Product Description

Half-Irish and half-Scots, Bic runs a moderately-successful stall selling crepes in Greenwich market in the shadow of the Millennium dome (which is news to his father who thinks he's dragging his heels a bit over his botany degree). He's a decent enough fellow, quite organized really, with his own set of rules - although he has, he is the first to admit, broken most of them. Well, for starters, he spends far too much time in the pub - and then there's that one about not sleeping with another older (and with a predilection towards extreme violence) man's wife...And Bic's dream, while not topping the charts in the ambition stakes, is decent enough: to meet the right girl, return to Ulster, settle down and start Northern Ireland's first ostrich farm. But things haven't been going too well recently: there was the flat below his which burnt to a cinder leaving its incumbent (deceased) melted to the loo seat; then a fellow stall-holder (now also deceased) seems to have hit the deck (literally) of the nearby 'Cutty Sark' in suspicious circumstances and now Chris Smith (yes, that Chris Smith - the esteemed Culture Secretary at the time) has gone and run over Bic's beloved dog while super-vising the arrangements for London's world-beating Millinnial celebrations. But then a silver lining - or rather a mysterious, somewhat elusive raven-haired lining - appears in the guise of Roisin. Not only has she taken over the stall opposite Bic's, but she's also from the mother-country, heart-stoppingly beautiful and, as far as Bic can tell and if you don't count her somewhat over-protective brothers, single. OK, so while wedding bells might still be a little way off, Bic felt things were looking up - until, that is, the morning he woke to find not only did he have blinder of a hangover but he was also now BRITAIN'S MOST WANTED MAN and on the run, with Roisin as his hostage and 43 murders to his name.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #246144 in Books
• Published on: 2002-09-02
• Original language: English
• Binding: Paperback
• 279 pages

Review
This debut opens with a car crash in June 1982, a significant time for Northern Ireland, whose soccer team have just beaten Spain to 'win the World Cup'. Okay, so that's not quite how it was, but as seen through the eyes of a five-year-old girl, poetic licence is allowed. We then fast-forward almost two decades to London, and specifically the 'faux Olde Worlde Charm' of Greenwich on the cusp of the new millennium. Bic, whose origins are shrouded in a half-Irish, half-Scottch fug of sarcasm, has a business selling crepes from a stall in Greenwich Market, plodding along and relatively happy with his level of under-achievement. He enjoys life in this perfect microcosm of London, where all forms of life gather together on a Sunday morning, although he doesn't have a lot of time for many of these lifeforms, particularly those who cook, drive and say 'trust me'. Yet something's not quite right and Bic realizes he should get himself out of the city and away from those who consider it perfectly acceptable to pay #15 for a pizza - or 'cheese on toast' as he witheringly describes it. Events, meanwhile, are conspiring to ensure that life for poor old Bic is soon to be anything but mundane; a scissor-happy hairdresser comes to work for him, his Rastafarian stallholder friend ends up dead, and the dodgy dealings of the deeply unpleasant Joe Carlin draw him inexorably down roads better left avoided. Then a beautiful Northern Irish girl sets up stall opposite him in the market, and there's no turning back. Clever observations abound in this fresh and frantic debut. Some of the Northern Irish colloquialisms might confuse those not familiar with the patois, but don't let that put you off reading what is a highly entertaining, well-written thriller packed full of dark humour. (Kirkus UK)

Belfast Telegraph
‘A rattling good yarn with quirky characters, pithy humour and a bagful of bizarre twists...this is someone who can tell a story’

Colin Bateman
‘Very fresh, very funny. I laughed until I stopped’

Customer Reviews

Black comedy - blacker than the pint of Guinness that graces its cover
A rattling good yarn with quirky characters, pithy humour and a bagful of bizarre twists...this is someone who can tell a story'

London Irish is the blackest of comedies, blacker than the pint of Guinness that graces its cover and every bit as enjoyable! It's the story of Bic (his 'pen name'!) who runs a crepe stall in Greenwich as Britain prepares to celebrate the new millennium. But just as Bic decides to cut loose from the city and return to his homeland to start an ostrich farm, he meets Roisin and his world is turned upside down. From this point just try and put the book down. I couldn't. It's fast-paced and furious but always funny. And Bic's dog (Dunc, so named because Bic had rescued him from the Thames when someone had tried to drown the puppy!) is one of the finest comedy canine creations!

Slainte.

A word of warning, in the light of the 7/7 London Bombings: even though the levity is high, London Irish contains one of the most poignant expressions of a terrorist atrocity that you're likely to read.

You'll be surprised at the quality of writing!
I met Zane one summer before he moved to England. He was loafing about during the summer months pretending to do a bit of work for us in between University. I discovered Zane's book on the shelves in a Belfast bookshop. In Norn Iron there aren't too many Zane Radcliffe's knocking about! The book confirmed it when I flicked through and saw his picture staring back. I knew he was a witty guy as he'd written more than enough rhymes for us workers all those years ago but I never for one minute thought he would write books like this. The book had to be bought there and then. I'm part way through and I'm really glad I bought it. The way he writes is so descriptive that it makes me wonder what on earth I have been reading for some time. I would ignore the negative critics and try the book yourself. My guess is you'll be buying Big Jessie next!

By the way, Zane, if you're reading this - I'm glad your finger has recovered from getting squashed in the doorway at work all those years ago. We might have missed your books if your old finger hadn't recovered enough to negotiate a keyboard! You could have had an amanuensis though -and we both know the person who could arrange that for you.....

How did this even get published?
I bought this book on the strength of the blurb at the back but a "glorious comic thriller" this isn't. Lame one-liners are supposed to be funny? Forget any semblance of sly wit and dry humour, the author dumps these lame jokes on you like a ten ton elephant, you know it's coming but you can't get out of the way. Writing was heavy handed, obvious and generally dire, how someone called this "literature" I don't know. There are better young Irish writers out there.