Book review: 'Plugged'

Book: Plugged
Author: Eoin Colfer
Publisher: Hachette
Pages: 278
Price: Rs499

It would be easy to say Artemis Fowl, that unlikeable boy, grows up and gets to discover his better side by solving a string of crimes. But that’s not the case. Fowl’s creator, Eoin Colfer, has written his first book for adults. In Plugged, Colfer introduces us to ex-army man Daniel McEvoy, busy living his other life as doorman of a seedy dive in New Jersey. All he is interested in is growing his hair back, and to that end, he consults Dr Zeb Kronski.

However, what has to happen will happen. Dr Kronski disappears, McEvoy has to kill a mob man in self-defense, the woman he has a crush on is killed…and so on and so forth. So, before you can say ‘transplant’, McEvoy is dragged into a series of events that spin rapidly, crazily, and involve a gory murder or three, a drugs bust, some bombshells dead and alive, crimes of passion, narcotics, Irish ganglords, and the like. Just by happenstance, McEvoy’s companion on this wacky journey through gangster trouble is a youngish black cop — a most unlikely coupling and none too convincing, besides.

Colfer plays a straight and sardonic bat in Plugged. The straight-talking, tough-on-the-outside- soft-inside hero is pulled into the morass, if not entirely unwilling to wade in. The red herrings are revealed as such, early in the story. There is a running gag where McEvoy constantly converses with the presumed ghost of his hair doctor, and that turns irksome after a while.

The writer’s characteristic flair for the ludicrous pops up every now and then. Sample this description of a villain: “Faber in a beige mohair suit, with honest-to-God flares and captain Kirk boots. Who the hell is this guy’s stylist? Engelbert Humperdinck?”

Elsewhere: “‘You kill anyone over there?” “Only the ones that died.” And this jewel in the crown: the hero is trying to make non-controversial small talk with the menacing ganglord. “Mister Madden,” he says, affably. “How’s tricks? I mean business tricks, not prostitution obviously.”

Dark humour, nonchalance worn on the sleeve like a pennant, crazies coming out of the woodwork, a rather humdrum tale at the core…can you really blame the reader for thinking Artemis Fowl has erm,  grown up, become halfway decent and gets to solve a string of crimes? (The loud and awkward cover doesn’t not help in convincing the reader otherwise, alas.)