The Tale Of Dr William Livingsworth Revisited

It's not often that a book like The Tale Of Dr William Livingsworth comes along. A book so indescribably brilliant that you'd almost forgive every post 1980 novel. I can't even begin to convey how fantastic this book is. But I'll at least try.

The plot concerns a detective who, inevitably, has to solve a case of some description. Sound familiar? Of course it does; you've read it a million times before – and that's exactly what Thomas Formosa-Doyle wants you to feel. The plot is hilariously convoluted; each twist intentionally contradicting that which has come before. Yes, Thomas Formosa-Doyle knows the inner working of narrative, and he plays with them throughout the novel. But there's so much more that makes this book the masterpiece that it is. The purposely one-dimensional characters are one of the most daring, not to mention dangerous, elements in the story. He even clearly gives lines of dialogue to the wrong characters; the hysterical chapter where a hapless police officer confronts the villain is the best and most memorable example of this. But even more shocking and daring then this is the humour. He actually satirises comedy. I couldn't believe my eyes. No one has attempted such a feat before.

A great example of this is in the way he steers the narrative around in absurd ways to deliver purposely bad knock-knock jokes that spectacularly succeed in sending up the whole principle of comedy. An example.
"Dr Livingsworth loomed over the corpse. "Knock knock," he breathed menacingly; to which the corpse failed to respond. Undeterred, William continued. "Who's there?" he said in mock falsetto. Another pause. "Me!" he shouted. "Me who?" "Me-thane!" The corpse laughed – for he was only human (if not anymore)."

The language, too, is playfully brilliant; yet another satire in the book; this time dealing with writing itself.
"The day was hot, the sky was bright. William the doctor was bright, but only because he wasn't stupid. And he wasn't stupid only because he was bright – or so I'm told. The trees were green, the doctor, oddly enough, wasn't – don't ask me why, please. Remember the doctor? You should; I've just spent three sentences explaining his mental ability – and, in the last, his colour. That, or is, what some might call (on the phone!) a story (not the building kind!) of mine (not a gold mine!) that I have written (writeleven!)."

But unquestionably the best part of the whole book is the sub-plot involving a junior surgeon. The story is ironic in the extreme sense. Tongue firmly in cheek, Thomas delivers numerous offensive homophobic jokes and unsubtle right-wing rants in a hilarious indictment on conservative views. Not since Swift have we seen such biting and relevant satire. Overall, this book is the boost the literary world needs at the moment, and unquestioningly one the greatest achievements in fiction over the last 25 years.