Another good read from Paul Theroux. Set in Kolkata, this is a murder mystery that features a writer at a loose end who is cajoled into investigating the crime by a woman of mystery. She's a tantric masseuse and Mr. Theroux devotes much space to three occasions where he is conveyed to ecstasy by Ma Unger.
The descriptive skills are still as sharp as ever. The stinks and crumbling buildings of the old city of the Raj are a backdrop to the barely suppressed anger and desperately mean struggle for survival of Kolkata's citizens.
One of the features of the novel is the writer's meeting with Paul Theroux. It's a not flattering self portrait which also suggests mistrust and game playing among authors on the make. Mother Teresa comes in for some criticism some of which may be justified, but not, I think, for her provision of a hospice for the indigent of Kolkata. The writer faults her for her doing this at the expense of providing for abandoned children.
For all that, I love the ease with which my interest is held every time I pick up a Theroux novel

I like this kind of writing: rich, broad and sweeping, long ruminative sentences, meandering and rolling—to me very distinct of the better ('Great') American novels. I also like Theroux's style of travel writing: casually personal, discreetly knowledgeable, measuredly detailed.
The two don't quite meet up here, and for me that was mostly because of the main character, who I found somewhat annoying in their lackluster apathy—not really interested, too tame, overly infatuated, whiny, only half-tormented, half-bored, half-motivated throughout the story.
I get the story, what turns out to have happened, the turn of events, small things being shaped against a larger background into a deep and confronting lesson. But this too seemed to be only half the story, half the denouement, ever so vague the underlying themes.
This was hard to get going with, due to that protagonist mostly, and likeable while reading, but in the end not satisfying nor disturbing. It's India, this happens, so it goes—a 'great' novel needs more of a fundamental shift between 'before' and 'after' but this just fizzed out.
A pity, but do read the travel stories—I'm planning to reread a favorite of mine: [b:The Pillars of Hercules|130512|The Pillars of Hercules|Paul Theroux|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320426120l/130512._SY75_.jpg|1463181] and I'm sure I'll love it again. ( )

With a cover like this, who could resist? Seriously though, it was the Calcutta setting and my wanting to give Paul Theroux another shot after his unlikable My Other Life that made me pick up this book.The story is based on a murder mystery- a dead child turns up in a hotel room, and the hero, an 'aimless travel writer' named Jerry Delfont, is hired by an American philanthropist, Mrs. Merrill Unger, to see if he can use his contacts to discreetly investigate. The corpse is dumped by someone in the hotel room of Mrs. Unger's son's best friend, and the friend Rajat runs away from the scene. So, understandably, she wants to help him out.

This lady, Mrs. Unger, quickly becomes the whole mainstay of the story though. Jerry predictably becomes infatuated by her beauty, her goodness, and her rather advanced…er… Tantric massage skills. Behaving like a daft teenager, Jerry gets pulled further and further into her web while trying in his small way to get to the bottom of the corpse mystery, etc., in order to win her favor. But she seems to have forgotten all about the case anyway, and is happy to spirit him off to her spa and administer her magic on him.

The full review is at http://devikamenon.blogspot.com/2014/03/reading-dead-hand.html ( )

When I 'met' this book in the book shop, I was attracted by the author's name (and in an equal amount by the title and the cover picture, I must admit).

And when I stick to being honest, I must also admit, that the book wasn't as good as I expected. (On what grounds I expected it to be good, I have no idea, but sometimes that happens, you just expect a book to be good.)
The environment, the city was well described. I could almost smell the seasoning, feel the dust and got warm by the heat. But that is about it.
The story this book tells was not so impressive, that I felt the need to read on, that I couldn't put the book down.
That I did finish it, was more out of curiosity: I needed to know who that boy was, who murdered him and why.

This book will absolutely not linger on for a long time.

I hope the travel books I have by this author are much better.... ( )

This dead hand was ham-fisted: a slow-moving, lethargic, repetitious mystery with no sympathetic characters (apart from the Indian chambermaids) and a denouement which felt like a deus ex machina. Ughhhhh. ( )