Cris Freddi

Waterstone's Books Quarterly review of Pelican Blood

Birdwatchers, along with train spotters and collectors of any sort, must surely rank among the world's first-class anoraks. So it's somewhat surprising, then, to find that the three central characters of this compelling debut novel are all avid twitchers. But don't let that put you off.

This is not a paean to their peculiar world of ticks and lists (although, to his credit, Cris Freddi does make this rather arcane hobby seem like a credible pastime) but the study of a murderer. 'Pelican Blood' opens with a violent killing and unfolds almost like a thriller in reverse where we keep turning the pages to find out not 'whodunnit' but 'is he going to get caught?'

The existential ennui felt by the central character is initially reminiscent of Meursault, Camus' narrator in 'The Outsider'. Both killers accept their fate with the same unaffected apathy they feel towards life in general. But as Freddi's novel develops, we realise that his protagonist, while apparently 'swanning around on the surface' is actually desperately trying to keep afloat. Cracks develop, giving way to a guilt-ridden nausea (hints of that other French master of existentialism, Sartre, here).

This is a novel of revenge killings and gang mentality, played out by the egg-collectors versus the spotters, a biography of a chapter in a man's life, and a tale of disaffected youth, where one character's ambition is to collect 500 ticks and then to commit suicide. This is an unusual and disturbing, yet compelling novel, thoroughly recommended to the so-called 'Generation Y'.

Emily Wilczek, Waterstone's Nottingham Bridlesmith Gate