STRAIGHT WHITE MALE

A very funny novel that gets darker and goes deeper as it progresses.

Farce teeters toward tragedy in this novel about an Irish author who long ago enjoyed a critical and popular breakthrough with an international best-seller. He has since sold his services to the highest Hollywood bidder while indulging his voracious appetites without moral compunction. Then he finds himself at the juncture of unlikely coincidence—just as he learns that he is in serious American tax trouble, he receives an extraordinarily generous teaching fellowship in Britain, which he initially resists at least partly because the faculty also includes one of his ex-wives. Protagonist Kennedy Marr is a familiar character, a literary scoundrel who retains his charm; even he acknowledges, in a serious turn, that “he was the most awful, dread cliché: the middle-aged novelist trying to come to terms with his own mortality.” Where it initially seems that Niven (The Second Coming, 2012, etc.) might not have much to offer beyond some hearty laughter (there’s an episode about multitasking with pornography, and ruining another laptop in the process, that is particularly slapstick), the novel turns into an argument about just what a novel—and a life—should be. “The purpose of art is to delight. Not to enlighten. Not to teach,” Kennedy insists, before he develops into a character who proves teachable, if not enlightened. He recognizes that he hasn’t been much of a father to his teenage daughter or son to his dying mother, that at least one of his marriages might have enriched his life if he’d taken it more seriously, and that he has squandered most of life on “another set of sensations to throw in the face of the abyss.” His escapades with an actress, a student and whoever else is handy lead unexpectedly to a climax that is deliriously ambitious and richly satisfying.

Literary satire finds redemption as a character ruled by his genitals discovers he has a heart.