Adrian McKinty’s fifth novel, Falling Glass, is an absolute joy to read. Witty from the outset, the narrative concentrates on retired gang enforcer Killian’s return to the field for one last job; neck-deep in debt, he’s lured back to track down a millionaire’s wife in return for a big payout. With style and panache, the story moves at breakneck speed from page one right up to the genuinely impressive finale. Perfectly evocative of both local scenes and global vistas, the author’s allusions to a world of consummate darkness take on a far bleaker hue than similar novels in the psycho-killer vein. This is entirely due to a willingness to situate them in reality: Mexican narcotráfico beheadings; the white slave trade; paedophilia. With a deft hand, the Carrickfergus native skilfully evokes the modern global village from Bangladeshis in Ballymena to Russians in Roscommon. This is an important aspect of the narrative – Ireland’s place in the greater global context. Yet despite the fact that McKinty decides to exploit the morbid fascination with which the IRA tends to be regarded, it’s never done in a cheap way. In fact, a great strength of the novel is that Northern Ireland is depicted as more than just a disposable backdrop to its most infamous denizens. Ulster is instead given fair treatment from the stout hardiness of its people to the wild beauty of its countryside.
Such dedication to hard-working characterisation is present throughout Falling Glass, the text full of small touches which keep the characters human, all stock caricatures left at the auction house. Even the most cartoonish of figures are invested with some level of humanity, granting them a blessed, horrific sense of authenticity. The millionaire’s fugitive wife Rachel Coulter is invested with a real sense of pathos; one really feels the character from the book’s onset, her tough demeanour earning our admiration whilst concurrently provoking irritation. Rachel has a touch of Ree Dolly to her, the ice-sharp heroine of Daniel Woodrell’s Winter’s Bone
, remaining the caring matriarch whilst prey to both Killian and the mysterious Russian hitman, Markov. An ultra-modern killer, ex-military with a complex code of honour and nerves of steel, the inclusion of his personal life and a past which tortures him ensure that he never becomes a dismissible 2D villain. Ultimately, it’s Killian who provides the real draw here; making him an itinerant (a tinker or Pavee, as the text terms them) is a bold move, and a great one. It adds an air of the exotic to the familiar aspects of Killian, even for those to whom Ireland presents no mystery. He is fantastic as the reluctant hero, the gun for hire with a heart of gold. Surprisingly philosophical, ritualistic even, Killian is akin to a modern day back-alley shaman.
Falling Glass contains a multifaceted resonance common to the comic book genre, reminiscent of the graphic novels of Garth Ennis, evocative perhaps of Cassidy from his classic Preacher series or even Hellblazer’s John Constantine. McKinty’s use of language is superb; a paragraph describing the lighting of a match becomes a masterclass in descriptive prose. This is a real strength of the author: poise. Effortlessly balancing the reader on a knife-edge within the mean half of a page, curiosity piqued at every turn, a suspect thread hanging loose at every seam… Meanwhile, expert plotting, deep empathy, and a strong story ensure that the reader remains keen to witness each thread unravel. Nothing is spelled out and there are frequent little extras hidden within the crystalline prose, multifarious cultural references coming hard and fast. This is exactly what this brand of contemporary hardboiled fiction requires – symmetry, presence, and an aching familiarity. All told, the author’s tendency to overestimate the reader is an extremely satisfying aspect to his writing.
Big, bloody, violent, and convincing in its colour, McKinty’s prose bleeds bright red in gouts of cinematic candour. Smart, comfortable similes turn up the corners of your mouth, putting you right between the pages in a manner which is clever but never smarmy, funny without being glib. There’s an endearing dusting of real Ulster charm here, a certain hardy merriness and a keen sense of bullshit to McKinty’s writing – and that’s meant in the best possible way. It’s utterly Irish in its willingness to spin a yarn a mile wide, executed so stylishly that you’ll not just buy into it, but buy the author a pint and beg him to continue. Rather than regressing to an (all-too-common) regrettably post-millennial Celtic chic, this novel instead evokes a sense of the ‘now’. This is the real modern Ireland, free from crass paraphernalia but with reassuring cartoon stylishness.
Easy to read, full of deep juicy symbolism, and with a lyrical ear, Falling Glass keeps its reader ensnared throughout. Never predictable, never reneging to a humdrum connect-the-dots farce, its plot is so overarching, so well thought-out, that it’s reminiscent of the heyday of Tom Clancy or John Grisham. McKinty shows his experience by setting up rivalries and bringing showdowns to a point, rather than leaving them festering in a cheap attempt to add depth. He also provides a refreshing, original, and timely reappraisal of the nomadic traveller clans of Ireland, not overly romanticised or sensationalised, merely distinct from common (mis-) conceptions of the Pavee. In short, Falling Glass is a crime novel for both genre aficionados and those who reckon they don’t read crime novels: highly recommended.
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