Love, Sex and Other Foreign Policy Goals

In his first novel, Armstrong, an accomplished film and television writer (Veep, Black Mirror), directs his wonderfully arch gaze on a vanful of do-gooders venturing into war-torn Yugoslavia. Following in the footsteps of Susan Sontag, who famously staged Waiting for Godot in Sarajevo, the motley collection of activists decides to “take a peace play to Bosnia and extend the evolution of humanity to a new continuum.” Armstrong satirizes the group’s naïveté, pretentiousness, and blinkered humanitarianism masterfully, all the while sketching a convincing portrait of the Balkans in chaos. Narrating the fiasco is Andrew, a British construction worker with “one of the most coherent foreign policies of anyone working on a building site in the Manchester area.” He is motivated less by a conviction that the play will succeed than a crush on one of the group’s members, Penny, the beautiful daughter of a well-connected lobbyist who strongly disapproves of the mission. Andrew is a Lucky Jim type, alternately feckless and impish, who gets himself into a series of mortifying or perilous situations, living to tell about it in his amusingly ironic voice: “It was just so dangerous to bury bombs where people might walk,” he complains after wandering into a minefield. He is also fundamentally decent, and, unlike some of his companions, a keen observer of the farcical, futile mission. Like the best comedic war literature, Armstrong’s novel is ultimately a tragedy of the absurd. (June)