Head of State

Description

POWER. CORRUPTION. CONSPIRACY. BUSINESS AS USUAL. Two corpses. A country on the edge of a political precipice. A conspiracy so bold it would make Machiavelli wince. The first novel from Britain's most celebrated political commentator is a gleefully twisted take on what goes on behind the door of 10 Downing Street. When a young investigative reporter is found dead on the streets of London, few people notice. But when another body - minus its head and hands - is washed up on the banks of the Thames, its grisly condition arouses a little more interest. There appears to be no connection between the two dead men. But, unsuspected by the electorate,there is a shocking and dangerous secret at the very heart of government. While the United Kingdom approaches a crucial and delicately balanced referendum on Europe,a group of ruthlessly determined individuals will stop at nothing - including murder - to prevent the truth from getting out. Andrew Marr's first novel is a gleefully twisted spin through the corridors of power. Making full use of his unrivalled inside knowledge of the British political scene, Marr has threaded his wickedly clever thriller with a distinctive strand of pitch-black humour,to offer an irreverent glimpse behind the parliamentary curtain.

Andrew Marr is a former editor of the Independent and BBC Political Editor. He currently hosts BBC 1's Andrew Marr Show, and presented Radio 4's Start the Week from 2005 to 2012. His acclaimed television documentary series include Andrew Marr's History of Modern Britain and Andrew Marr's The Making of Modern Britain. He is also a hugely successful non-fiction author.

'Brilliant' Mail on Sunday 'Riveting' Sunday Times 'The hottest thriller in town' Evening Standard 'The Machiavellian melodrama of House of Cards veers into The Thick of It, and then off into the shadows where fixers out of John Le Carre lurk ... Marr excels ... Lively and enjoyable.' Independent 'Andrew Marr is a marvel ... what makes 'Head of State' worth reading is that Marr is unbuttoned ... witty and wicked' New Statesman