A new take on the Western that deserves to bag the Booker

FICTION: EILEEN BATTERSBYreviews The Sisters BrothersBy Patrick deWitt Granta, 328pp. £12.99

ELI IS GIVEN TO DEEP, somewhat philosophical and frequently confused musings; Charlie, his laconic brother, doesn’t think much about anything except drinking and getting the job done. The current task in question is the death of Hermann Kermit Warm. Yes, the brothers are hired killers, only not quite entirely mindless: they have their reasons. Their daddy was a real son of a bitch, and life quickly settled down to who shoots first.

The Canadian writer Patrick deWitt's second novel is so good, so funny and so sad that it makes his first book, Ablutions, compulsory reading. Set in the 1850s and taking place in the dirt and dust between Oregon City and the California of the mostly ill-fated gold rush, The Sisters Brothersis assured and miraculously well sustained.

Its success owes a great deal to the narrative voice, that of the slightly stupid if increasingly wised-up Eli, but there is also a lively sense of atmosphere, a feel for place and a cast of memorable minor characters, not least a doomed family of dam-building beavers.

There is, of course, the question of genre: some folks don't much care for Westerns. And this is a Western, albeit a highly original revisionist one in which the Indians reveal far more intelligence than most of the white characters. Few 300-page novels read as fast or as satisfyingly. Many comparisons have already been made between it and the Coen brothers, for whom it appears to have been penned, and the dialogue alone is a masterclass in scriptwriting. It is also far closer to the 1968 novel True Grit,by Charles Portis, than it is to Cormac McCarthy, who has mastered many things but not humour – and deWitt's comic flair eases this violent novel through its many shocking sequences, not least the ham-fisted removal of a horse's eye that has already been mauled by a bear.

Before going much further it should be mentioned that horses suffer in this book, but deWitt balances this by making it clear that there is only one hero, namely Tub, a willing cow pony whose loyalty more than compensates for his lack of speed. Derided by Eli in the opening paragraphs as “portly and low-backed”, and regarded as inferior to the narrator’s previous mount, which died a terrible death by fire, Tub slowly emerges as heroic and is also a prime reason for Eli rethinking his own life.

It is not just about language: for all of the bizarrely lilting, formal grace of what is a singular narrative voice – and consciousness – deWitt is telling a well-shaped story based on the old-fashioned theme of quest.

Superficially the search is about trying to find Hermann Kermit Warm, an individual so odd in appearance he should be easy to locate. The brothers answer to a boss known as the Commodore. This shadowy figure has multiple scores to settle, hence his need of regular staff assassins such as the brothers. The Commodore is unpredictable and can change the rules on a whim. As the novel opens he has done exactly that, much to Eli’s outrage. This time there is to be a lead man. Charlie breaks the news to Eli, who asks: “What’s it mean?” Charlie is nothing if not direct: “It means I am in charge.” It also means less money for the aggrieved Eli, who resents this, having previously “got my leg gouged out and my horse burned to death working for him”.

Warm’s murder has been arranged. The problem now is to find him. To assist the brothers is Henry Morris, a dandy who also works for the Commodore. Morris prefers not to kill; instead he tracks the prey. His report of a sighting arrives complete with details, all neatly presented with a courtly flourish: “Have studied Warm for many days and can offer the following in respects of his habits and character. He is solitary in nature but spends long hours in the San Francisco saloons, passing time reading his science and mathematics books. He hauls these tomes around with a strap like a schoolboy, for which he is mocked. He is small in stature, which adds to this comedy, but beware he will not be teased about his size. I have seen him fight several times, and though he typically loses, I do not think any of his opponents would wish to fight him again. He is bald-headed, with a wild red beard, long, gangly arms, and the protruded belly of a pregnant woman. He washes infrequently and sleeps where he can – barns, doorways, or if need be, in the streets. He does not drink often, but when he finally lifts his bottle, he lifts it to become completely drunken.” Morris completes his report by conceding: “I will admit he is unusual, but that it perhaps the closest I could come to complimenting him.”

Tub, the horse, opens Eli’s heart to a notion of love; he then becomes susceptible to a woman. Eli suspects, however, that he will be denied any chance of romance until he loses some weight. This preoccupation is but one of many digressions. At the core of the book is the narrator’s pathetic realisation that he loves his older brother Charlie and has always just followed him about. The brothers bicker with each other, and kill most of the men they encounter, until a wonderfully crazy narrative detour brings the story to a very strange interlude by a river rich in gold.

That the Man Booker judges had the vision to shortlist this gruesome delight is to their credit. Should they award it the prize, it will be a cause of celebration all round. DeWitt’s inspired, many-layered yarn is as entertaining and as stylistically accomplished as it is unsettling and most original in its revisiting of what remains a glorious genre.

Eileen Battersby is Literary Correspondent of The Irish Times