Archive for the ‘Mystery/Horror/Suspense’ Category.
You know I’ve hit bottom when I’m reading Mary Higgins Clark. I don’t mean that in a bad way to her. She writes really entertaining, face-paced stuff. But I’ve read each book several times and since they’re really all the same book, that’s a lot of times. I’m busy, I’m tired, and I still don’t find TV very entertaining. I have to have something. Thus, Loves Music, Loves to Dance.
Executive Privilege was fast-paced with no outstanding idiocy. It was unfortunately unmemorable, despite involving the president, and I guessed the murderer very early on. In an attempt to be fair, Margolin provided us with unnecessary detail that pointed to the perpetrator. In an otherwise tight novel, there were scenes that shouldn’t have been included. Their insignificance spoke to their significance. But I prefer transparency to the hateful “What she saw now made the whole plan clear,” followed by not revealing what she saw.
You’ve heard of comfort food. I have comfort books. Mind you, the comfort books are often accompanied by some comfort food and some comfort drink, but there’s nothing to soothe the soul and take my mind off my troubles like chocolate, a glass of Chardonnay, and Agatha Christie. Sure, I know the ending to every one of them, some more than others, but maybe that’s part of the healing. For all my love of mystery novels, I’m not really a big fan of suspense.
I read three of hers in three days lately, kind of a submersion. I was tired by the end of the third and only skimmed it to make sure my memory of the denouement was right. So Agatha goes back on the shelf and I go back to facing reality. Still, I thank her. She and I have been down a few roads.
I’ve almost given up on popular fiction. Lately, it seems like it’s being written for people with short attention spans. I’m reading a book because I want paragraphs longer than a sound bite and a plot I can’t guess from the first page. If I wanted TV, I’d watch TV.
I was pleasantly surprised by Step on a Crack, which isn’t literature but which filled my need for entertainment without sedation. I wonder how much that had to do with the co-author. My main quibble would be with the title, which has exactly zero to do with anything.
Billed on the cover and on Amazon as a mystery, Case Histories is both more and less. As a mystery, it’s transparent, but I doubt the author intended it to be a whodunnit. No, it’s more of a series of interrelated character sketches in a crime-based framework. The characters have all been scarred by past tragedies and are now coming together through a series of unlikely coincidences to heal some of those wounds.
In no way is this a realistic book, but it is an entertaining one. I enjoyed the characters but could have done with a little less plot (attempts on the detective’s life are my least-favorite crime-series cliche). The book wraps up a little too neatly at the end but since you’ve come to care for the characters, it’s nice to see them happily settled.
Blah blah blah. We know I don’t like Koontz anymore. What we don’t know is why I keep reading him. I guess I’m just so disappointed. I don’t think there’s ever been an author I liked so much whose later work turned me off so bad. I’m finding these newer novels nearly unreadable due to choppy paragraphs combined with pointless purple prose and characters we’re told about rather than learn about.
The Taking also suffers from the worst case of deus ex machina I’ve ever witnessed. The machina literally turns out to be deus. You’re reading along about 15 pages from the end thinking there must be four or five volumes to go and then bam! All better. Never mind. It might as well be Pam waking up with Bobby in the shower.
OK, I swear. No more new Koontz books ever. If I get in a Koontz mood I’ll re-read something from his glorious past.
Some purple prose snippets:
“The certainty of purpose that characterized her approach to life seemed, however, to be less firm than usual, turning soggy under the influence of the deluge, so quickly washed thin and bleached of its former intensity.”
“Like cloud-fluttered moonglow in a dream rich with psychosis, orange firelight rippled across the rain-soaked lawn, over the loathsome bulbous fungus that now seemed obscene in its slimy tumescence.”
Read the reviews on Angels & Demons on Amazon and they all agree regardless of how many stars they assigned: It’s an exciting page turner with little redeeming value. This is not a book that makes you go “hmmmm” but it’s a book that makes you keep reading. Almost 500 pages and I think I read it in three days, so there you go.
As far as plausibility, it seemed no better or worse than The DaVinici Code. I’m not a religious person so I’m able to look at the religious details the same way I would if they were medical details. As long as I can follow the point, I’ll suspend disbelief with regard to the accuracy.
I did guess “whodunnit” almost immediately but Dan Brown got me mixed up enough to doubt myself. That’s really the leading characteristic of a good mystery writer. The solution has got to plausibly match the clues presented but can’t be obvious. One good way to do that is to arouse suspicion early and then divert it. Once the reader has considered and dismissed a suspect, the author is freer to play with his mind.
My rant about not being able to read popular fiction anymore: I know I’ve said this before. Sorry.
Are books getting worse or has reading “better” fiction ruined me for the curl-up-on-the-couch-with-wine-and-chocolate stuff? How come Dean Koontz sucks now? I used to like his writing. I used to love it. Do you think it’s still him writing or do you think it’s being farmed out?
Why are the paragraphs only one sentence long?
Two or three at the most.
And more fragments than sentences anyway.
You see where I’m going.
I know that shorter paragraphs lend a sense of urgency to writing, but the entire novel can’t be urgent. There’s never a chance to sit back and relax your way into the story. But then, if you slowed down you might realize that the plot lines and characters are overflowing heaps of story cliches.
There’s the tough woman and the surprisingly sensitive man and the overly intelligent animal. Someone is psychologically damaged and someone is physically damaged and they all have to work together to overcome the paranormal threat. Which they overcome. First you have some minor skirmishes, followed by a growing sense of dread, and then the heroes fight back–a final battle and victory!
Not to paraphrase Tom Cruise, but it’s glib. It’s superficial and easy. The author didn’t think about it and the reader doesn’t need to think about it. Certainly the publisher didn’t think about it much. Koontz? Good to go.
Brother Odd is fine. Whatever. I think he used to write better stuff but I may be mis-remembering. Is this really what the people want?
The Husband doesn’t start off well. It’s choppy and superficial. Koontz seems to be losing his touch. This could have been written by anyone. However, it did pick up. Once the big surprise is revealed, it gets less cliche-ridden and takes on a sense of urgency that carries the reader through.
So why am I reading such rubbish? Because being back in school and trying to train for a long race and climbing season starting again and having a vegan boyfriend are taking all my brain cycles. My brain is mush and must be fed mush in small doses (when it isn’t being fed 80 pages of anatomy). Unfortunately, my brain no longer enjoys the taste of mush. This is why I’ve been doing a lot of crossword puzzles lately. I like crossword puzzles, especially when they’re just-hard-enough and accompanied by a glass of white wine, but they’re hard to blog about.
I’d read Driving Lessons before as part of Duet, so I sort of remembered the trick ending. I don’t actually think this is one of McBain’s better efforts because it’s very dependent on the trick ending. His better books work just as well whether you know the ending or not. In fact, they can seem even richer and better fleshed out when you know where he’s headed.