A dream date

Cad: confessions of a toxic bachelor

Rick Marin <em>Ebury Press, 284pp, £9.99</em>

ISBN 00918851

The last time I was in Los Angeles I met an Old Etonian who told me that having an English accent was like being a Calvin Klein underwear model. "It's incredible," he said. "I literally have to fight them off with a stick."

During the five years I spent working as a journalist in New York, this was not my experience. An English accent may still act like an aphrodisiac in LA, but in Manhattan generations of freeloading Fleet Street hacks have poisoned that well. These days, when New York women hear the dulcet tones of a true blue Englishman they think: small apartment, low income, alcohol problem. And they're usually right.

Perhaps I would have fared better if I'd had a Canadian accent. The most striking thing about Cad: confessions of a toxic bachelor is how much luck its Canadian author, Rick Marin, has with the opposite sex. This book, which charts his ten-year tour of duty on the Manhattan singles circuit, reads like an Austin Powers fantasy. Rather irritatingly, there's no dust-jacket photo, so it is impossible to judge how much of this is due to his physical appearance. But I suspect that, like me, he's no Calvin Klein underwear model. So what's his secret?

The answer - and this may come as a disappointment to those who buy the book on the strength of its title - is that he's about as far from caddish as it is possible to be. Marin is more like every woman's dream date. He's well-dressed and clean-shaven and always has a wisecrack at the ready. He isn't laugh-out-loud funny, but he's witty and debonair and his best lines sound as if they've been polished by a crack Hollywood screenwriter. "I used to joke that my number was on the wall of the women's room at Bellevue," he quips, seeking to explain why he attracts so many nutcases. He may have turned himself into a more sharp-witted character than he actually is, a temptation all memoirists face, but the overall impression he creates is that, had he been born only 40 years earlier, he could easily have been a member of the Rat Pack. For people with a soft spot for such Vegas lounge lizards, this book will go down like a dry Martini.

So what's with the title? Why describe yourself as a cad when you so obviously are not? By "toxic bachelor", Marin seems to have nothing more sinister in mind than a certain reluctance to commit. This is so mild that I doubt it would raise even one of Bridget Jones's eyebrows. The book begins with the collapse of his first marriage and ends with him meeting his second wife, hardly the track record of a full-blown commitment-phobe. Compared to your average British Loaded reader, Rick Marin is practically a New Man.

This may partly come down to a simple cultural misunderstanding. The standards to which educated, professional men are held in America - Marin is a successful journalist - are considerably higher than they are in Britain. Marin seems to regard failing to return a woman's phone call after a one-night stand as the last word in caddish behaviour. Other crimes include sneaking into an all-girls' dorm, hanging out at a bar called Billy's Topless and twirling his horn-rimmed spectacles in a seductive manner. Flashman he ain't.

Perhaps the real explanation is that this is high-concept non-fiction. Marin is clearly trying to come up with the male equivalent of all those chick-lit bestsellers, and passing himself off as a cad must have struck him as a good idea. He's very "promotable", as they say in American publishing - a good talk-show guest. It has worked, too, up to a point. Cad arrives in Britain after a fairly successful launch in the US.

Provided you treat this book as a beach read, rather than anything more serious, it's pretty entertaining stuff. There's some soul-searching towards the end in which Marin compares himself unfavourably to his father, a Spanish intellectual who fought on the Republican side in the Spanish civil war, but it doesn't do much to deepen the story. It reads like a genre requirement, something he's stuck in to make the book more Hornby-esque. Marin has clearly worked hard to give it that smooth, easy-listening quality, but he doesn't suffer enough to engage the reader's sympathies fully. The bottom line is you simply can't feel sorry for someone who's been to bed with so many women. If he had been a member of the Rat Pack, he'd have been Peter Lawford rather than Dean Martin. He's a lot of fun to have around in the cocktail hour, but you wouldn't want to stay up half the night with him sharing a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

Toby Young is the author of How to Lose Friends and Alienate People (Abacus)

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