Read Time: 3 Minutes
Jonathon Fairfax is not a man built for intrigue, violence, or even mild confrontation. A softly spoken, socially awkward part-time menswear assistant at Harrods, he struggles with everyday interactions, let alone accidentally helping to cover up a murder that spirals into a full-blown political conspiracy.
Set in mid-1990s Britain, a detail lightly signposted through like early brick-sized mobile phones, the story kicks off with the murder of Sarah Morecambe, secretary to a senior and deeply questionable politician. Jonathon’s brief and unfortunate involvement places him firmly in the orbit of the crime, even though he’s spectacularly ill-equipped to deal with anything more stressful than polite conversation.
Rather than following detectives or a traditional investigative structure, the novel takes a looser, more eccentric route. The plot unfolds through a growing cast of oddballs and morally flexible characters, including Lance, an ambitious investigator who seems more interested in leverage and blackmail than justice, and the unnamed murderer himself, a surprisingly human figure juggling dodgy jobs, a failing marriage, and genuine affection for his daughter.
Tonally, this is a lightly rambling, irreverent story driven more by character interactions than narrative urgency. Pieces move into place slowly, like a cautious chess game, with conspiracies, political cover-ups, and double dealings simmering in the background rather than exploding into action. The humour is dry, distinctly British, and often rooted in awkwardness and understatement rather than punchlines.
Comparisons to Douglas Adams aren’t misplaced, though the resemblance feels more tonal than structural. Jonathon sits somewhere between Arthur Dent’s perpetual confusion and Dirk Gently’s sideways engagement with chaos, though filtered through a more weary, introverted lens. Not every joke lands, and some of the dialogue leans into exaggerated quirkiness that occasionally feels more written than spoken, but the characters remain engaging enough to carry the story forward.
This is technically a murder mystery, but only in the loosest sense. The emphasis is less on solving the crime and more on exploring the ripple effects around it, particularly how ordinary, ill-prepared people react when they’re nudged into extraordinary situations. It suits the novel’s offbeat sensibility.
Finlay Robertson’s narration matches the material well. His subdued delivery fits Jonathon’s personality and keeps the tone consistent, though it sometimes reinforces the story’s low-energy pacing. A few minor background noises and clicks are noticeable here and there, but nothing distracting enough to pull focus from the performance.
To sum it all up, The Perpetual Astonishment of Jonathon Fairfax is a quirky, character-driven listen that favours wit and eccentricity over momentum. It doesn’t aim for laugh-out-loud comedy or high-stakes thrills, but it offers an amiable, gently absurd journey through conspiracy, awkwardness, and British understatement.
As the first entry in a four-book series, it lays groundwork more than it delivers resolution, and while I’m not entirely sold on continuing, it’s an entertaining and distinctive introduction.
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