (an impulsive holdup), her gun pointed directly at him- intrigued, Ray invites her for a drink. Karen works for Frank, a disgraced plastic surgeon who is only qualified to provide consultations, in the middle of a messy divorce settlement with Madge and living with a contemptuous girlfriend who openly mocks him while greedily spending his money. Desperate, Frank instigates Madge's kidnapping, setting in motion a bizarre plot that snowballs into a confrontation with flying bullets and snarling dogs. As best friends, Karen and Madge focus their attentions on the inadequate and often laughable Frank, the brunt of much of their humor. None of these characters, save perhaps Frank, are particularly unlikeable, considering their economic circumstances and penchant for perpetrating opportunistic crime. The same cannot be said for Rossi, a con about to be released, poised to prey once more on an unsuspecting public. Rossi is a hard case, a true sociopath with a cruel streak; that combined with an impaired intellect is a recipe for disaster. This career criminal will be showing up on Karen's doorstep, expecting her to return his money, motorbike and weapon. Karen, of course, has no intention of returning anything. Each character pursuing his own interests, all are drawn into a twisted plot of small intentions grown large, easy schemes victim to random circumstances that play havoc with Madge's kidnapping. Add in a part-wolf canine passed from one brutal owner to another and you have a tale with any number of pitfalls. Burke's talent is in capturing the idiosyncrasies of individuals, the quirky attributes that draw men and women together only to be driven apart by their differences and the petty grievances nursed by the chronically unhappy- Rossi- who interferes with the master plan and throws all into disarray. But even Rossi is a buffoon, albeit a crazy one, an inept bungler more easily distracted by his unstable imagination and obsession with getting what he believes rightfully belongs to him. Greed will, as usual, be the undoing of these less-than-inspired criminals, the absurd Frank and the unpredictable Rossi, Ray barely maintaining his end of the bargain, newly vulnerable to his romantic thoughts about Karen and the future. The result is an innovative farce evoking the inevitable law of unintended consequences, Burke in top form as he manipulates his characters like a master puppeteer. Luan Gaines/ 2008.