Zac is an underachieving fabulist with an Instagram-fueled ambition to bypass hard work and conventional success to become a high-roller. The Brettlers are not poor. Zac’s father works in finance; his mother writes for the Financial Times‘ How To Spend It magazine. The family car is a Mazda, but Zac daydreams of a Bugatti Veyron.
Keefe recounts a conversation in which Zac tells a school friend, referring to his father’s wealth, “It’s not enough. I want to be bigger.”
Zac has a Walter Mitty quality. Keefe also writes that it’s tempting to compare him to Tom Ripley, Patricia Highsmith’s sociopathic striver. But Ripley’s con had an economic logic. How exactly did Zac plan to profit from his? It was only a matter of time until Zac’s fraud would be revealed and he would face the fury of the criminal he’d conned.
Stories of aspirational conmen fascinate readers. We marvel at their resourcefulness and audacity, and squirm as they build a false identity, Jenga-like, higher and higher. Characters such as Jay Gatsby — a bootlegger whose real name was Gatz — are also appealing because they express extreme examples of common, human traits.
The story of Zac and his parents also turned out to be relatable in ways I didn’t anticipate. I worked as NPR’s London correspondent from 2016 to 2023. On my various trips to the Tate Britain art museum, I walked past the same spot where Brettler had jumped, but knew nothing of his death at the time. The story did not appear in the London papers when it happened. Keefe effectively broke the story in the The New Yorker nearly five years later.
During my family’s time in London, we — like Zac — also brushed up against stratospheric wealth. My kids went to a private school with the children of a real Russian oligarch and others whose families were fantastically rich. One of my son’s classmates roamed the Mediterranean one summer on his parent’s Amex Centurion Card, which is available by invitation only.
To compete in such an environment, some kids can feel pressure to embellish. Keefe reports that Zac claimed his father was an arms dealer and the family lived next to Hyde Park, but schoolmates knew he was lying and confronted him about it. Among the book’s intriguing questions is how someone who spun such transparent lies was able to trick a seasoned criminal. The answer may be that Sharma, like Zac, was also less than he appeared. By the time he took Zac under his wing — so to speak — Sharma was an aging, drug-addled gangster who had lost his edge.