Ordinary Thunderstorms [Paperback]

I've loved William Boyd since way back in distant history, when I was blown away by An Ice Cream War, and have continued to be mesmerised by his storytelling skills down the years. This one, however, was disappointing. It started really well; I had the usual sense of excitement about the world I was about to enter, particularly as London in my home town, and was immediately fully engaged with the various characters. But as the book progressed I became steadily more disenchanted with the plot, and felt my 'suspension of disbelief'was being more and more sorely tested. By the time I reached the end (and even though I had the lack of pages to make it obvious, it was still a shock) I had lost interest entirely. It simply wasn't an end - no resolution, no sense of justice, no feeling of satisfaction or closure.
I also felt that what happened to Vince Turpin (no spoilers here!) just didn't work at all, on any level.
On the plus side, there's plenty of great descriptive prose here, and an interesting insight into London's underbelly. I also loved Ingram.
My last word, however, is on vocabulary. Is it really necessary to use words like borborygmi? (there were numerous others - sooo wish I'd marked them). I found their use irritating and showy-offy.I have never heard a single person describe a rumbling stomach thus - though perhaps i just move in the wrong circles....

William Boyd is a literary craftsman whose skills keep the reader enthralled and informed from the first page to the last. He is the antidote to all the overpraised writers fawned over erroneously on both sides of the Atlantic in the current publishing climate of `name' and `brand' because they lucked into (often underserved) popularity. Boyd is the real thing: a writer.

`Ordinary Thunderstorms' (the metaphor reflects the way in which simple climatic phenomena can grow in complexity to major events) is brilliantly observed and meticulously written. No reader outside the U.K. should stay away simply because it deals significantly with London, the Thames and their centuries-old mysteries. It explains much that curious and intelligent readers anywhere would want to know about any major world city, a stunning insider view that strips modern London to its truths.

Boyd takes us into the times, places and events with unerring skill, drawing out the characters with exquisite detail of appearance, speech, environment, motivation and behaviour. This is a thriller of extraordinary dimensions, and one can only hope it will be filmed, to provide (yet again) counterpoint to the mindless drivel that passes increasingly for movie entertainment these days.

I will not reveal the plot. Other reviewers have done so, mostly from the book jacket. The suspense is excruciating, and who would deny a reader that pleasure? Suffice it to say that Boyd traces the life and transformation into other worlds and identities of a young British college professor, an expert on climate, newly returned to the U.K. from the U.S., dragged unsuspecting into a murder for which he is considered guilty. And he learns survival, down to its core.

As it evolves, the story encompasses a pharmaceutical-corporation deception of global intricacy, an ex-SAS murder-for-hire thug, a young black prostitute and her son, a revivalist mission, and the Metropolitan police. Every character is memorable, every chapter turns the screw tighter, until the reader is caught up in the plot intricacies at ever-heightened levels of tension and anxiety. In this, Boyd shows his skills as a writer of remarkable dimensions: it all fits, like the structure of a complex pharmaceutical molecule, and the necessary suspensions of disbelief are few and forgivable. This is entertainment at rarified levels of execution.

Boyd does one other thing, and it is important. As in all his books, he never overwrites. He uses just enough unaffected words and appropriate levels of detail to tell his story. In this (read some of my other reviews, for example on Amazon/U.S. for amplification) he provides a model for other writers who apparently can't stop themselves from telling us too much, in too lengthy and repetitive forms, and who seem to be in love with the sound of their own voices. Boyd "tells it like it is" as directly as he can. He richly deserves all the praise that is heaped on him.

If you're wanting a cracking read this Autumn then look no further than this book. It's a perfectly paced and plotted thriller which is guaranteed to have you turning the pages right from the start. It follows young climatologist Adam Kindred whose life is suddenly turned upside down when he finds himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up being the only suspect in a murder. This leads to him going on the run and living off-grid and feral with London's homeless whilst not only the police but the psychopathic real killer try to track him down. It's definitely edge of your seat stuff but it also delivers on many other levels thanks to William Boyd's incredible talent. There's the fragility of our day to day security and identity, something which also resonated in another of his books Any Human Heart. Then there's the idea of the paths we tread and do not tread and where each of these lead and inter-connect with those of others. Above all there is the image of the unreal city that is London and at its heart the Thames which carries away some of its filth whilst retaining sufficient amounts to provide a record or memory of the inter-connecting histories which have taken place within this vast metropolis. Think Dickens, Hogarth, Peter Ackroyd and a dose of Martin Amis's Keith Talent and you start to get a flavour. But then add the pace and simple pzazz that is William Boyd's own and you're halfway there. I couldn't recommend it more highly!