I first heard about this book while reading a review of Tom Drury's new novel "Pacific" by Daniel Handler in the New York Times. Handler was ebullient about "Pacific" but also made specific mention of "The Black Brook" as one of his personal favorites. So I went in predisposed to liking the book, and the premise was certainly intriguing. A Rhode Island accountant, Paul Nash, testifies against the local mob boss he's been helping to launder money, then he goes into witness protection, living under the assumed name of Paul Emmons in Spokane. Paul never seems particularly conflicted about his criminal past or the fact that some mobsters want him dead. In fact, he and his wife soon grow bored of Spokane and move back home, where they make no efforts to conceal themselves. Paul's lack of concern about the bad guys he's betrayed keeps the reader from viewing them as a legitimate threat. In fact, Paul's nihilism eventually comes to seem all-encompassing. He shrugs off his illegalities: joyriding in a stolen car, selling forged artwork, buying stolen social security numbers to obtain credit cards he then uses to travel back and forth between Europe and the United States. When the bad guys eventually catch up with Paul, he engages them in small talk. He abandons his wife once he finds out she's pregnant and starts up an affair with the wife of an old friend. These plot points are offered up in the same offhand manner as the bric-a-brac of random details surrounding and overwhelming them, so it's impossible to become invested in Paul's fate. And there is a sea of random detail, such that by page 100 you feel as though you're wading through waist-deep water. There are visits to sites of minor historical significance. Bit players come and go. A ghost quotes household hints. Usually in a novel the accretion of details leads to some overarching theme--the sum is greater than the parts--but with "The Black Brook" the point seems to be that there is no point. Sure, it's true that life can seem random, but that's kind of why we turn to books--to escape the randomness, to convince ourselves that universal truths do exist. Here, Paul decides that the aforementioned ghost wants him to find her daughter, who he soon learns is living in Scotland. After a thorough description of the B&B he's staying at, and the North Irish sailors he meets, and the sailing junket they take him on (which seems an excuse for Drury to toss in several pages of nautical jargon), Paul finds the daughter. She does not seem at all surprised that this stranger has sought her out because he's been sent by her mother's ghost to make sure she's okay. Instead, the two play a little golf, ride horses, and attend a play. This is toward the end of the book, when Drury's efforts at randomness have become fairly labored. One gets the sense even he has lost interest at this point. The mob henchmen reappear, but the situation with them remains unresolved. Paul's wife reappears, and the two get along fairly well, considering he left her at the airport nine months earlier. She has a new boyfriend, which is accepted by all parties with the same nonchalance that characterizes the rest of the story. Drury's descriptive powers are always sharp and occasionally funny but without some narrative or driving force to "The Black Brook," these observations become little more than clever tinkering. Someone described the book as a WPA project, which seems oddly accurate. The novel does a good job of portraying an aimless sociopath, but when the protagonist has no fears, no scruples, no motivations, this adds up to a dull journey for the reader.
