The novel's greatest triumph is to recreate this world in Doyle's distinctive shorthand, without any creaky historical set pieces, and make it convincing. But it is all very unlike the history books. Like his father, he kills for a living, but he sees it differently, and the hard realities of class differences are only partially obscured by the gunsmoke and the derring-do. The story is gripping enough, though there are longueurs in the central section, dealing with raids, rallies, life on the run, and unremitting but improbable fornication. Doyle's technique and influences are worth close analysis, however, because this is a very clever performance.
Historical novels run a constant risk of lurching into costume drama.
Doyle, however, avoids creaky verismo by using a carefully gauged admixture of magic-realist techniques. Henry's status as child of his century owes something to Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children, his supernormal abilities to G nter Grass's The Tin Drum. This is august company, but A Star Called Henry holds its own with them. As in his other books, Doyle's dialogue does the work, with an unforced brilliance that conceals the art behind it. The closing section brings the book around in a devastating and somehow inevitable circle.