The Fund ~ Reviewed by Brenda Brooks
Book Reviews Tuesday, October 25th, 2011
The Fund by H.T. Narea
Macmillan/Forge Books, 2011
Reviewed by Brenda Brooks
Only since reading H.T. Narea’s The Fund have I realized how narrow my notion of asset management has been. While it’s true that my personal definition of “fund” has certainly matured over the last few years (careening between dumbstruck confusion and mind-bending disbelief) I see now that my involvement with portfolio-related matters has been mostly a solemn, numbing affair akin to treading water (sometimes frantically) over a twenty-year period before finally drowning.
If only I had been a fictional character affiliated in some way with our author’s Milestone Fund, mine would have been a far, far different story I assure you. How? Like this, for a start: Armani suits; BMW’s with TV monitors and creamy Italian leather interiors; Hermes ties; Glocks (exotic loot means stylish, violent protection); Davidoff cigars; private jets; soirees at a full-scale replica of the White House owned by a Forbes-list billionaire; Ferragamo tie-ups and someone to trot them up to the Regency Hotel for a quick shine (seriously, and me not having to schlepp all the way up there myself!); Alain Mikli spectacles; secret meetings at long, dark mahogany tables and lots of charismatic, scary friends with wildly varied specialties and, in some cases, animal aliases — half of them invested in accumulating massive loot for diabolical reasons and the other half itching to follow that same loot’s trail wherever it may lead, for the greater good. Would such a life lead to secure retirement in comfortable old age, unlike current expectations? Of course I won’t say. But either way it’s good to know I could get out whenever I wanted (without penalty!) because this time it’s only fiction.
Nebibi Hasehm, also known as The Panther, is the creator of the fund in question, Milestone Capital Partners, with offices high over Central Park, NYC. An Egyptian born in Italy, he studied at the leading business schools and was groomed by radical Mullahs to assist his Muslim brothers in altering the path of Western financial history. Not in a good way. Sort of how it is now, but with more poisonings and blood-loss and cinematic intrigue. On the surface “the fund” is a Sharia-compliant investment vehicle focusing only on activities permitted by the Qur’an, but since it is named after the classic treatise on political Islam, we understand its true intent: Funnel Middle East funds for the purposes of Jihad while accessing Western markets and using their banks for cover and gain. Bless our Manolo Blahniks that the Mullahs did not, however, influence Nebibi’s wardrobe or style. He is young, sizzling-hot, elegant and wears Armani over his symbolic silver, saber cufflinks. These cufflinks represent the same type of sword fetched from the boardroom wall early in the book and used to eliminate an older, entrenched banking figure who had been stealing funds from the organization, and who, had he survived his swift, ancient punishment, would no longer require such things as cufflinks at all, or even long sleeves.
Katarina (Kate) Molares works for the Defense Intelligence Agency in Washington, D.C. She is part Venezuelan, part American, young, humid-hot, but far too busy to concern herself with style. She simply wears “… straight wool slacks with a loose cashmere turtleneck cinched with an ostrich leather belt that had been a gift from her mother. Her jewelry was equally understated: yellow citrine earrings from Brazil and an 18K gold pre-Columbian pendant hanging from a simple chain. For additional warmth, she wore a cream cashmere wrap. She had let her hair fall down freely. For Kate, style was effortless and never found in the mall or mail-order catalogs.” Ms. Molares, who swears only in foreign languages, is a free spirit straining against the staunch confines of her vocation: Collecting and analyzing military intelligence. Her current project involves danger and travel in equal dollops as she explores the connection between a terrorist bombing in Madrid and the long, sleek boatloads of cash previously mentioned.
There are of course many other colorful secondary characters, and also poisonings with Cobalt 6, assassinations with hand guns, and a secret, potent serum which, once administered, cuts down the time it takes to convince someone to be a suicide terrorist by half. I began to wish an order form had been included with the book, like comic books of old, where I might order things like killer whoopee cushions and deadly signet rings. (Publishers take note.) The story is rife with assignments from Madrid to Venezuela and Switzerland to Bogota and Gibraltar. There are assignations from Washington to Manhattan and cozy suppers in Connecticut. We meet an American jihadist named Ted Morton, or Murad, as “the brothers” know him, who specializes in media, as well as a young man for the future whose lineage will eventually be revealed as infamous and terrible. Yikes, I thought upon realizing the nature of his gene pool, just as I did when realizing the significance of the prior connection between The Panther and Kate Molares.
The lives of authors most often have very little to do with the overt particulars of their imagined characters. Not entirely so regarding Mr. Narea, an international investment banker who once worked at JPMorgan Chase. His bio indicates that he has advised governments, companies and banks on everything from debt restructuring to syndicated finance. Assuming such things may not be more taxing than writing a novel (especially at close to 500 pages) I wish him and his book well. I’m just sorry that things have gotten so bad in the financial world that he was forced to turn to writing. How long until we meet at the mall clutching our mail-order catalogues?
His lips traveled from her mouth to her neck and down to the top of her blouse where her breasts pressed tightly against the silk material. She moaned lightly, feeling the roughness of his chin against her breasts and the eager kisses on her skin, gentle at first, and then more demanding. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her head back so that he could have her mouth once again. He paused for a second, looking down upon her face, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly parted. In that moment, he had a choice. He could either kiss her again or reject entanglement with a U.S. intelligence officer. P. 325.
What would you do?
Read more about The Fund, by H.T. Narea
Brenda Brooks is the author of Gotta Find Me An Angel, and two collections of poetry.
Other Reviews by Brenda Brooks
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[...] The Fund by H.T. Narea [...]
After reading such a fast-paced, droll and engaging review of “The Fund” I’d be a fool not to read it. The only question is: will I finish reading it before the film comes out?
[...] a BookClubBuddy.com REVIEW by Brenda [...]