Journalist George Galt’s debut novel satirizes the self-important world of Toronto magazines, but most readers – even those who can’t relate to the setting, the editorial offices of a fictional monthly called Berger’s – won’t have any problem ID’ing the characters. This attempt to pierce the puffed-up egos of the city’s print media may be a roman à clef but Galt and his editors have left the key in plain sight.

It doesn’t take a media hack to put a quick name to Berger’s publisher Edward Clubb, the pompous, cigar-smoking media baron whose political ruminations have made him the scourge of the left-wing press. If readers have any doubts that the mogul in question is Conrad Black, they won’t by midway through the novel, if they’re reading closely enough to notice the name “Black” creep into the text. Fortunately for Galt and his publisher the slip isn’t likely to lead to charges of libel because the Black in question is actually CBC radio personality Arthur Black, who makes a cameo appearance in the story as Arthur Swartz. When Swartz abruptly changes names mid-paragraph, however, inexplicably becoming “Black,” readers can’t help but connect the name to the other, more central, character in the novel.

Black – Conrad, that is – will probably never read Galt’s book, but those who do are in for a satisfying romp. Even if they don’t recognize John Fraser, Michael Coren, or Frank magazine, which masquerades delightfully here as Poop, they’ll have fun watching Galt lead some of journalism’s most sacred cows to the slaughterhouse. Ultimately though, this is an insider’s book – the readers who’ll relish it most are those whose names pop up on a regular basis in Frank. Or on Conrad Black’s litigation list.