Do you know what liquid bandage is? You know – the gel formula that “fills in and protects skin cracks to reduce minor pain instantly”? You might need some familiarity with it in the early sections of Trevor Cole’s second novel, because Gerald, one of the main characters, practically douses his leg with the stuff. It’s meant to ease the harmful effects of the most recent attack of Rumsfeld, a malicious cat bequeathed to his household by a neighbour. It’s also meant to help with the nighttime scrapes Gerald has been receiving from his wife’s toenails. But, like most of the solutions the characters search for over the course of The Fearsome Particles, it’s not enough to make a difference.

Cole’s first novel, the wonderful Norman Bray in the Performance of His Life, featured a title character so loathsome and compelling you could almost smell him. It was a rare feat, and Cole attempts to bring that sense of creation to a whole family – Gerald and his wife Vicki and their son Kyle, a troubled 20-year-old who has just returned from Afghanistan eight months into a yearlong civilian contract because of what is chillingly referred to as an “off-camp event.”

Gerald is a man incapable of dealing with calamity, so the arrival of his son sends his life into further spiral. He is an executive at a window-screen manufacturer with a flatlining market share. The only hope of resuscitation seems to come from a sales assistant bent on using outlandish fear to sell their product. Across town, Vicki is struggling with her own work, “staging” an empty home to make it more appealing to possible buyers by filling it with an imaginary family’s belongings. Even the perfect lives she used to envision aren’t appearing easily before her eyes.

Cole knows how to assemble a sound plot; the clicks are almost audible as each narrative point fits into place. The care and expertise is appreciated. We always know where each of the family members are, what they want, and the particularly fearsome challenges bearing down on them. This clarity is Cole’s great strength, and he moves the story forward with economy, switching between Gerald’s, Vicki’s, and Kyle’s view of the world.

The introduction of an “off-camp event” is an excellent spur. Something mysterious and terrible happened to Kyle in Afghanistan. Cole shows the after-effects, the bad behaviour, and the way Kyle wants to do nothing more than sit in his room and gamble online. Cole goes a long way to protect, elongate, and sustain this core mystery. What could have brought about this change in a once-inquisitive kid? In Afghanistan, Kyle developed a relationship with a charismatic soldier named Legg. “Talking to this soldier, who was so different from anybody I would normally have met or talked to in my life, felt like I’d won some sort of prize or something,” he admits. Legg has his own theory to help him through life, an attitude he calls equa-mouse. It is the supreme “don’t give a fuck” outlook, and it serves him well. “’Cause, the thing is, the world moves random, right?” he tells Kyle. “It’s the survivors that move with it.”

Not to spoil anything, but Kyle makes some questionable choices, choices that determine the arc of the novel. The author has the framework in place, but it’s not always clear what drives Kyle towards his decisions. Is he in love with Legg? Is he in his thrall? Is he just desperate to impress? These points of development beg to be marked out. Even in such a well-plotted book, the characters sometimes lack enough reason to push toward their next action.

Even if there are small problems with construction, Cole makes up for it by decorating the book energetically. He has an eye for the frustrations of modern life. He wrings humour out of suburban offices. The supporting cast, consisting of co-workers, real estate agents, and other awful beasties, is drawn beautifully.

Cole loves his set pieces, particularly comedic episodes that stretch the boundaries of plausibility. At one point, Gerald fetches garden clippers to take care of his wife’s offending toenails. Rumsfeld the cat gets involved. It’s immediately funny, but in a way that almost compromises these characters he’s spent so much careful effort molding. Cole is too good a writer to strain for laughs.

In the end, it’s not the set pieces but rather the less outlandish humour that works, the humour that comes from a deeper, more satisfying place – the same place that made Norman Bray such a desperate, hateful, hilarious, maddening creation. Gerald’s dealings with the cat are amusing, but the book soars when it moves away from obvious comedy, in moments like the one where he silently remembers the way he used to watch his son sleep. Gerald may not be as vibrant a character as his predecessor, but he’s just as human.