Picture the scene, four friends meet in a pub on the same night once a year, armed with only their credit cards and toothbrushes. Bar stool philosophising brings the realisation that they've been "legally driving, voting, boozing, shagging for longer than the time between World War One and World War Two." Fast approaching 40, they've outgrown each other. This ritual meeting is their last remaining thread of connection. Three of them have no idea where they'll be at the end of the evening. Harry, a television presenter with a PhD in archaeology and the man with the plan, takes them on what will be a night to remember.
Their secret destination is Dublin. Enter the usual stereotypical Oirish characters, Shnade, the free living incailin, `Styx' Fitzpatrick, the rebel song and bodhran beating, IRA supporter, several flat footed Gardai and a couple of drug dealers. Add pints of plain, a house party and a hit and run and sure, the potential for another cliche ridden ride through contemporary Oirish society is only mighty. However, author James Hawes has actually lived amongst us. He lectured in Maynooth College for two years and lived in Dublin. This is what differentiates his observations of the city's personality, its flat accent and its Temple Bar weekend culture. The scene is surveyed without a hint of patronisation. Colourful extras with phonetic spellings such as Jorldeen, Shevaun, Neev, Sorchr and Poscl pepper the style. His attention to detail, Dublin nickname parlance and the city's idiosyncrasies are the contrasting factor in this funny and compelling read.
Hawes has achieved cult status despite three best-sellers yet no one over a certain age will have heard of him. Dead Long Enough, his mid-life-crisis novel is his third, Rancid Aluminium his debut novel, and A White Merc with Fins, have already been made into movies. Rancid Aluminium opened in Britain recently. The secret of his success lies in the fact that they all masquerade as airport novels but read like they were written for the big screen. It's the dialogue that grabs you, fiction that is filmic in feel and occupies the new arts zone where the two disciplines cohabit and optioning is the only reason to read books.
Compulsory reading for anyone learning how to say good-bye to their hair with dignity.
Alannah Gallagher is editor of In Dublin magazine.