It's difficult to know what the author wanted to impart with this book. It's a fantasy that takes place in the 70s, in a world that has no terrorism. Yet. The main character is a private detective who lives in Vientiane, Laos and is contacted by a woman who wants him to find the author of a series of pulp fiction books that depict terrorism acts directed by Osama bin laden. Mike Longshott is the author's name and his trail leads Joe to Paris, London, New York, and allows him to meet up with fans of Osama, at Osamacon.
This part made me remember when you used to be able to smoke, only on international flights, at the back of the plane, "the smoking section," lol.
P.57:
"he sighed and lit a cigarette, having NMhello booked a seat at the back of the plane, and when the ash grew long tapped it into the armrest's small, metallic ashtray. He wished he could look out of the window. It was dark on the plane, and quiet. He had headphones, but they carried only canned music through."

The author is trying to send us messages. Clearly, the overriding message is how crooked our U.S. Government is, and how it has its strings controlling marionettes in governments all over the world.
P.117:
"joe smiled and walked to the doors. As he was about to leave, a small brass plaque on the wall caught his eyes. 'in a room above this pub, in 1847, the second Congress of the Communist league was held. In the same room, Karl Marx wrote das kapital.' below that, in smaller letters, was the legend: ' "our age, the age of democracy, is breaking." Frederick Engels.' Joe stepped outside and lit a cigarette." ( )

Very very odd. Hard to describe. Sort of alternative universe, where Osama Bin Laden is fiction and none of the terrorists atrocities we've known in the last few decades have come to pass.

Which changes a lot of things, no internet, no iphones, no computers at all really - which is daft because they were around a long time before - no space race. What's even weirder is that you don't really notice the absence at first either. Joe is a private detective in Vietnam, drinking coffee or whisky and smoking, there's not a lot of trade, and he doesn't mind. He's sitting in a cafe when he see's the girl, almost not quite there. She asks him to find Mike Longshott, expense no object, and hands him a black credit card. Joe knows the name, he's a prolific author of trashy novels in an alternative world where Osama is leading a terror campaign against the West - our world. Joe tracks the author to the publishing company based in Paris, and runs inot many dead ends. There's opposition out there too who don't want Mike found.

It's very slow in the style of noir, and works very well. The mystery remains unexplained and even at the end isn't totally clear. Joe is introspective but not maudlin, determined but not obsessive, gruff but not uncaring. From Paris the stoey moves to London and a lot of detail is given over the streets and pubs that Joe searches in trace of the elusive and obviously pseudonym Mike. He seems to dwell in murky world of opium and 2nd hand books, but there's never a moment of breakthrough, merely the long elimination of alternatives.

I enjoyed this far more than I initially thought I would, the writing and the setting draw you in, and the puzzle becomes intriguing. There are plenty of faults and hardly any action, but clearly and author to investigate further. ( )

Osama is one of those novels that keep on surprising me long into the reading. It FEELS like a noir with some really cool easter eggs. What sets this one apart from most noirs is the fact that this is in an alternate dimension.

Coolness already. But when we're dealing with an easter egg like an enigmatic novel named Osama, based on a revolutionary vigilante hero Osama Bin Laden, things get... weird.

Never too weird or too quick, this mystery only gets deeper and stranger when we dive into the worldbuilding. Fascinating, in-depth worldbuilding. Rather obscure turning points in history, deeper explorations of culture, and here's a really good tidbit: Vigilante justice conventions. You know. Like comic-cons, with panels, guest stars, discussions, but all about real-life vigilantes. Like Osama, who is a hero here.

One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.

But most of this novel takes place in England! It's freaky! Disturbing. Very reminiscent of Man in the High Castle. But in some ways, it's BETTER than PKD's novel. It has more to say, better pacing, and a super-addictive noir style for all you mystery fans.

Of course, when we start bleeding into another universe... all bets are off. Things get very interesting indeed.

Hello, world. :)


I'm quite impressed with this novel. Lots of food for thought. ( )

Very smart Sci-Fi with a hard political edge.Osama as a heroin induced fiction surely a cipher for an Osama made in Afghanistan. 4.5 * ( )

A private investigator straight out of Central Casting Noir is given the job of tracking down the author of a series of pulp thrillers. But the world this gumshoe inhabits is not ours, and the thrillers are part of a series entitled 'Osama bin Ladin: Vigilante'...

The world-building is intriguing. It's hard to tell if the world of Joe, the PI, is a "real" world or some construct of the human imagination. It is certainly a timeless setting, any time from the 1940s to the 1990s. Yet at times, "our" reality breaks through into the novel. There are opium dens, and London private members' clubs, and a disused Tube station, and villains, and a Sydney Greenstreet character, and Bogart, and a fan convention, and people who become transparent and disappear. Is this an afterlife? Which is the fantasy world? Who is the author of the bin Ladin novels, and whose story is he really telling? Is our world fantastic, or just unbelievable?

Tidhar's perspective is interesting. An expatriate Israeli with a cosmopolitan background, his sympathies are not where you might think they'd be.

The style is economical, the chapters short, but I had the urge to continue reading. This is a book I shall want to come back to.

The UK hardback from PS Publishing is an exquisite production, too. ( )