The description intrigued me: on a South Pacific island, the one man who can read and write is translating "Hamlet" into the island's patois, a blend of native words and scrambled present-tense English. "Is be or is not be, is be one big damn puzzler."
Unfortunately, this idea is subordinated to less compelling characters. Lawyer William Hardt comes to the island in an effort to win reparations for the islanders who lost loved ones and limbs to the land mines left behind by the U.S. military. William never really comes alive; his main characteristics seem to be naivete and OCD.
His efforts to find a woman who was raped by American soldiers threaten to disrupt the island's traditions, which brings him into conflict with both Managua, the Shakespeare afficionado, and Lucy, a British anthropologist with whom William has an affair that the author strenuously insists is a grand romance. But in the end his efforts do bring millions in reparations.
William leaves the island and we move ahead six years, to 2001. It's then that the book really goes off the rails. William is on his way to the Twin Towers on a morning in early September when he bumps into his unpleasant childhood "chum" Sandy (coincidentally the lawyer who represented the U.S. in the reparations case). Sandy reveals that Lucy has a daughter and that basic math strongly suggests she's William's daughter, too. Shaken, William blows off his appointment to return to the island. And by this chance, William is spared when a plane crashes into the World Trade Center.
I'm not in the camp that says it's "too soon" or "not appropriate." But this feels so tacked on and the story becomes so programmatic when William returns to the island. Because his very American effort to Do Good has led to more islanders than ever losing their limbs; the influx of money has been spent on satellite dishes, Coca-Cola, and fatty snacks, leading to an epidemic of obesity and diabetes.
It's not that I disagree with where the author is coming from. Does American interference abroad wreak catastrophe? I've read Noam Chomsky, I read the newspaper. But this feels, again, perfunctory and implausible.
The real nail in the coffin is this bit of clunky, juvenile prose: "He thought how he'd carried out his own September 11 on the island. He had done far more damage than any terrorist ever could."