Vikram Lall says he has the distinction of having been one of Africa's most corrupt men - 'a cheat of monstrous and reptilian cunning'. This opening to Moyez Vassanji's sixth book is a red herring. Vikram Lall is corrupt, but this is not all his harsh appraisal refers to.

The novel's faux grandiose title is apt, suggesting both a wishy-washy and important subject. Perhaps for this reason the first thing the author does is ensure the reader knows there's something meaty and scandalous involved, somewhere in those pages. By the time we discover the extent of Vikram Lall's corruption, we've been made to realise it's less important than the real meaning of this sublimely clever book.

Starting in 1950s Kenya, as the country is in the process of throwing off its colonial shackles, and running to the present, the story traces Vikram's life. Holed up in a house on wintry and bleak Lake Ontario, Canada, like some abandoned Citizen Kane, he tells his story from the time he was a boy, the son of Indian shopkeepers, to becoming a corrupt government moneyman. Exiled from his homeland, he reflects on a backdrop of rich characters and tangled times: Mau Mau rebels slaughtering white families, the equally barbarous authorities, and the gentle acquiescence of his father. We watch the violent machinations of Kenyan politics and the parallel domestic divisions and injustices that occur within his family.

Taking in three generations, cities from Nairobi to Dar es Salaam, and various rail sidings and bush camps along the Rift Valley, it creates a detailed sense of history and nostalgia.

Vikram's sister, Deepa, and their best friend, Njoroge, an African, are in love. It's a culturally unsanctified love on both sides of the divide. Deepa is fearless and true, Njoroge, a true believer, is a reformist agitating for a better, fairer Kenya.

By contrast, and always in the background, is the narrator and watcher: Vikram Lall. History places him where it will and he judges himself no less culpable for swindling millions from his countrymen than he is for never sharing in the happiness around him. Diffidently rationalising his fears and grievances away, he never takes a side or contributes to an outcome. Vikram is content to let others shape the world.

This reminiscence is one of regret and, in the end, he must decide whether to stay removed from events or take a stand and live with the consequences.

Vassanji uses fictional accounts of Kenyan leader Jomo Kenyatta and the assassinated politician J.M. Kariuki. The day-to-day accounts of life, too, are dog-eared with historical references. Vassanji embeds Vikram into the lives and events around him without influencing them, as though he were a non-descript face in the back row of an old photograph.

Returning to familiar territory, as with 1994's The Book of Secrets, Vassanji describes the lives of Indian families in Africa, their indeterminate place among indigenous Africans, and their struggle for a sense of place outside India.

For most of this book, I found myself asking: Where is it going? What is the point? When will Vikram Lall reveal himself? The total lack of immediacy in the narrative style, the tangents and the unexplained asides make it seem frustratingly random at times. And although the indicators were all there, it wasn't until I'd read all 436 pages that it became clear.

A surprisingly gentle book of brutal acts and everyday betrayals, its totality will surprise you.