A Dead Hand: A Crime in Calcutta [Hardcover]

A Dead Hand is Paul Theroux's latest novel, and here he dabbles into the mystery genre, with mixed results. His vivid descriptive language enlivens the story, but the novel didn't seem to me to have enough of the conventions of a fine mystery to bring satisfaction. Most of the clues seemed obvious, and the progression of the story was often too predictable. For readers who thrive on feeling one is actually in an unfamiliar place that comes to life through fine language, A Dead Hand will bring some reading pleasure. For mystery lovers, A Dead Hand provides more appetizer than entrée.

Rating: Two-star (Mildly Recommended)

Set in India, familiar territory for Theroux, 'A Dead Hand` tells the story of a travel writer suffering from writer's block (aka `dead hand') until a chance letter from an American ex-pat, the mysterious Mrs Unger, relating a story of a mystery of a dead body in a hotel leads him to release his creativity in very unexpected ways. The story is more about obsession and infatuation than it is about the mystery itself as the narrator falls under Mrs Unger's Tantric charms. But does she have more to hide than she's letting on?

In the hands of Theroux, a new novel set in the India that he knows so well, what could possibly go wrong? Disappointingly, quite a bit on the evidence of this book.

For a start, both the narrator and the object of his infatuation, Mrs Unger, are far from likeable characters. The writer (Jerry Delfont, although he is hardly, if at all, referred to by his name in the book) comes over as a self-pitying man (and when the narrator has few redeeming qualities it's hart to empathise with him) and he largely fails to convey any of the charms that make the Mrs Unger so appealing to him. Also inexplicably for someone who knows India so well, Theroux fails to invoke much of the mystery of the place.

A further problem I had with the book was that in relating the Tantric activities of Mrs Unger there is clearly a lot of sexual metaphor(the sessions take place in Mrs Unger's `vault') - which is fine although it is repetitious (as is much the first two parts of the book), but he then goes on to make it explicit - `And being inside the vault was like being inside her body'. It seems that he is giving his readers no credit for picking up on his non-too subtle hints. We really can pick up on the hints, Mr Theroux. If there's one thing worse than a writer who tells instead of shows, it's one who shows and then tells in case he hasn't shown well enough.

The subject of writing is clearly something Theroux knows very well, although given his prolific nature one suspects the pains of writer's block are less familiar to him. In the second part of the book, the narrator is introduced to another writer visiting India - a certain Paul Theroux which is kind of amusing but it also comes across as a bit self-congratulating - although this Mr Theroux is talked about in less than complimentary terms. It's amusing but adds little to the story.

The mystery of the murder is only really dealt with in the final part of the book (in the first two parts, Delfont is too busy being obsessed to bother too much with sleuthing so if you were wanting a mystery book, this probably isn't it) - and things pick up a lot here. The writer finds the dismembered hand of the victim - ie a dead hand. And if you hadn't made the connection with that and the writers `dead hand' or writer's block - again it is explicitly spelt out for you.

Of course, there are some lovely Theroux touches as well - and the Indian characters are without fail more interesting than the American characters in the book. But it's a long, long way from his best work.

The ennui of a travel writer in Calcutta is the catalyst for a strange tale of obsession, betrayal and exploitation. Jerry Delfont has come to a moment of reckoning in his career as he considers his "dead hand", writer's block, admitting he has been "pretending to be a writer when I was only indulging myself as a tourist". Salvation arrives in the form of a letter from a wealthy woman, Merrill Unger, who appeals to Delfont to help her solve the mystery of a dead child, to shed light on an outrageous story told by her son's friend, Rajat. Delfont reads the letter, "amused by its presumption", but, with few demands on his time, he agrees to meet Mrs. Unger, who is far more formidable in person than he has imagined. A philanthropist who decries the sainted Mother Theresa for false humility, Mrs. Unger quietly runs an orphanage and is involved with many humanitarian works besides the business that has brought her to Calcutta.

Contrary to his assumptions, Mrs. Unger is devastatingly beautiful, powerful in a way he has never encountered before in a relationship. At this precarious time in the writer's life, the attention of this woman is a balm to the soul of a man doubting his viability in the world. Slowly introduced to Mrs. Unger's environment, which includes her devotion to the goddess Kali, Delfont falls into an unexpected but welcome state, impatiently anticipating the next contretemps with the American philanthropist he has begun to view as a visionary, a saintly, complicated woman who introduces him to the ecstasy of tantric sex. Delhunt nearly forgets his mission to learn more about the dead child in the hotel room in his urgency to be near Mrs. Unger.

Theroux's Calcutta teems with humanity, the deprived and the desperate, a rigid class system and the scars of poverty: "India has a market economy... there are no suitors, only customers." Mrs. Unger seems an extraordinary person to the once-cynical writer, who is daily more entranced by her exotic seduction. But, as the circumstances around the child's dead body fall into place, Delhunt's faith in human nature is challenged, India exposed in all its moral ambiguities. Theroux throws in an extra twist when his protagonist is introduced to author Paul Theroux, also seeking information on the mysterious Mrs. Unger, a curious conceit in a place where nothing is what it seems. As Mrs. Unger honors the goddess Kali, so does Delhunt worship at the altar of obsession, slow to wake from his hedonistic haze and a reality he cannot ignore. Luan Gaines/2010.