Review: London Irish

Zane Radcliffe is being hailed as the new Colin Bateman. Stylistically, there are similarities; they both write dark, heartbreakingly funny books. But where Bateman's pacing is much like that of anvil thrown off a cliff, Radcliffe's is a bit like a creaky roller coaster that does not ensure a safe arrival.

The first chapter seems to stand alone from the rest of the book but it is ultimately the answer to the why you may ask for the rest of the book.

In the middle of the hectic pace of London life lives a somewhat displaced Irishman. He wants little more than to get out of London and begin living again. But, Bic's dream of meeting the right girl, returning to Ulster to settle down and start Northern Ireland's first ostrich farm seems a bit remote. In the heat of the summer of 1999, the dissatisfied Bic (half-Irish, half-Scots, all confusion) makes a decidedly strange living selling crêpes to the masses of Greenwich market shoppers. His is largely dissatisfied with life and entirely inert in his efforts to do something about it. The year 2000 and its promise of change can't come soon enough. Then two women make an appearance in Bic's life. One is a rather angry hairdresser looking for work and the other is an Irish woman that moves Bic to action. One becomes a steadfast friend; the other avoids him at all costs. There is nothing like avoidance to keen a mans appetite for trouble on two legs. After the deaths of two acquaintances and the arrest of his dog for civil disobedience, it seems strife has taken up residence in Bic's life. And as he pursues the mysterious Roisin, he is pulled into danger and a past he only vaguely remembers. As everything he has worked so languidly to get is taken from him, Bic comes face to face with an event from long ago and the life he was meant to lead.

As a one sitting read that will have you laughing out loud, this debut is not without it's flaws. The pacing is uneven and many questions are left unanswered. But overall, this book is a treat for the brain. With lines like 'She threw me a look of total incomprehension. Imagine handing a chimpanzee some sheet music' and 'We lived in Llanstumdwy ... a town named by someone who'd stood on a typewriter' the charm of Radcliffe's writing overcomes it's problems. I am disinclined to pronounce him the new Colin Bateman. Radcliffe ultimately has his own style and an approach that differs vastly from Bateman's. But I do think that Bangor; Ireland seems to produce the darkest and funniest writers.

Reprinted with permission. Do Not repost without permission from the author, Jennifer Jordan

Book Review: London Irish