"Trust Me, I'm a Banker," a novel by David Charters, to be published July 17, ISBN 978-0-312-60437, St. Martin's Press.
What draws me first to a book is the cover, then the title and then the summary written on the back cover or inside flap. What keeps me is the first 5 pages - which should be like a pot of my mom's vegetable soup. You know, she would mix everything in there, even the rutabagas - which I can't stand, but all the other stuff and the seasoning would hide the rutabaga.
Though Charters' efforts at writing a tale about a lifestyle that he knows from the inside out, and I do believe in the cliche that you should write about what you know, I found the 'rutabaga' on page 3.
And then it seemed that all I could taste was the 'rutabagas' all the way through the end of the book that has been proclaimed to be 'a flawless social satire' and has been compared to American Psycho.
Never read American Psycho. And if Trust Me, I'm a Banker is written in that tradition, well, then, I am glad.
Now, mind you, I will give Charters this - had he done a little less description and jumping from subject to subject and put in less details about the less important parts of the book, i.e. the hookers his character is with, their names and the drugs - which are nothing more than pieces to the puzzle that don't fit but look pretty, I might have given it a better rating. Maybe.
I do thank the staff at St. Martin's for sending me books to review - they don't have to - but they do and each one, even the ones where I can taste the 'rutabaga', are treasured. Some may never come back off the shelf, but they are there.
For just as someone might like rutabagas, someone might like this tale.
But for me, don't trust the banker.