We are informed on the dust-jacket of this book that the author, under another name, has won 'many awards' for adult and children's fiction. If that is so, the author, whatever his name, has had the mother of all off-days with this one: it's amazingly bad. There's much to be learned here about how not to write a novel. Nobody expects great literature, but the narrative style is so wooden and flat-footed you could use it for clogs; characterization is paper-thin where it's attempted at all; plot and dialogue are occasionally laughable (but not, unfortunately, humorous); even the derring-do is done by numbers. One unintentional high point comes when Fancy Jack lectures an American journalist on the pros and cons of the purchase system for commissions in the British Army. He's just returned from a secret mission paddling a canoe round the Crimea, having been slightly sabered by a Cossack en route. Does this put a crimp in his peroration? No: the author has done his homework and the hero has to spout it; it's that kind of book.
It should go without saying that this sort of thing is not in the same league as - or, bluntly, anywhere in sight of - the Sharpe novels. It might do for a backward twelve-year-old who is being weaned off Harry Potter. Otherwise, save your money.