The Booker prize committee must be in a bad mood this year; between this and Skios, two of the three long listed books I've read have reveled in bleak, black humor. I like it.

The Teleportation Accident is kind of a mess. A nihilistic historical comedy about shallow German poseurs turns into a brief Parisian farce turns into Lovecraft-tinged thriller set in California's golden age of engineering. Then it's back to 16th century Venice to wrap up the theatrical mystery that frames the book and which propels the metatextual point that the author clearly tried to make but, alas, I think I failed to achieve (a deconstruction revealing the shallow and arbitrary nature of fiction, if I had to guess, but I don't think it was too successful).

None of this makes much sense, but all of it is highly entertaining. Beauman has a knack for language and observation, but deploys it sparingly enough that it won't wear you or the story out (contrast that to Karen Russell, who I love but now realize kind of exhausted me). His characters are all hilariously venal and the settings compelling.

I don't think this hangs together enough to be a real contender for the Man Booker, but it could easily wind up being this year's most eclectic and entertaining book. And it's nice to see the committee celebrating moods and emotions other than wistfulness, which too many critics seem to view as the height of human sophistication. I'm starting to wonder whether Cousin Matthew might be a fun guy to get drunk and talk some shit with.