A dark portrait of art theft dispels the idea of glamour

The Irish Game

A True Story of Crime and Art

Matthew Hart

Walker & Co.: 220 pp., $24

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In Hollywood films such as “The Thomas Crown Affair” and “Entrapment,” art theft has been portrayed as little more than an amusing diversion, a rather glamorous way for a skilled sophisticate to dabble in crime.

Matthew Hart, author of 2001’s “Diamond: A Journey to the Heart of an Obsession,” explores the world of art theft in his new book, “The Irish Game,” which dispels the Hollywood myth. “In fact the crimes take no special skill,” he writes. “[A]rt thieves steal art because it is easy.” That might explain why tens of billions of dollars’ worth of art is stolen each year.

Unlike those suave film counterparts -- aesthetes who steal for the thrill of it -- real-world art thieves have less lofty motives, often using works of art for collateral in international drug deals. (Because highly valued art is so difficult to resell, it is used as a form of currency among criminals.)

“The Irish Game” focuses on one of the most audacious art heists in history, the 1986 theft from Ireland’s Russborough House. It was notable for the value and prominence of the artworks stolen as well as for the ease with which it was done.

Russborough House, a 17th century palace with a colorful history, was bought in 1952 by Sir Alfred Beit, scion to a South African diamond fortune, when he and his wife decided they needed a second home for their vast art collection, which included sculptures, antiques and paintings by Rembrandt, Goya and Vermeer. It was considered one of the top collections worldwide. Hart writes that in terms of today’s money, the art was valued at more than $200 million, “and there it was, in a drafty old house in the country.” In a house so vulnerable and isolated, something was bound to go missing, and eventually something did.

The first hit occurred in 1974, when 19 paintings, including a prized Vermeer, were stolen within a 10-minute span. The 1986 heist was led by notorious Dubliner Martin Cahill, known as “the General” for his meticulously plotted jobs. At Russborough House, Cahill and his cronies in six minutes rounded up 18 paintings, the most prized of which was Vermeer’s “Lady Writing a Letter With Her Maid.” Cahill managed to elude (and taunt) the police for years afterward.

Hart traces Cahill’s bold exploits, unlikely celebrity and inevitable grand downfall. As a central character, the thief proves marvelously vivid. “He was slovenly, loyal, suspicious, immovable,” Hart writes. On his way to court once, Cahill made a detour to rob a bank, “handed the money to an accomplice and presented himself at the Central Criminal Court exactly eight minutes later, on time for a remand hearing.” On the many occasions when he was arrested, Cahill liked to be photographed wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, to mock the police.

It’s hard not to begrudgingly admire Cahill’s arrogance and bravado; the author clearly does. Yet Hart also offers profiles of the police officers determined to track down their maddening quarry and provides a broader perspective of the art world, a realm not typically visible to the general public. The art underworld is a fascinating place, full of intrigue and high stakes, which Hart explores like a diligent detective.

Two of the most gripping moments in the book have nothing to do with crime. Both are breakthrough discoveries about Vermeer: One, through a conservator’s work on a particular painting, significantly changes how its meaning had been interpreted; the other, which occurred purely by accident and is even more revelatory, shows how the artist achieved such perfect photographic perspective in his work. (Contrary to popular belief, Hart writes that the camera obscura theory has been proved incorrect.)

“The Irish Game” may be about crime and art, but it is accessible to just about anyone, unfolding with a good deal of suspense. For those who might associate museums and lofty works of art with elitism and stuffiness, Hart reveals a far more compelling world filled with desperation and betrayal.