A Dead Handby Paul Theroux  Hamish Hamilton, £18.99 Paul Theroux's latest novel takes place in India, something of a favourite destination for the author.

Jerry Delfont, a jaded travel hack who is running out of things to say, is asked to investigate a bizarre occurrence by a glamorous philanthropist known as Ma. Her son’s friend has woken up in a hotel to find a body on the floor and fled in panic. The writer is at first reluctant but becomes somewhat bewitched by Ma, who is also a dab hand in the arts of tantric massage and does a mean goat sacrifice.

This is an odd book, with Theroux even introducing himself as a character. The writing is sharp and pointed, Theroux’s unsparing detail making this no love letter to India; rather, you feel as if, as he puts it, walking through Kolkata is like “passing through the entrails of a huge unhealthy body”. The heat and oppressiveness of the city, the pettiness of jumped-up bureaucrats and the worthlessness of life make for an interesting setting, but you won’t rush to this part of Asia.

This is allegedly a mystery novel, but the story almost plays second fiddle to the narrator’s diversions and growing obsession with Ma. The plot unravels slowly at first, before spinning out its threads like a carpet coming undone, and as it gathers momentum it gains predictability. The main characters are a band of irritants, from the woe-is-me attitude of the main protagonist to the sometimes uncharitable views of Ma and her odious son.

The detail is there, the intricacies of relationships are explored, but Theroux appears to think the reader will have difficulty keeping up with his cleverness, so he cannot resist reiterating language and imagery that weren’t particularly subtle in the first place. A somewhat disappointing novel.

lmackin@irishtimes.com