The story of how Terry Fallis became an award-winning author is the stuff of frustrated writers’ wet dreams. After numerous rejections from publishers, he self-published his first novel, The Best Laid Plans, and was promptly awarded the Stephen Leacock Medal for Humour. The book was re-issued by McClelland & Stewart in 2008 and went on to be crowned the winner of CBC’s Canada Reads in 2011. The Best Laid Plans – and its 2010 follow-up, The High Road – are genuinely funny, entertaining, and at times thought-provoking examples of lighthearted political satire.

Despite similarities to those earlier novels (including an affable protagonist who is prone to bouts of slapstick clumsiness and extreme self-deprecation), Fallis’s new book is less successful. This time, the story is about David Stewart, a former government aide who leaves behind the glitz and excitement of life on the Hill to return to his hometown of Toronto, where his mother is losing a battle with cancer. Stewart’s background in science and media relations has landed him a job at multinational public relations firm Turner King (TK for short), which is vying for a contract with NASA.

In the first of many implausible (if not downright impossible) plot twists, Stewart manages – off the top of his head on his first day – to come up with an idea that NASA loves: a Citizen Astronaut contest, open to all residents of the U.S. and Canada over the age of 18, that would see one citizen from each country, chosen through a random draw, train for and take part in the next shuttle mission to the international space station. The Canadian winner turns out to be a septuagenarian doctor from a remote community in Northern B.C. When Stewart refuses to discard her as the rightful winner, things get convoluted pretty quickly.

The doctor reads like a cross between Hazel McCallion, David Suzuki, and Elaine Stritch. The rest of the cast is comprised of caricatures, including the loud-mouthed Mississippian general manager of the D.C. branch of TK. Then there’s Stewart’s diminutive boss who tries to make up for her lack of stature by wearing the most outlandish eyewear possible (a gag that gets old pretty quickly), and the American contest winner who might as well have “good ol’ boy” tattooed on his forehead. Others barely register, including Stewart’s long-suffering sister and his love interest.

Fallis’s earlier novels make you really want to like this book. But what worked in political satire doesn’t translate as well to the world of public relations. Fallis seems well aware of the general public’s disdain for the profession, and makes no bones of poking the industry in the eye repeatedly. But he’s so damned obvious about it. Readers don’t need a neon sign to point to humour; when done well it speaks for itself.

Which brings us to short-story author and television screenwriter Linda Svendsen’s first novel, Sussex Drive, which is actually quite similar in tone to Fallis’s first book, albeit with an added dose of snark. Readers coming to Sussex Drive without a decent knowledge of Canadian politics (and rudimentary French) may get a bit lost in the complicated plot, which draws on actual events and features not one, but two – no, make that three – prorogations of Parliament; a minority prime minister bent on gaining an elusive majority;  and a pair of female protagonists who may be running the whole show.

Rebecca Leggatt is the wife of far-right-leaning Conservative Prime Minister Greg Leggatt. A very fit strawberry blonde foil to Greg’s “lumpen sourness,” Becky is instrumental in her husband’s success, often steering events in his favour using her political cunning and a handful of trusted hangers-on. To say she is devious and cutthroat would be an understatement, and the object of her attention is often her friend/nemesis Lise Lavoie, the Governor General.

Lise is no slouch in the brains and ruthlessness department either. A native of the fictional African country St. Bertrand, she has lived through enough unrest and tragedy to be unwilling to put up with much bullshit. But the lives of these women are complex. They must balance family, professional obligation, and self-interest, which are often in direct opposition. Throughout the novel, they spar like heavyweights, but with the subtle viciousness only women can inflict. It’s a fascinating lens through which to view an almost farcical political landscape, and Svendsen impresses in her ability to twist and shape reality in ways that almost allow us to forget that some of the ridiculous events she describes actually happened.

With wit, intelligence, and satirical mastery, Svendsen leads readers into a world of sex, lies, and politics that resonates even as it entertains. This, my friends, is how it’s done.