June 8, 1998
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Criminal
Prose A pathetic attempt at aping Robert Ludlum's thrillers. By Ashok Banker THE ORPHAN There are two kinds of crime fiction. The first includes some of the finest contemporary fiction, probing deep into the tortured heart of the urban socio-economic milieu -- and making the dark descent absorbing and worthwhile, if not outright entertaining. The second is fiction that's plainly unreal and implausible -- but handled so expertly you go along for the ride and enjoy yourself thoroughly. Shashi Warrier's book falls with a resounding thud between the two genres. So much so that the only "crime" about this kind of fiction is that it's been published at all. That too by a publisher of the stature of Penguin India, which can certainly do much better. From the first page, Warrier's clumsy prose thumbs you in the eye with its pathetic attempt at a Ludlumish "slick" thriller style. Thrillers are notoriously plainly written, emphasising pace, action and simple, clear characterisation. But Warrier outdoes the worst. He struggles painfully between the slang of the '70s and plain bad writing. When he is not tossing off jarring phrases such as "poked him in the tummy", "the moonlight was faint" and "I got bugged about that", he's insulting the reader's intelligence by penning clich s such as "you will die for this now". So you look for plot and pace, hoping that Warrier can at least carry you through to the end with some modicum of entertainment. Bitter disappointment. His protagonist -- a super-commando who eats Pakistani soldiers for breakfast in Kashmir, then lunches with the prime minister, discussing top-secret rescue missions, and juggles psychopaths and political conspiracy for dinner without a burp -- is as cardboard a figure as a pizza box and not half as digestible. The dialogue echoes Bollywood at its worst, while the action-set pieces are highly recommended bathroom reading for the piles-afflicted. |
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