After several volumes away, doing whatever it is investigative journalists do when they’re not starring in crime novels, Jack Parlabane returns to Chris Brookmyre’s sardonic satirical world when he is hired by an old friend’s younger sister (cue, frisson) to find the emerging mega-star lead singer of a band she manages. It’s a sign of how far Parlabane’s journalistic cred has fallen that the job comes with a Non-Disclosure Agreement.
As we should expect from Brookmyre, at least when he is channelling Parlabane, we venture into the seedier sides of the European project – Edinburgh remains a base, but most of this story happens on a band’s tour bus, in Berlin or in the western isles, all-in-all quite un-Parlabane-esque. Alongside this, there is a further move in the narrative shift that over the years sees the bad guys continue to transmogrify from rich, corporate Tories to shysters to, here, post-communist organised crime hiding behind the corporate glitz of the cultural sector and celebrity vacuity, where glamour conceals alarming high rates and insidious forms of corporate and corporeal exploitation.
What's more, Brookmyre seems also to be name changing: Christopher was his satirical crime moniker, the source of Parlabane; Chris his crime genre nom de plume for the Jasmine Sharpe series – yet DI Catherine McLeod from those appears here as the top cop, and geek that I am it amuses me to see Brookmyre’s worlds interweaving as names blur and characters not otherwise connected between novels meet up: oh, the delights of intertextuality.
All that aside, though, this is a cracker of a yarn, told in parallel tales – the wide-eyed morally clear innocent new to band at the core of the story alternating with Parlabane’s worldly wise, problematically over-confident, self-doubting lapsed journalist. Along with that, there is a healthy dose of the new Europe’s grimy underbelly, a fair dollop of sex, drugs and rock and roll (most of it consensual, but in the end little of actually so in the grime), intense loyalty, nascent romance – all of which add up to make this most certainly not one for the kirk. To top it off, Brookmyre plays an old and simple narrative that keeps readers uncertain and manages to become several, different, old and simple narratives along the way.
It’s classic Brookmyre, great satire (he is Scotland’s Hiassen), a rollicking good yarn packed full of flawed, inconsistent and befuddled characters – and that’s just the ‘good guys’, and really hard to ‘review’ without spoilers: as with nearly all Brookmyre, no matter how great some of the characters, this is about a fabulous plot.