A common complaint about CanLit – one that Scott Gardiner addresses in the course of his new novel, King John of Canada – is that Canada’s fiction writers seem completely uninterested in dealing with the present-day politics of this country. But both Gardiner’s book and last fall’s Governor of the Northern Province, Randy Boyagoda’s Giller-longlisted debut, show, with varying degrees of success, that Canadian politics can work as fodder for novelists. Boyagoda’s understated novel focused on a by-election in a rural Ontario riding, and the mysterious and criminal background of the winning candidate’s African assistant. Using that setting as a platform, Boyagoda was able to efficiently satirize everything from small-town life to big-time Canadian politics and multiculturalism.

King John of Canada, as the title suggests, opts for a broader approach. Due to spending scandals in Rideau Hall and sex scandals in the Royal Family, the Canadian public has grown so weary of the monarchy and its chosen representatives that a media magnate’s suggestion to select a new Canadian head of state is met with widespread approval. King John – we never learn his last name or very much of his background – is chosen through a national lottery. (Would a Roll Up the Rim to Reign contest have been more fitting?)

As it happens, the new king turns out to be exceptionally well read, handsome, witty, and imbued with a keener sense than most politicians of what average Joes and plain Janes want. He seems to possess the best qualities of both Pierre Trudeau and Don Cherry. Among his early triumphs are the restoration of the glory of the Canadian Football League and the rebirth of the Canadian military, endearing the king to middle-aged white men across the country. For example, King John spurs on the CFL’s renaissance by launching the ceremonial kickoff over 60 yards. After that feat of strength, the country and the press become more interested in the king and in Canadian football. Nothing about the game or the man has changed, but a simple symbolic act has managed to transform the way people think about a person and an entire sport, which is the sort of effect King John has on the country as a whole.

Theodore Sapper, the media magnate whose paper came up with the idea of a Canadian king, is a key figure in the political life of the country. He doesn’t exert direct control over the editorial content of his publications; Gardiner describes the subtle way that the influence trickles down from the corner offices to the reporters’ cubicles. This, like a one-liner about how Alberta’s premiers are often Baptist ministers or former CFLers, falls under the heading of Funny Because It’s True. The book’s best moments come when dealing with the crisis that arises around Quebec. King John finally decides to take a stand against the referendum-happy provincial government, and the result is quite amusing.

King John’s story is hard to sustain, however, and the broadness of the satire means it is less pointed than it could be. Making the main character a head of state is Gardiner’s first difficulty; the logistics of this new arrangement are something that Gardiner grapples with – mostly unsuccessfully – throughout the book. Gardiner thrusts King John into an otherwise fairly realistic recreation of the present political situation in Canada, but the mere presence of a new head of state significantly alters the way government functions; the premise is so peculiar that most of Gardiner’s satirical criticisms are thus effectively neutered.

Gardiner’s attempts at humour miss as often as they hit. The idea of a homegrown Canadian monarch does provide some laughs, but in execution it comes off as more of a comic riff on the absurdity of Canadian politics than a genuinely cutting take on the ills of the political system. The book’s comedy resembles less that of Mordecai Richler (the comparison made in the M&S press release) than the more gentle prodding Canadians have come to expect, and apparently love, from the likes of Rick Mercer and the Royal Canadian Air Farce.

One of the book’s weakest points is its structure. We learn about the reign of King John from Blue, his closest confidant. Blue is holed up in the king’s cottage, and the book is broken up into daily entries – sort of like Nicholson Baker’s A Box of Matches, without the matches. There is eventually something of an explanation for this arrangement, but for most of the book it seems like a needless distraction.

For all of the funny passages and keen observations, King John of Canada never really manages to cohere. It seems almost as though Gardiner conjured up a series of humorous situations and was looking for somewhere to collect them.