As an adolescent I enjoyed some of Clavell’s earlier books, but this is a mess. There’s no single protagonist, and the point of view changes too frequently for sustained interest. Among the cliches are the foreigner who’s studied the Koran and outmanoeuvres the locals thanks to his superior knowledge of historic customs, and the beautiful young Iranian women who can’t resist middle-aged foreigners. In terms of style, for some reason, several key events are mentioned indirectly and only described in flashback dozens of pages later. And, from the halfway point, the plot is driven by the helicopter company trying to get its aircraft out of Iran: but why should we care, as long as the minor characters keep getting beaten, whipped, shot, tortured, mutilated, decapitated and immolated?

I’ve been to Iran once, about 25 years after the revolution, and, on the book’s positive side, the description of the environment is convincing, down to some small touches. For example, when one of the expats is accosted by a militia, it’s mentioned in passing that two of the young men are holding hands. They’re not openly gay, of course: this is something I’ve seen elsewhere in the Middle East. Occasionally a character even reflects on something more abstract than his family troubles or how to make it through the next day, as when one of them stops to wonder which of his four languages he’s been thinking in. Overall, though, the author over-reached himself this time.