Dead Air (Paperback)

by Iain Banks (Author)

Editorial Reviews

Review
* 'The most imaginative British novelist of his generation' - THE TIMES * 'A Buchanesque adventure yarn set in 21st century London' - THE TIMES * 'Banks has pulled off a great double - a deeply satirical and thought-provoking thriller that will make you laugh but will also have you shredding your fingernails.' - SUNDAY EXPRESS * 'A thrilling read, it's a dazzlingly clever, edgy, suspenseful book.' - SCOTLAND ON SUNDAY

Product Description
Iain Banks' daring new novel opens in a loft apartment in the East End, in a former factory due to be knocked down in a few days. Ken Nott is a devoutly contrarian vaguely left wing radio shock-jock living in London. After a wedding breakfast people start dropping fruits from a balcony on to a deserted carpark ten storeys below, then they start dropping other things; an old TV that doesn't work, a blown loudspeaker, beanbags, other unwanted furniture...Then they get carried away and start dropping things that are still working, while wrecking the rest of the apartment. But mobile phones start ringing and they're told to turn on a TV, because a plane has just crashed into the World Trade Centre. At ease with the volatility of modernity, Iain Banks is also our most accomplished literary writer of narrative-driven adventure stories that never ignore the injustices and moral conundrums of the real world. His new novel, displays his trademark dark wit, buoyancy and momentum.

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Product Details

• Paperback: 448 pages
• Publisher: Abacus (July 3, 2003)
• ISBN-10: 0349116644
• ISBN-13: 978-0349116648
• Product Dimensions: 7.7 x 5 x 1.2 inches
• Shipping Weight: 9.9 ounces
• Average Customer Review: 2.8 out of 5 stars See all reviews (12 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #310,521 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

5 of 5 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Satire, but I think it is a bit weak, June 1, 2004

By	isala "Isabel and Lars" (Fairbanks, Alaska,, US) - See all my reviews (TOP 1000 REVIEWER)

This review is from: Dead Air (Hardcover)

It took me a while to figure out this one: it is set in the backdrop of 9/11, but 9/11 is not really important for the story, apart from a brilliant line: "If 9/11 was meant to be an attack on democracy, they should have rammed the planes into Al Gore's house!"
No, the satire lies in the fact that for the wast majority of people 9/11 did not change anything, life has gone on. Some banality here, a little drama there.
The protagonist, a shock-jock with similarities to Howard Stern goes on with his daily life in London, UK. Things happen to him, and he tries to set wheels rolling with political stunts, but everything just fizzles out for him. I think that's where the satire is: whatever big things that happen around is, our personal life and private dramas tend to be pretty banal.

6 of 7 people found the following review helpful:

1.0 out of 5 stars Disappointing Iain Banks Book - read a different one!, July 19, 2003

By	Isabella K. Badenoch "izi" (Vientiane, Lao PDR) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

This review is from: Dead Air (Hardcover)

I am huge fan of Iain Banks (the non-sci-fi books) and was thoroughly disappointed with this book. I just felt that he used the main character, a radio show host ala Howard Stern, to say whatever he wanted. A huge rant and rave session. Even the storyline was too predictable to save the book. Don't waste your time reading this one, read some of his other books like The Business, Complicity and Whit.

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful:

2.0 out of 5 stars HOT AIR, September 28, 2005

By	John Harding (San Francisco, CA USA) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Dead Air (Hardcover)

Reading the other reviewers, I see that most have made their bow to the maestro before settling in to criticize Iain Banks' recent novel, Dead Air, so let me do the same: Mr Banks has written some truly compelling fiction (the Bridge) and science fiction (virtually any of the Culture stories); he has a great gift for balancing wonder and speculation against a complex but often relentless narrative pace. He is a terrific writer. You might never guess from reading Dead Air.

I would not have written this review if it were not for the glowing tributes by the press: "thrilling" (Scotland on Sunday), "hugely entertaining" (Daily Telegraph), and most astonishingly, an "exhausting, careering ride of a novel adored by speed junkies" (Independent). I certainly could have used some speed as I trudged through this book; until the very end, virtually nothing seemed to happen. Spoilers: in the Abacus paper edition, there is a short burst of activity from pages 167 to 175 (protagonist almost kidnaped), and pages 290 to 291 (protagonist biffs Holocaust denier on cheek); otherwise, wait until page 349 for anything resembling a story to make an appearance.

Then there is the protagonist, Ken Nott (McNutt in Scotland), the "doyen of the so-called Shock Jocks and - as he's described himself - unrepentant post-lefty." (p. 289). With remarkable economy, Mr Banks describes a truly reprehensible character. Run through the checklist: Cheating on his live-in girlfriend? That's a yes. Slept with the wife of his (Scottish) best friend? Yes again. Snogged the daughter of that same best friend? Certainly. Is conducting an adulterous affair, with the wife of a crime boss, no less? Of course. With magnetism like that, you expect he must really bring something to the table. It's not physical courage. By his own admission, it's apparently not looks. And where you might think to find compassion, in its place (largely) is a sort of off-the-shelf set of left-wing bromides. Thinking back, it's hard for me now to remember even a single generous act that he performs, until the very end.

So what actually happens? Hard to say. There's certainly a lot of chaffer, and more information about Mr Nott's sex life than I ever wanted to know. It reminds me of times when I have been trapped at some party or a bar by some blowhard, who for reasons I never understand needs me to like him and believes the way to ensure this is simply to explain - in detail - just how cool, witty and irresistible to the ladies he is. Occasionally, this blowhard will conclude his disquisition with a self-deprecating remark or chuckle. If this sounds like your idea of a good time, I can strongly recommend Dead Air.

Now I am fully prepared to acknowledge that Mr Banks is doubtless a much cleverer writer than I am a reader, and I suspect he has his reasons for writing this sort of story, perhaps to illustrate in numbing detail that the attack on the Twin Towers was not a world historical event, but just a criminal act - and one of far too many (pp. 402-403); that life really does go on, and is just as tedious now as it ever was before. If that was his point, I will take it as read and move briskly on to more interesting books. It will not be hard to find one.