I’ve just finished a book by Steve Martin, yes the grey haired comedian ‘The Pleasure of my Company’. It’s not autobiographical, it’s not comedy, it’s fiction; fiction that’s as dark as good coffee, laced with darkly witty moments.

Not bad fiction either. Get it, I can see the movie already…

Martin’s protagonist is Daniel Pecan Cambridge, a thirtyish loser whose life is wrecked by a whole slew of neurotic compulsions and tics. The small, irrational fears that plague most of us are the bane of Daniel’s life, but he resolves to shed these straitjackets and move into something like normality. One of his aims is a normal relationship with a woman and there are several potential targets in sight: his therapist Clarissa, struggling to relieve him of his demons, Zandy, the beguiling assistant in the chemist’s shop, and Elizabeth, selling apartments in his street.

But his compulsions are only one of his problems; his neighbour Bob has been murdered and Daniel is in the frame for the crime. The attention of the media seems set to keep him living an abnormal life for quite some time, which might undercut his hopes of winning the “Most Average American” competition.

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