This novel is smoking hot.

And I do mean smoking.

If an author breathed the same air as his creations, T.R Napper would be part of a secondary-smoke class action. The Escher Man’s protagonist is a one-man smog cloud of nicotine-driven violence, whose first thought when faced with death or torture is often that of his ever-present softpack of Double Happiness cancer sticks.

And, like so much else in this novel, it works. Even for a hardcore non-smoker like myself. The smoking, drinking and general risk-taking are all part of a deep-set self-destructiveness that Napper explores with precision.

If you haven’t heard of T.R Napper yet, he’s a bright light in Australian Spec Fic, having won armloads of awards and much well-earned acclaim. His novel 36 Streets is a favourite of mine, and it’s a damn fine example of cyberpunk done right.

The Escher Man is a more straight-forward and immediate novel than 36 Streets. It’s told from the perspective of one man, Endel 'Endgame' Ebbinghaus. Endel is a Macau gang enforcer, toe-cutter, and sometime executioner who does what he is told to whom he is told. He's a violent man, who has left a trail of broken people and relationships behind him.

Or is he?

Endel isn't quite as simple as he seems. After each job the memory of his most recent crime is erased, his druglord boss editing his recollections so Endel can't squeal when the police question him. Endel trusts that these amendments deal only with his crimes, but it soon becomes clear that far more of his mind may have been messed with.

And so begins a hell of an enjoyable read.

The book careens from explosive action sequence to more explosive action sequence, the narrative never stalling or slowing down. Napper's exploration of the nature of memory, and the consequences of messing around with it, is well executed (pun intended), and had me making fond comparisons with Christopher Nolan's Memento.

I come to cyberpunk hoping for augmented desperados stalking a grim and rainy corporate dystopia, and Napper does not disappoint. The Escher Man hit my quota of reflex-boosted, nanotech-infused, metal-endoskeletoned street samurais with pop-out finger blades and a hair trigger. It's definitely worth your time, and it's awesome to see novels of this calibre coming out of Australia.

Five softpacks of coffin nails a day out of five.