A Philosophical Thriller
Dec. 16th, 2007 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtvesselSep 2007
The Discrete Charm of Charlie Monk - David Ambrose - Pocket Books, 2005
* * * *
Writers, being solitary and domestic creatures, probably spend more time than most listening to the radio, which may explain why the rather marvellous I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue is having an undue influence on them. It has a game called “One Song to the Tune of Another” which is an apt metaphor for an increasingly common style of literary composition in which the narrative devices of one genre are married to the thematic concerns of a different one. This is nothing new, of course; SF writers have often chosen detectives, spies or law-enforcers, and their associated plot-tropes, to explore their invented worlds, and conversely any mainstream writer who wants to be seen as trendy will spice up their depictions of everyday life with fantasy, science fictional, detective or thriller elements (David Mitchell, Iain Banks, Kazuo Ishiguro, Margaret Atwood).
Such literary cross-breeding has its dangers as well as its benefits. The result can be a feeble creature, lacking the narrative energy or pleasing story shape of either of its parents (am I the only one who gets a bad feeling when a novel is described on its back cover as “unclassifiable”?). On the other hand, it can also result in some welcome variations on tired old themes. This book, which mixes philosophical ideas into a techno-thriller storyline, does suffer from a dilution of its fundamental form, but on the whole comes out ahead.
We are introduced in alternate chapters to two protagonists. The first is Susan Flemyng, a doctor specialising in the treatment of patients suffering from memory problems, whose saintly husband John dies in a plane crash in Russia. She is contacted by a dubious journalist who reckons (surprise, surprise) that John’s demise was not an accident
The other is a supremely competent special agent called Charlie Monk who performs assassinations and other operations for a mysterious outfit called the Pilgrim Foundation. He is a dead ringer for James Bond, having a high opinion of himself, no discernable conscience about the people he kills, a luxurious lifestyle and a variety of women who throw themselves at him for no obvious reason. Nonetheless he is not entirely happy, being obscurely troubled by memories of his first love, Kathy Ryan
I can’t say any more without giving away too much, but Ambrose is supremely good at both fulfilling your expectations and vitiating them. There is at least one “uh?” plot twist which I pretty much guarantee you will not see coming. His writing and characterisation are functional rather than inspired, but Susan is sympathetic from the off despite some by-the-numbers character motivation and the initially annoying Charlie does eventually grow on you, particularly as it becomes clear that Ambrose’s aim is more to satirise than celebrate the James Bond genre.
Ultimately, the main idea on which this book is based is perhaps too far-fetched to be believable, but the fact that it is also a thoughtful exploration of a philosophical conundrum makes it a lot more interesting than your average thriller. Those seeking adrenalin-pumping thrills, or conversely literary and philosophical depth, are likely to be disappointed. For everyone else, however, it’s an enjoyable read.
The Discrete Charm of Charlie Monk - David Ambrose - Pocket Books, 2005
* * * *
Writers, being solitary and domestic creatures, probably spend more time than most listening to the radio, which may explain why the rather marvellous I’m Sorry I haven’t a Clue is having an undue influence on them. It has a game called “One Song to the Tune of Another” which is an apt metaphor for an increasingly common style of literary composition in which the narrative devices of one genre are married to the thematic concerns of a different one. This is nothing new, of course; SF writers have often chosen detectives, spies or law-enforcers, and their associated plot-tropes, to explore their invented worlds, and conversely any mainstream writer who wants to be seen as trendy will spice up their depictions of everyday life with fantasy, science fictional, detective or thriller elements (David Mitchell, Iain Banks, Kazuo Ishiguro, Margaret Atwood).
Such literary cross-breeding has its dangers as well as its benefits. The result can be a feeble creature, lacking the narrative energy or pleasing story shape of either of its parents (am I the only one who gets a bad feeling when a novel is described on its back cover as “unclassifiable”?). On the other hand, it can also result in some welcome variations on tired old themes. This book, which mixes philosophical ideas into a techno-thriller storyline, does suffer from a dilution of its fundamental form, but on the whole comes out ahead.
We are introduced in alternate chapters to two protagonists. The first is Susan Flemyng, a doctor specialising in the treatment of patients suffering from memory problems, whose saintly husband John dies in a plane crash in Russia. She is contacted by a dubious journalist who reckons (surprise, surprise) that John’s demise was not an accident
The other is a supremely competent special agent called Charlie Monk who performs assassinations and other operations for a mysterious outfit called the Pilgrim Foundation. He is a dead ringer for James Bond, having a high opinion of himself, no discernable conscience about the people he kills, a luxurious lifestyle and a variety of women who throw themselves at him for no obvious reason. Nonetheless he is not entirely happy, being obscurely troubled by memories of his first love, Kathy Ryan
I can’t say any more without giving away too much, but Ambrose is supremely good at both fulfilling your expectations and vitiating them. There is at least one “uh?” plot twist which I pretty much guarantee you will not see coming. His writing and characterisation are functional rather than inspired, but Susan is sympathetic from the off despite some by-the-numbers character motivation and the initially annoying Charlie does eventually grow on you, particularly as it becomes clear that Ambrose’s aim is more to satirise than celebrate the James Bond genre.
Ultimately, the main idea on which this book is based is perhaps too far-fetched to be believable, but the fact that it is also a thoughtful exploration of a philosophical conundrum makes it a lot more interesting than your average thriller. Those seeking adrenalin-pumping thrills, or conversely literary and philosophical depth, are likely to be disappointed. For everyone else, however, it’s an enjoyable read.