Boyd leads us onward, from Southwold to Warsaw, coursing out the clues like a seasoned storyteller. But though the breadcrumbs may be artfully strewn, the meatloaf of a man at the center of this farcical repast is decidedly half-baked ... The stakes escalate to the level of global crisis. Bit players are cruelly killed. Boyd conveys these plot points in expository dialogue, insulating the narrative from any real sense of danger ... By this point, one suspects that the author is in on the joke. Gabriel is a moron coated in Teflon, and his invincibility can be read as a satire of the Cold War era, when entitled men meddled with impunity in the fates of nations. Like Sherman McCoy in The Bonfire of the Vanities, Gabe is the embodiment of a sick society: an antihero whom readers may love to hate ... As Gabriel’s quaint misadventures conclude, he remains adrift in his own ego, horny as a bonobo, and primed by Boyd to star in a sequel. I do see a certain nostalgic appeal. This book recalls a simpler time for men like Gabriel Dax. As the world changes, many will prefer to look backward.
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