Christopher Sewell is famous. He used to be an ad executive with a wife, a drink problem and not much more. Now he’s serving a life sentence for the murder of Felix Carter, who used to be a famous pop star with an acting career, a drink problem and the world at his feet. Why and how Chris killed Felix is a mystery. Until, that is, he agrees to give a single interview from prison. Just the one, mind. You know what these celebrities are like… A sharp and delicious satire about stardom, and the way the media attempts to both satisfy and inflame our obsession with success.
Andrew Holmes’s first novel, ‘Sleb’, was shortlisted for the WH Smith New Talent Award in the UK. This was followed by ‘All Fur Coat’, ’64 Clarke’, and ‘Rain Dogs And Love Cats’, all of which were critically well received, earning him comparisons with Martin Amis and Elmore Leonard, among others.
As A.E. Moorat, he wrote the horror-comedy mash-ups, ‘Queen Victoria, Demon Hunter’ and ‘Henry VIII, Wolfman’, while as Oliver Bowden he has written six books set in the Assassin's Creed video game universe: ‘Secret Crusade’, ‘Forsaken’, ‘Black Flag’, ‘Unity’, ‘Underworld’ and ‘Desert Oath’. He has also collaborated with James Patterson on the novella, ‘Hunted’, part of Patterson’s Bookshot series.
His most recent work is the survival-horror novel, ‘Bloody Kids’.
From boozy celeb autobiography (Alex James) to boozy celeb fiction. This is the second Andrew Holmes I've read, Criminal Records being the other, of which I berated the cover but applauded the novel within. It's the opposite with this one, I'm afraid. The cover (with the Absolut bottle; not the one pictured here) is beautiful. The fact that I am partial to book covers with booze on (cf. Graham Swift, Last Orders, edition c.1997), as well as telling me more about myself than I probably care to know, made this a must-buy for 99p, but was a disappointment, if I'm honest.
I believe this was Holmes' debut, and it shows: it is a fine idea, but it's just a bit too try-hard. It also employs that tactic of introducing lots of pointless minor characters and their stories at the start of various chapters, so beloved of the Grishams and Picoults of Bookworld: Norbert Enwistle was not having a good day. His pet chihuahua, Wonderwall, had pissed all over the baby-pink broderie anglaise blouse he had laid out for his shift at the local branch of Corsets-R-Us... OK, I may be paraphrasing slightly, but you get the gist. These asides are fine if they actually add something to the plot - Jonathan Coe does it brilliantly - but here they just scream out, "I've got all these ideas that don't really fit, but I can't be bothered developing them, so I'll just shove them in... here, and bump up my word count too!"
However, don't let this review put you off reading Criminal Records; it really is very good.
It didn't, at any point, make me laugh out loud or even stifle a giggle. I felt it tried very very hard to be an intelligent comedy and the effort was visible. There was a lot of boring narrative about the ins and outs of journalism that didn't interest me in the slightest. I kinda guessed the ending - not exactly but was close. Perhaps I didn't like it because mystery and crime are not genres I'm usually interested in (I made the mistake of being attracted by the pretty cover! lol)
Having said all this, I definitely would not say it is a bad book. I did enjoy it and didn't find that I had to labour it through to the end. I did want to know what had happened and I enjoyed the way that all the little stories were thrown in and twisted together. I liked knowing the little pieces of background information of how people's lives are intwined - like when Chris finds the mobile phone, you find out a little about the person who lost it, how and why.
So all in all, I would say that I find this book of average enjoyment. I would not recommend it but I would not say not to read it either. Rather non-emotive for me I suppose.