In 2002, unemployed journalist Emily, her marriage and sense of self broken, pitches a story about the Lucky's restaurant chain. It is accepted by the New York Times and she travels from London to Sydney to meet Lucky and report on the aftermath of the hideous crime that put the final nail in the coffin of the restaurant chain. Ian Asquith was her father.
The plot, like a fragrant stifado, thickens. This is a novel with many threads, each of them fraying, tying, knotting and falling apart. Lucky is lucky, and ferociously unlucky. Peripheral personalities are influential (Valia's father, Achilles, is bizarre, violent, wildly entertaining) and because of Lucky's inherent goodness he is played, envied, betrayed and, sometimes, loved.
This is a life story of a many faceted character, a man of schemes and ideas with a singular naivety. The dialogue is sharp and funny, characters saying what they mean whilst desperately concealing old wounds and truths that could cause fresh ones.
Lucky's is a madcap, wholly unusual story in which fiction is as strange as truth. Its plot twists floor the characters like dominoes only for life to set them up for another go. I finished this story with a sigh. I miss Lucky already.
