Envision for a moment, a world wherein all planes and trains run on time, the hotel always has your reservation on file, the police are kind and competent and the clothes on your back are made well enough that they won’t fall right off of you, three blocks from your door.
Alright, now take just about every aspect of this utopian image, and flip it on its head.
In Rob Grant’s near-future United States of Europe, the planes will land on time – which is to say they will return to earth at some temporal point – the hotels will recall your reservation with about the same frequency as the Second Coming, police with severe anger-control issues maintain your safety and leather shoes have been replaced by a more humane faux-leather created from vegetable matter, which is fitting, given their tendency to peel away from your feet like carrot skins.
In accordance with Article 13199 of the Pan-European Constitution, it is literally impossible to be dismissed from your job for reasons of age, gender, creed or incompetence. As a result, no one ever gets fired in a post-present Europe where cab-drivers forget to charge fares, handing your luggage over at the airport is akin to leaving it abandoned on a street-corner and some of the most successful people around are those who work outside the rules.
Meet Harry Salt; an investigator employed by a secret agency so well-hidden that even Harry isn’t certain as to where his cheques are coming from. When a crowded elevator is sent rocketing through the roof of a building because it was programmed to rise several floors higher than actually existed, Harry’s enigmatic employers conclude that this is something more sinister than the usual botched repair-job which the European nation’s hyper-liberal stance on employment has made omnipresent.
Upon investigating, Harry soon finds himself on the trail of a murderer who quickly proves all too capable at their own profession, as a string of killings masked as professional goof-ups soon leads Harry on a route across Europe as winding as its incorrectly marked roadways.
Although framed as a conventional mystery, Incompetence is a work of cultural satire first and a whodunit second. While there is a fairly simple mystery plot involved, it's meant to serve more as a means of tying together Grant’s various caricatures of real-world inconveniences than as an enthralling detective story.
This isn’t to say mystery fans will be disappointed, however, as Grant’s malfunctioning Europe-to-come introduces a rather unique twist to the conventional detective-versus-murderer plot: Whereas it’s usually the villain who must work against the system and the hero can rely on helpful aids like police reports and back-up, in the world of Incompetence, a subtle killer may roam free and unhindered by the crippled arm of the law, while his pursuer is hampered by attempting to serve a society that not only allows, but enforces grand-scale professional ineptitude (Harry has access to police reports as well, for example – several regarding the same crime in fact, and all contradicting one another with every paragraph).
As one might expect from such a story, Incompetence’s strongest appeal is the sharpened humour Grant wields at every turn; both in conjuring the imaginatively wacky scenarios that Harry encounters and weaving the sardonic wit he typically resorts to when trying to negotiate various exaggerated bureaucratic nightmares that will have anyone who’s ever dealt with a customs agent or airport ticket-taker grinning in sympathy.
In honour of Incompetence, this tale of job security gone wrong may be summed-up as fifty-percent satire, thirty-percent mystery, forty-percent cultural commentary and wholly worth the read if you’re in the market for something light, quirky and irreverently unique.