Francis Plug is an aspiring author with a slightly worrying thought. He’s spotted writers being pulled out of their comfort zones and yanked out onto large stages, blinking and nervous. In order to prepare for his inevitable win, he’s decided to meet as many Man Booker winners as possible, distilling their wisdom into a primer for any novelist wanting to know how to deal with the public. Each author is given their own chapter; with Plug describing the surroundings, drinking as much as he can, giving a rundown on the authors’ work and then interacting with the thoroughly bemused novelist before muddling his way home.
It’s a constantly amusing book, filled with absurd conversations and off-the-wall descriptions that never feel forced or over “wacky.” He has a great turn of phrase, and his descriptions and blow-by-blow accounts always have a warped dash of reality to them. Some conversations with authors are more useful for Plug’s book than others – he usually becomes fixated by something small and insignificant and then ends up blowing it out of proportion when he finally comes into contact with the confused/impatient/horrified author on the other end.
Plug is a likeable character despite his pretentions and propensity for chaos, and as he visits authors we start to see how precarious his life is. Eschewing complimentary glasses of wine at functions in favour of swiping whole bottles, he’s a nuisance to event organisers and Man Booker winners alike. He works part time as a gardener, but as his drinking increases, his work does the opposite – and though he considers himself to be a novelist, he’s not actually written a single word down (other than copious notes in tiny handwriting.) He has a particularly fractious relationship with one of his employers, the rich banker Mr Stapleton, and it is this that drives the narrative and leads to a bizarre showdown of sorts.
Plug is a lonely man, desperate to be a part of the literary landscape he idolises, and you feel torn between sympathising with him and the poor people he terrorises. It’s a look at alcoholism and loneliness, but it’s also a drunken rumination on the current state of the novel in the 21st century, as he talks about the rise of impersonal ebooks and obtrusive supermarket stickering. In amongst the madness, he almost makes sense at times. I had a lot of fun reading this, and it’s hard to describe without ruining the feel of the novel. All I can say is that it’s one of my favourites from this year, and if a hard-drinking loner with a penchant for the surreal sounds like your kind of protagonist, I highly recommend that you pick it up.