Here are the twists. The good guys are really the bad guys. The bad guy is a good guy – sort of. The dead are alive, and the living – at least in the case of protagonist Wes Holloway – might as well be dead.
Brad Meltzer’s recent outing “The Book of Fate,” has such twisty-twists, how can he go wrong?
Unfortunately, what should be good, really just isn’t.
Meltzer has an insider approach to D.C. politics that rings with authority. Conversations could have been taken from any Oval Office recording, and his characters should carry any story - but it is hard to root for the criminals.
Grisham’s “The Brethren,” for example, offers discredited judges as heroes, running a blackmail operation from behind bars. Sorry, John. Didn’t work. Bad guys are supposed to get what they deserve.
Meltzer takes rogue FBI, CIA, and Secret Service agents and alternately has them protect Holloway, then harass him to cover their scheme – selling secrets to the government. The true bad guy, an unfortunate schizophrenic off his medication, eventually saves Holloway, but it’s hard to feel good about it.
Meanwhile Holloway has to figure out the clues, if he can just get past his whining, self-indulgent focus on the past. Fortunately, he possesses Hawaii Five-O (remember that show?) abilities to shoot truth from thin air, just like Steve McGarrett.
Danno: “No one has a motive.”
McGarrett: “What if it was three rogue agents working in collusion to sell information to the government in an espionage scheme?”
Danno: “Of course!”
Meltzer tosses in Masonic references to hit that bandwagon, and codes to decipher for another, which have no bearing on the little plot. His fans may hope for better material next outing. “The Book of Fate” expresses the fate of books built from a house of cards.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Does a bear read in THE WOODS?
Harlan Coben is a magician. He may write “author” on his income tax form, but his stock-in-trade is sleight-of-hand. When David Copperfield makes the Statue of Liberty disappear, everyone smiles in acknowledging the nifty trick. Coben makes his brand of magic seem real.
In “The Woods,” a twenty-year-old mystery comes back to haunt Paul Copeland, now a New Jersey county prosecutor. His sister disappeared way back then, along with another teenager – both believed to be victims of a serial killer. When detectives find news clippings related to the decades old murder in the pockets of a murder victim, it puts a new spin on an old investigation.
“Cope” as he is called, has troubling coping with the revelation. The latest victim has old scar – one the prosecutor recognizes from twenty years ago – and, he thinks, if one person could survive that night, then…
Credit Coben’s writing style for drawing readers into the story with the same gullibility as marks watching a game of three-card-monte. You put your money down and believe you can follow the shifting cards, then – Pow! – he’s gotcha. One person says this, another says that. Who is telling the truth?
Maybe, no one.
In most of Coben’s stand-alone novels (those not part of the Myron Bolitar series), an ordinary man has to dig out from extraordinary circumstances. In many ways, this book is a departure. The county prosecutor is a buddy of the governor and has his own political ambitions. Hardly Joe-next-door.
There are no variations on Coben’s pacing.
This book is hard to put down – another credit to the writing – and it is only after closing the cover that some of the elements of “The Woods” come back to haunt. While the curtain is up and the lights are on though, Coben is a master of misdirection.
In “The Woods,” a twenty-year-old mystery comes back to haunt Paul Copeland, now a New Jersey county prosecutor. His sister disappeared way back then, along with another teenager – both believed to be victims of a serial killer. When detectives find news clippings related to the decades old murder in the pockets of a murder victim, it puts a new spin on an old investigation.
“Cope” as he is called, has troubling coping with the revelation. The latest victim has old scar – one the prosecutor recognizes from twenty years ago – and, he thinks, if one person could survive that night, then…
Credit Coben’s writing style for drawing readers into the story with the same gullibility as marks watching a game of three-card-monte. You put your money down and believe you can follow the shifting cards, then – Pow! – he’s gotcha. One person says this, another says that. Who is telling the truth?
Maybe, no one.
In most of Coben’s stand-alone novels (those not part of the Myron Bolitar series), an ordinary man has to dig out from extraordinary circumstances. In many ways, this book is a departure. The county prosecutor is a buddy of the governor and has his own political ambitions. Hardly Joe-next-door.
There are no variations on Coben’s pacing.
This book is hard to put down – another credit to the writing – and it is only after closing the cover that some of the elements of “The Woods” come back to haunt. While the curtain is up and the lights are on though, Coben is a master of misdirection.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Nevada Barr the Door!
Tea Shoppe mysteries. Scrapbook mysteries. Cat Who mysteries. Whodunits are either light and breezy – humorous treatment of the dearly departed – or, the police procedural, in which the clues are swept up, sealed into envelopes, and suspects are grilled under glaring bright lamps.
Nevada Barr’s series of park ranger mysteries offer a little of both and a lot of neither.
Anna Pigeon is the pseudo-detective, who – from her position as a National Parks employee – runs into all sorts of misdeeds in protected parks around the country.
In “Blood Lure,” Anna Pigeon heads to the Glacier National Park to learn more about the resident bear population, but is barely (so to speak) in the high country before a body is discovered in the forest. Rangers, who worry about the reputation of their natural-born residents, first suspect that a bear has gone bad, but evidence points in another direction.
The suspects wander in and out, using different trails. Anna Pigeon, (who presumably does not watch horror movies) heads off into a distant area all alone. Not good, Anna.
As with all series books, first-name references abound without any explanation as to how they figure into Anna Pigeon’s life, and first time readers will have to learn which names do not figure into the story at all. Those with the slightest Sherlock-ian skills will have this one deduced early on, and others with lesser patience may enjoy “Blood Lure” better starting at the last paragraphs of chapter one, and skipping the bear-baiting lesson altogether.
Author Barr has a grand following, and perhaps in the just-released hardback “Winter Study” Anna Pigeon is less grumpy, more tolerant, and agreeably inclined toward her co-workers. Of course, characters – real or fiction – can hit low spots now and then.
Who hasn’t growled, bear-like, before that first cup of coffee?
Nevada Barr’s series of park ranger mysteries offer a little of both and a lot of neither.
Anna Pigeon is the pseudo-detective, who – from her position as a National Parks employee – runs into all sorts of misdeeds in protected parks around the country.
In “Blood Lure,” Anna Pigeon heads to the Glacier National Park to learn more about the resident bear population, but is barely (so to speak) in the high country before a body is discovered in the forest. Rangers, who worry about the reputation of their natural-born residents, first suspect that a bear has gone bad, but evidence points in another direction.
The suspects wander in and out, using different trails. Anna Pigeon, (who presumably does not watch horror movies) heads off into a distant area all alone. Not good, Anna.
As with all series books, first-name references abound without any explanation as to how they figure into Anna Pigeon’s life, and first time readers will have to learn which names do not figure into the story at all. Those with the slightest Sherlock-ian skills will have this one deduced early on, and others with lesser patience may enjoy “Blood Lure” better starting at the last paragraphs of chapter one, and skipping the bear-baiting lesson altogether.
Author Barr has a grand following, and perhaps in the just-released hardback “Winter Study” Anna Pigeon is less grumpy, more tolerant, and agreeably inclined toward her co-workers. Of course, characters – real or fiction – can hit low spots now and then.
Who hasn’t growled, bear-like, before that first cup of coffee?
Monday, June 2, 2008
The Unquiet: a THRILLER!
The claim is right on the cover. “The Unquiet,” a thriller. The blurb on the front vows that John Connolly is “one of the best thriller writers we have.”
Apparently, a “thriller” involves a crisis of epic proportions. If it’s just a guy and his family who have been kidnapped – that’s “suspense.” It’s clear enough until you factor in the Hollow Men, Connolly’s ghostly specters that inch eerily toward “horror” writing.
“The Unquiet” features detective Charlie “Bird” Parker, one of those series investigators with a troubled background. Some private eyes make the right moves, in time. Parker arrives late, at times.
A woman is being stalked, and Parker quickly finds there’s more to the story. The woman’s father – a child psychiatrist whose patient disappears – had been linked to a seedy exploitation ring just before he disappears. A detective sent to find him also disappears. Parker must find them all.
The stalker (only he’s not the Stalker, he’s the Revenger. Connolly uses one-word nicknames in “The Unquiet,” which also features the Collector and the Guesser) – anyway, the Stalker/Revenger is a really, really bad guy, just out of prison, who wants justice for his vanished daughter.
For a rural area of Maine, the results have to be akin to all of the Roaring Twenties gangland hits occurring on a single day in New York.
Connolly is described as writing poetic prose, which is usually a euphemism for being “wordy,” but there truly are some poetic lines and images scattered throughout. There is also a “poetic” section about Maine’s early-day explorers who ventured into Canada, a history included just to describe the woods.
“The Unquiet” is a – well, it’s a thriller, if you reduce it to a single word, something that author John Connolly generally avoids in bringing along his otherwise gripping story.
Check out the store!
McHuston Booksellers
Apparently, a “thriller” involves a crisis of epic proportions. If it’s just a guy and his family who have been kidnapped – that’s “suspense.” It’s clear enough until you factor in the Hollow Men, Connolly’s ghostly specters that inch eerily toward “horror” writing.
“The Unquiet” features detective Charlie “Bird” Parker, one of those series investigators with a troubled background. Some private eyes make the right moves, in time. Parker arrives late, at times.
A woman is being stalked, and Parker quickly finds there’s more to the story. The woman’s father – a child psychiatrist whose patient disappears – had been linked to a seedy exploitation ring just before he disappears. A detective sent to find him also disappears. Parker must find them all.
The stalker (only he’s not the Stalker, he’s the Revenger. Connolly uses one-word nicknames in “The Unquiet,” which also features the Collector and the Guesser) – anyway, the Stalker/Revenger is a really, really bad guy, just out of prison, who wants justice for his vanished daughter.
For a rural area of Maine, the results have to be akin to all of the Roaring Twenties gangland hits occurring on a single day in New York.
Connolly is described as writing poetic prose, which is usually a euphemism for being “wordy,” but there truly are some poetic lines and images scattered throughout. There is also a “poetic” section about Maine’s early-day explorers who ventured into Canada, a history included just to describe the woods.
“The Unquiet” is a – well, it’s a thriller, if you reduce it to a single word, something that author John Connolly generally avoids in bringing along his otherwise gripping story.
Check out the store!
McHuston Booksellers
Monday, May 19, 2008
COYOTE WAITS
There is a certain appeal in books that feature Native American culture. From a practical standpoint – there just aren’t that many. Then there is the nagging feeling that much of the culture being explained in the telling of the story are things Americans should already know, especially those of us in Oklahoma, where Tony Hillerman was born.
His settings are west of the state line, and Hillerman uses Navaho tradition to provide the characters for his series of Southwestern mystery novels. Tribal Police Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee are regulars, and in “Coyote Waits” the two take different routes while investigating the death of a fellow officer.
It’s almost soothing to hear the Navaho philosophy as Hillerman spins it. Every conversation carries some traditional observation, but his dialogues ring true, as though he has kept a chair vacant to allow his readers to sit and eavesdrop on the story.
Most mysteries include numerous suspects, required red herrings, and a surprise revelation at the end, but “Coyote Waits” provides an almost caught-red-handed suspect in a Navaho shaman. There are some doubts, though, and before you can say yaa ah t’eeh (hello in Navaho…) Chee and Leaphorn uncover others with credible motives.
Hillerman has a legion of fans, and enough awards to build a ceremonial pyre. With last year’s release of “Shapeshifter” there are eighteen stories built from his knowledge of the Arizona/New Mexico landscape. He manages to construct his fictional world in a way that readers don’t have to read every book in a special order, while managing a continuing story line.
In the Navaho spirit world, “Coyote” is an evil presence and “Coyote Waits” hoping to satisfy its ever-present hunger. In the world of mystery stories, it’s a fact that “Reader Waits,” while Hillerman pens his next satisfying offering.
His settings are west of the state line, and Hillerman uses Navaho tradition to provide the characters for his series of Southwestern mystery novels. Tribal Police Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee are regulars, and in “Coyote Waits” the two take different routes while investigating the death of a fellow officer.
It’s almost soothing to hear the Navaho philosophy as Hillerman spins it. Every conversation carries some traditional observation, but his dialogues ring true, as though he has kept a chair vacant to allow his readers to sit and eavesdrop on the story.
Most mysteries include numerous suspects, required red herrings, and a surprise revelation at the end, but “Coyote Waits” provides an almost caught-red-handed suspect in a Navaho shaman. There are some doubts, though, and before you can say yaa ah t’eeh (hello in Navaho…) Chee and Leaphorn uncover others with credible motives.
Hillerman has a legion of fans, and enough awards to build a ceremonial pyre. With last year’s release of “Shapeshifter” there are eighteen stories built from his knowledge of the Arizona/New Mexico landscape. He manages to construct his fictional world in a way that readers don’t have to read every book in a special order, while managing a continuing story line.
In the Navaho spirit world, “Coyote” is an evil presence and “Coyote Waits” hoping to satisfy its ever-present hunger. In the world of mystery stories, it’s a fact that “Reader Waits,” while Hillerman pens his next satisfying offering.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Watching the Watchmaker
A “Cold Moon” is the one that circles the earth during the winter months, like the “Harvest Moon” does in late fall. In the hands of suspense writer Jeffery Deaver, “The Cold Moon” circles around a cruelly-evil serial killer who calls himself the Watchmaker.
Deaver’s novels follow the crime-fighting forensics team of Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs, the former being a near-genius investigator who is wheelchair bound as a result of a job-related paralysis. (In earlier books, Rhyme is confined to bed.) The footwork at the crime scenes is provided by Sachs, who stays in contact with her partner by way of a special radio headset.
They’ve worked a number of cases together, “The Bone Collector” being the first and perhaps best-known, from the movie adaptation. Over the years, Deaver has introduced readers to enough background about his stars that they seem like members of the family.
The Watchmaker is so good (read that “evil”) that he leaves few clues, and the forensics skills of the crime team need a little super-interrogating assistance. Enter Kathryn Dance, a California investigator whose specialty is getting to the facts. No waterboarding here, it’s more like a tingly-spiderman-sense-thing. She knows a fib when she hears it, and she ferrets out the truth just like your mother did when the antique lamp turned up broken.
The Dance character is so strong that Deaver made her the primary player in his next hardback and plans to alternate his writing between Dance and Rhyme. In the meantime, he continues to layer on the depth of his characters, and in “The Cold Moon,” Amelia Sachs faces enough hard truths that she considers leaving the force.
Holmes without Watson? Rhyme without Sachs? Rhyme without Reason? In the case of “The Cold Moon” and the Watchmaker, only time will tell.
Deaver’s novels follow the crime-fighting forensics team of Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs, the former being a near-genius investigator who is wheelchair bound as a result of a job-related paralysis. (In earlier books, Rhyme is confined to bed.) The footwork at the crime scenes is provided by Sachs, who stays in contact with her partner by way of a special radio headset.
They’ve worked a number of cases together, “The Bone Collector” being the first and perhaps best-known, from the movie adaptation. Over the years, Deaver has introduced readers to enough background about his stars that they seem like members of the family.
The Watchmaker is so good (read that “evil”) that he leaves few clues, and the forensics skills of the crime team need a little super-interrogating assistance. Enter Kathryn Dance, a California investigator whose specialty is getting to the facts. No waterboarding here, it’s more like a tingly-spiderman-sense-thing. She knows a fib when she hears it, and she ferrets out the truth just like your mother did when the antique lamp turned up broken.
The Dance character is so strong that Deaver made her the primary player in his next hardback and plans to alternate his writing between Dance and Rhyme. In the meantime, he continues to layer on the depth of his characters, and in “The Cold Moon,” Amelia Sachs faces enough hard truths that she considers leaving the force.
Holmes without Watson? Rhyme without Sachs? Rhyme without Reason? In the case of “The Cold Moon” and the Watchmaker, only time will tell.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Fresh (and tasty) Disasters
The last Stuart Woods book I tried was started after dinner and finished before bedtime. I’m a fast reader.
But not that fast!
Taking on “Fresh Disasters,” I figured out why the Stone Barrington novels are such quick reads. A new chapter starts every three to four pages, and only half a page is printed at each chapter start.
Then, there’s the dialogue. The conversations are quick quips between old friends (it’s the 13th Barrington novel) and with each line is an indented paragraph. With page after page of two and three word exchanges, there just aren’t that many words to consume.
Reading “Fresh Disasters” is like watching television from the other room. It’s all talk and not a lot of visual information. The condo building is “new, very skinny, one apartment to a floor.” The imagination has to fill in the rest, and the mental images come from spoken descriptions, like when the hapless client calls the men chasing him “gorillas,” and identifies them as Goon and Gus.
Stone Barrington is the ultra-suave lawyer, whose latest case has him taking on a NYC mobster, who is after a scrawny, repulsive little deadbeat. Readers of Janet Evanovich’s “Stephanie Plum” mystery series will recognize the formula and stereotypical characters. But hey. It works.
In fact, it has done so well for Woods that another Stone Barrington novel is due in May, the paperback version of last fall’s “Shoot Him if He Runs.” The speedy reads might give you time to chew through the entire series before its release.
The quick banter between the likable characters makes “Fresh Disasters” a fun and easy morsel to devour, the way a tray of tasty party appetizers disappears before the main course arrives. What? There’s no main course? That’s okay, we’re all stuffed with cheesy cracker snacks.
But not that fast!
Taking on “Fresh Disasters,” I figured out why the Stone Barrington novels are such quick reads. A new chapter starts every three to four pages, and only half a page is printed at each chapter start.
Then, there’s the dialogue. The conversations are quick quips between old friends (it’s the 13th Barrington novel) and with each line is an indented paragraph. With page after page of two and three word exchanges, there just aren’t that many words to consume.
Reading “Fresh Disasters” is like watching television from the other room. It’s all talk and not a lot of visual information. The condo building is “new, very skinny, one apartment to a floor.” The imagination has to fill in the rest, and the mental images come from spoken descriptions, like when the hapless client calls the men chasing him “gorillas,” and identifies them as Goon and Gus.
Stone Barrington is the ultra-suave lawyer, whose latest case has him taking on a NYC mobster, who is after a scrawny, repulsive little deadbeat. Readers of Janet Evanovich’s “Stephanie Plum” mystery series will recognize the formula and stereotypical characters. But hey. It works.
In fact, it has done so well for Woods that another Stone Barrington novel is due in May, the paperback version of last fall’s “Shoot Him if He Runs.” The speedy reads might give you time to chew through the entire series before its release.
The quick banter between the likable characters makes “Fresh Disasters” a fun and easy morsel to devour, the way a tray of tasty party appetizers disappears before the main course arrives. What? There’s no main course? That’s okay, we’re all stuffed with cheesy cracker snacks.
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