3 out of 5

Too clever by half, Al Ewing’s The Fictional Man also doesn’t much capitalize on that cleverness, and only really comes around to solid themes in its final, very strong chapters. While this is thematically fitting for a book in which a self-assured author keeps questioning (and then avoiding questioning) that assurance, it doesn’t make for the most impactful read. Ewing also has to grapple with focusing on an incredibly unlikeable lead – Niles Golan, said author and also serial cheater, unreliable friend, hypocrite, and of questionable skill – which he conquers in a twofold approach humor, and unsubtle stabs where accept that we, as readers, have some commonalities with Golan.

All of this is a gamble. Depending on one’s definition of success, it works: the humor distracts, and you’re carried through to those closing chapters. At the same time, the distraction is not total: you’ll constantly be questioning if we’re ever going to get around to a point, or if showing off Niles’ worst traits is the point, and because the conclusion if a pretty big tonal shift, taken with the book on the whole, it’s trite – even if, again, that’s purposefully meta.

The Fictional Man’s relatively unrealized conceit: in Niles’ world, there is a process by which fictional characters can be made real. Their inputs are source text / media, making the outputs inherently limited, but once created, these “fictionals” can also evolve on their own terms. The why of this sci-fi creation isn’t fully explored, but with the book being released a few years into the franchise frenzy of the MCU, and the demand of instant content with the rise of streaming, we can imagine some social touchpoints: pre-formed, always refreshable nostalgia.

Niles goes to a fictional therapist; has a fictional best friend. At the same time, fictionals are not “people,” and there’s a stigma that treats them as a lesser class to an extent. While there’s a lot of narrative fiddling with the lines between creativity and copying, Ewing never seems certain if he wants to do a deep dive or just make jokes about celebrities and creative types; similarly, we half-step into fictional lore but never get detailed enough for it to feel (hyuck) real. When a plot point is dropped later on regarding fictional / human relationships, it feels rather lazy – it’s undeveloped; assumed.

Somewhere amidst a fictional murder mystery, Niles’ relationship woes, and Hollywood pot-shots, what ends up being the main thread emerges: Niles, hoping his airport detective series of Kurt Power novels gets turned into films (and a fictional!), he’s instead tasked with pitching a reboot / remake / reimagining of an old TV show, and we spend 300 pages partially observing Niles have writer’s block over crafting an award winner or a hack job.

Again, all of this is really thematically strong; I can see a great outline. But Ewing seems to forget the brief pretty early on, cracking-wise – and admittedly entertaining us, if sometimes with a grimace! – until getting back to things by book’s end.