Being a book reviewer can be a tough life because reviews, like the books on which they are based, attract varying levels of invective and approval. Author David Free, himself a reviewer, has written a novel about a book reviewer at the centre of a murder investigation.

Ray Saint, a fortyish book reviewer, is not an attractive character. Badly injured as a child, he is in constant pain, self-medicating on bourbon and prescription pills and living alone in squalor. He is known for writing caustic, candid opinions and trying to maintain standards in literature. Using the world of publishing as the constant background to this whodunnit, Free pulls no punches in exposing not only its underbelly but also the self-centredness of some of its participants.

His depiction of the literature editor of a newspaper is a delight, as are his subtle references to great authors and philosophers, all while Ray Saint navigates the murder and mayhem in his own life.

Ray is depicted as a physically unattractive person who suffers from memory lapses and only occasional bouts of lucidity, so readers may find it hard to accept that two beautiful young women would want to have sex with him. On the other hand, their motives were decidedly dodgy and neither came to a good end.

A good deal of the plot revolves around Ray Saint’s thoughts about life, the publishing industry and the black holes in his memory. Is it Saint – or Free – who opines that books don’t have to be good? He writes: ‘Writing is like long-haul trucking. If you could load a book with heavy issues and get it from page one to page 1259, that made you an important writer.’

This is not a heavy-issue book, but it’s pervaded with pessimism about the future of books and writers. For Ray Saint, a chance to get rich quick has instead become the reality of the novel’s title.

Reviewed by Jennifer Somerville