The first chapter of 'Dust Devils', by Roger Smith, comes at you like a panther in the dark, a coiled, muscular attack that leaves the reader breathless in a few short pages. Frags (just enough), potent imagery ("the hot weight of his flesh... Kobe beef fattened on beer"), and a marvellous economy lash down an intro as seductive as it is disturbing.
This sets the pattern for what is a superior thriller which will satisfy anyone seeking richly challenging material, set in worlds which many will know, but where few will ever venture. As someone with a friend whose parents' car was hijacked in South Africa, leaving both occupants to a lingering and lonely death, I could relate to the darkness summoned by Smith's vivid writing. But it was his interweaving of political corruption, the HIV plague, witchdoctors and tribal warlords that elevated parts of the story to almost mythic levels that I found by turns fascinating and uniquely unsettling. This is a book with a considerable humanity; but within that humanity there is, inevitably, horror, injustice and seething, pungent evil, surely never more memorably embodied than in the Zulu warlord, Dog Mazibuko. He is, essentially, the novel's villain (although it isn't short of contenders), and it is his fate to be stricken with AIDS. The balance of justice is served, we may think, by this. But Mazibuko makes it the fate of others to suffer as he suffers, so that he might effect a "cure".
'Dust Devils', as a thriller, is ultimately an unflinchingly honest and sincere take on a troubled land. Random evil, random beauty, myth and magic are fused and skewed into the crazy patterns of a dust devil, forcing the characters to extremes as they forge an existence under the powerful South African sun.