The Mercury Man
John Galvin
Town House, 2002
I Drive an Opel Myself
A serving member of the Gardai hammering out crime fiction in his spare time, John Galvin published two novels in the early 2000's which are now as hard to find as an pub open on Good Friday. Piss-head and relentless investigator that I am, I tracked down Galvin's The Mercury Man. I figured it was bound to be tops for authenticity and sometimes people buy Critical Mick beer when he recommends to them the best in Irish crime fiction.
Despite its striking cover, The Mercury Man has nothing to do with a well-dressed dude whose head has turned into a miniature planet. The novel alternates chapters about a vigilante who whacks murderers, drug dealers and child molesters- all of whom have hitherto escaped justice due to legal loopholes and technicalities- with the squad of Gardai working to identify and stop him. The elusive, effective killer leaves calling cards on his well-deserving victims' bodies that read Messenger of the Gods. What begins as an exciting bit of wish fulfilment soon grows more complex. This Mercury is, in literal reality, a messenger acting on behalf of higher unknown powers. Who is behind the spree, and is justice their ultimate pursuit?
Though it boasts a satisfying plot, this novel does not exploit what should have been its strongest asset: Galvin's insider knowledge of Garda procedure and the realities of crime in modern Ireland. The main characters' first scene- young partners Fox & McGrath being chewed out by their superintendent for violating department rules on a recent bust- comes right out of Starsky & Hutch rather than reality. The Mercury Man's series of vigilante crimes strikes me as American Hollywood as well. Gangs of inner city residents have been known to gather together and take direct action against Dublin drug pushers, as effectively described in Paul Howard's true crime masterpiece The Joy. But I know of no real Irish incident of middle class righteousness outraged unto serial murder.
Plus: the targets who have escaped the Irish justice system are absolute bastards. I view this as a weakness of The Mercury Man. All accused are in truth guilty and none has any repentance, fear, pain, quirks, friendships or pet racing pigeons that they harbor a soft spot for. They are no more human than the baddies in a B movie. The B Movie baddie job description only requires snarling and looking evil and getting riddled by Rambo's machine gun bullets- that's fine and entertaining, but it's miles and miles away from what's truly memorable.
Critical Mick says: Though not the real deal, The Mercury Man is a fun read. John Galvin's first novel, Bog Warriors, has been spotted hanging out in Ballyfermot library. It was highly praised by the former head of Ireland's Murder Squad. Perhaps I will jump in my unmarked Opel Astra and bring that in for examination one day soon.
I would love a novel about a dude with a planet for his head. All these little people running around on it shouting and brewing. Any time Planethead sets out without his umbrella, they would plead with him not to destroy the world with floods. Just before Planethead collects a saucy little blonde number for a date, protesters would cook up a bunch of angry red environmental hotspots that no amount of zit cream would be able to do anything about. Talk about the weight of the world on your shoulders!
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