Big Sky by Kate Atkinson

Jackson Brodie is back. Now middle-aged, he sees himself as "a walking, talking history lesson...except that nobody is interested in learning anything from him." Deemed a Luddite by his twenty-something daughter, he regards his teenage son Nathan and remembers when he and his ex, Julia, created "the embryo that would one day sprawl its legs and fold its arms sarcastically."

When Nathan asks his dad for another ice cream, Jackson reflects that for this generation, "never enough" is "the dominant trait." They've been "bred to consume." Darkly, he predicts that capitalism will devour itself, "thereby fulfilling its raison d'etre in an act of self-destruction, aided by the dopamine feedback loop." Meanwhile, the insatiable Nathan and his fellow teens are "living sandwich boards, covered in free advertising for corporate evil."

Jackson remains "a friend to anarchy;" he still magnetizes hapless people who need rescuing. He sees bad things around him, and wishes he could fix them all. Remembering the twelve-year-old with a unicorn backpack he saw get into a car a couple of days ago, he still wonders. Is she safe at home, after being berated by loving parents for coming back late? "He hoped so, but his gut told him differently. In his (long) experience, your brain might mislead you, but your gut always told you the truth."

In spite of his determination to serve society and his intuitions about things that don't look right, Jackson still has time to think philosophical thoughts. Out jogging in a quiet wood, he ponders the Zen koan about whether a tree falling in the forest makes a noise if nobody is there to hear it. When he trips on a root and goes flying, he fancies he can "hear the sound of one hand clapping."

Jackson is not the only character to provide humour in this intricately plotted book. The grotesquely egotistical has-been comedian Barclay Jack gazes gloomily into the mirror before a show, confirming his fear that he looks his age. His spirits droop, and when his stomach also swoops within him, he wonders: "Stage fright? Or a dodgy curry?"

Another actress, Julia, comments laconically, "The class war's over. Everyone lost." Atkinson applies her legendary humour to description as well as plot and characters. Her evocation of a "modish" bar "so dark you could hardly see your drink in front of you," made me laugh out loud.

With inimitable sleight-of-hand, the author reinstates characters from Jackson's past books and ties them up in a contemporary mystery involving a "magic circle" of people in very high places. For far too long, they get away with trafficking girls. The twists and turns that eventually lead to their comeuppance make this a most satisfying tale.