'If you liked "Bright Lights, Big City", you'll love this' said the wrapper around this novel, which sat on top of a pile in an airport book shop. That set off a round of predictions. The novel will be about bright young things snorting and pilling around London. Someone has vaguely literary yearnings and endless complaints about his job, whose details will be traced rather than described. Despair will be laid on with a bucket. On some level, furthermore, the lead character will embrace the burned-out degradation attendant on his ambition.
Wasn't wrong.
I wanted to like this novel far more than I did. Despite the initial topical appeal - which, perhaps, helped grease the novel's journey out of the slush pile - the whole scene seems more reminiscent of the 80's than the present. The yuppie optimism may be draining away, but the dream of the characters - to yield up their twenties to retire rich in their forties - is the same.
With the best will in the world, it's hard to turn the ins and outs of portfolio managers and investments into readable material. Impatience mars the novel's construction, too. Sometime the scenes, especially in the novel's middle section, are less drawn than hurriedly jotted and pushed at the reader. They're as wispy as plane trails.
Does everyone in the financial world blurt out their autobiography at the slightest provocation, and sound the same doing it? Take this piece from a lap dancer:
'Oh, that's so cool. I'd love to go to Vegas. I saw that film with Nicolas Cage. It's such a glamorous place. [Did she actually watch Leaving Las Vegas...?] I like places that have all the gliz and glamour and still have a really seedy underbelly. An Arab guy flew a bunch of us out to a party in Dubai. It was like that out there. All polished glass and gold and yet, out of sight, hidden from that very harsh light, hookers and drugs and debauchery.'
Or this one:
'I'm so lonely, Charlie. [The main character.] Sometimes I wish that we were back together. Just so I had someone to be with. Look at your eyes tonight. They are so beautiful. So shy and beautiful. No wonder so many girls loved you at university. No wonder I did.'
With Charlie's superiors at Silverbirch, it gets worse.
Crudely executed, muddled, and superficial; more This Side of Paradise than The Great Gatsby.