It is only fitting that if I start blogging, it should be about something I find awesome. And Hugh Laurie, I very much believe, is AWESOME. Humour is a double-edged sword for those who have it. On the one hand, you pity those who don’t; and, on the other, you find your heart breaking when a rib-tickler is denied justice by a less amused [read, dumb] audience. In the world of sarcasm, however, there is also the third edge wherein there are hardly enough idols to draw inspiration from. Enter Hugh Laurie.
The phenomenon that he is in House M.D. [oh, give him an Emmy already], it is one of those rare moments of concurrence between the real world and the ideal world that apart from being an actor, a musician, a comedian and a tall guy, Hugh Laurie is a writer too. Knowing fully well that I'm reviewing something which is fifteen years old and which I found a week back by a stroke of good fortune, I do not suggest this book as a completely smitten fan of House, or the weirdo who sat through Stuart Little, all of them, for Laurie. I suggest it as a reader who found her money’s worth. This book is more than a retort to overtly dramatic thriller novels with chilling background music. This book is a prayer answered as finally a protagonist has arrived who thinks like I would if my life got sucked into a twisted sequence of international more or less criminal events, of which I am suddenly and through no fault of mine, a part. I find it very hard to relate to a guy who has all reactions pre-defined, say, poetic when in love, breathing-fire-kind-of-vengeful when cheated, or sounding like Don Corleone when helping someone. Purleese.
Protagonist, Thomas Lang, is a retired army officer who leads a simple life post-war, turning his only worthy skill into short mercenary jobs that let him put things in his fridge and keep whiskey in his flat. Thomas Lang may not have money, he may not have a decent job or even an indecent one, he may not have friends or a girlfriend. Identical to me so far, except “Not girl, but [3]”->boy, although this is a better crossword guess than Joey’s. Get used to F.R.I.E.N.D.S references. Lang loves his Kawasaki ZZR 1100. He has a friend/butler/fairy-godmother, who goes by the name Solomon and makes intermittent guest appearances in his brown raincoat, but mostly stays out of the [mis-]adventure. When approached by a stranger offering $$$ to assassinate American industrialist Alexander Woolf, the gentleman in Lang politely declines. The kind heart in him then decides to warn the poor rich slob who’s got it coming. Then comes tumbling down upon him, the complex conspiracy in the form of Ms Sarah Woolf, the Ministry of Defence, wicked helicopters, the CIA, sinful and evil but oddly beautiful billionaires who sit on top of the global underworld hierarchy, and of course, a terrorist group called The Sword of Justice [no, seriously], which he courageously undertakes all in good faith that a lady with great teeth and nice tendons may be saved from a tragic fate.
The subtle brilliance of Thomas Lang’s character is undoubtedly his honesty, his very much opinionated honesty that finds its way out whether he is being kidnapped, under MoD scrutiny, at a tete-a-tete with the colorful villains, or watching his arm get broken. The mainstream humour, with the heroic story as a nice background, is not surprising. What is startling is that you find interesting details about bikes, about terrorism, about Americans, about guns, about Japanese defence moves, about the CIA.
The finer points of the cast have thankfully been left to bare minimum. The minutiae of everyday life have been remarkably described. I would have very much liked Agatha Christie’s mystery novels written with Thomas Lang as lead detective. I would also very much like it if Laurie's immense talent rubs off on me by mere observation. And if some day, the sarcastic voice in my head sounds like him, I know I will have made it. But for now, I can only keep watching House.
