The seventh Quirke novel from the pen – and pen-name – of John Banville is, frankly, a rather straightforward jaunt. Quirke, along with a bizarrely undersized police effort, is investi- gating the well-disguised murder of a young man, when the trail leads to his own family. It also, for the record, meanders through the shady world of church, politics and organised crime, though blink and you’ll miss it – despite the massively fertile areas on which the story touches, it rarely even attempts to break ground. Instead, it’s satisfied with idle dialogue and abrupt assertion, and with a writer of Banville’s ability, that’s disap- pointing. A by-the-numbers murder mystery, which wastes little time in establishing the premise and ambles towards a neat conclusion, you can’t help but feel that this is a Man Booker Prize winner pulling in easy money. But Banville appears happy enough to continue the series – the fraying of more thread near the end suggests the eighth installment won’t be far behind.
