A MacGuffin is a device or object used to set a plot in motion, but which has no importance in and of itself, or which declines in importance as the story wears on. (Think of the meaning of “rosebud” in
 Citizen Kane or the black bird statue at the heart of The Maltese Falcon.

Ottawa author Tom Henighan’s new novel pivots around a MacGuffin, and a tepid one at that. Ten-year-old Hawk is on a half-hearted chase to retrieve the baseball hit into the Toronto harbour by Babe Ruth in 1914. His quest takes place in the midst of dealing with a host of more pressing issues, including coming to terms with his half-native status, struggling to survive the streets of Toronto with his slightly crazy mother, squeezing his way back into a public education system not designed to handle a kid like him (he’s smart, but not book smart), and living in an abandoned taxi behind an Indian restaurant.

That’d be enough for most YA novels, and yet Henighan also has Hawk taking on a local gang called the Rippers, who have stolen his beloved baseball mitt.

Henighan can’t seem to decide whether he’s writing a grimly realistic drama or an adventure story filled with precocious preteen sleuths, improbably helpful adults, and cartoonish bad guys. The story’s epilogue even borders on the offensive, with one character – a wise native man, naturally – delivering a long-winded monologue about history, time, and the true meaning of life.

None of this would matter if the prose was sparkling or even efficient. Henighan, alas, bogs his story down with endless Hardy Boyisms, unnecessary exposition, and a lot of plain old sloppy writing. For a book that is ostensibly about a home run, this one strikes out.