The Ghost of Waterloo, set in Sydney in 1828, centres on the character of Nicodemus Dunne, also known as the Patterer. He is an ex-policeman from London who was convicted and transported after he became too close to the criminals he was supposed to be chasing. Dunne is a charismatic figure whose bread and butter, now that he has received his ticket of leave, is as a news herald. He gathers stories from the offices of the Sydney Gazette and the Gleaner, and wanders about offering to relay the news to groups or individuals for a fee. Quick-witted and observant, he acts as a guide to the world of the novel. He moves easily through different social spheres, having the ear of everyone from the lowliest derelict to the governor of New South Wales, Ralph Darling.

When a well-organised heist is carried out on the Bank of Australia, and a subsequent series of murders points to the involvement of Napoleonic sympathisers, Dunne is called on by Police Captain Rossi to do the detective work. He is helped along the way by William King, otherwise known as the legendary Flying Pieman, and the beautiful Miss Susannah Hathaway, an American singer who appears regularly at the Sydney Amateur Theatre. Dunne is also friendly with Dr Thomas Owens, a prominent surgeon who served as a military doctor during the Napoleonic campaigns, and who worked on the island of St Helena at the time of Napoleon’s death.

Adair is interested in the many ways that people can escape the difficulties of the past and reinvent themselves – be they vaudeville songbirds, Fenians, pickpockets, or Napoleon himself. Adair enthusiastically takes up one of the conspiracy theories surrounding Napoleon’s death, and considers the possibility that he may have escaped from the island of St Helena, leaving an impostor to die in his place. He suggests that Napoleon gradually made his way to Sydney Cove with the help of a wealthy settler family, the Balcombes.

This might sound implausible, but it is given a degree of credibility by Adair’s cast of supporting characters, who are either ex-convicts with the usual range of eccentric backgrounds, or free settlers who have emigrated with the intention of starting again. They all have reasons to obscure the details of their past lives, to become someone new, and Adair has fun with their many aliases and nicknames. He revels in the duplicity of these characters and what they choose to tell one another.

What ultimately weighs down The Ghost of Waterloo is its lack of restraint. When Adair allows his characters some space, and forgets to insert yet another fascinating factoid into his narrative, the novel is bearable. But he cannot resist sharing all that he has discovered about Napoleon’s military campaigns, the history of sedition in the British Empire, the origins of the limerick, the early years of Sydney Town, numismatics, and the etymology of just about everything. These details, interesting enough in themselves, are shoehorned into every bit of dialogue or passing aside. Adair has clearly enjoyed himself while writing the book, but he is out of his depth technically. It works neither as a credible crime novel, nor as a rollicking parody.

The last section of the novel is the least affected by stylistic tics. As the clues to the murderer’s identity accumulate and Dunne suspects that the French are intent on infiltrating and taking over the colony, Adair leaves his protagonist to the business of crime-solving. The plot finally begins to move along apace and becomes more dramatically coherent. The inevitable revelation scene at the very end of the book is clichéd, but at least it is amusing. The main characters are assembled, and their motivations are summed up; Dunne then explains why they are not guilty of the terrible murders. This allows Adair to paper over many of the gaps and inconsistencies in the plot, but the fact that this is done with tongue firmly in cheek does not override its essentially formulaic quality.

The Ghost of Waterloo is a book with no pretensions to literary greatness. It is clear that Adair just wants to have a bit of a lark while pursuing his personal interest in colonial history in an amusing and diverting form. There is nothing wrong with that in principle, but in practice, from a reader’s point of view, it is simply not enough.

CONTENTS: APRIL 2011