Detective,Mystery,Crime Binge

I've been on this binge-of-sorts lately - of detective/mystery/action/legal/crime/suspense type paperbacks.  Nelson DeMille, John Grisham, Daniel Silva, James Patterson et al.

I've been reading them without rhyme or reason - just whatever I can get my hands on - Run For Your Life, The Associate, The Last Juror, The Messenger, Plum Island, The Lion's Game... and, often, not waiting to complete one before starting the next novel.

Most days I switch between 2 or even 3 books I am "currently reading"... Easier to do as I have one book in the car, one in my backpack, two or three on my night stand so wherever I happen to be, I have a book handy to read.

Of course, even in this genre, there are some really well-written books with attention to language and plot and characters just as there are some quick cheap thrillers. Nelson DeMille's John Corey vs. Daniel Silva's Gabriel Allon vs. James Patterson's Michael Bennett... International Terrorist vs. Domestic Psychopath... it's all in the game. Just light reading.

And then, I've been re-reading some of the traditional classics of the detective mystery genre - Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, P.D.James, John le Carré.

Though nothing much about these books inspired me to write a detailed post here, they satisfied a certain craving nevertheless.

Bourne Sanction, Bourne Deception

Bourne Sanction,
Bourne Deception,
by Eric Van Lustbader



No doubt many from my generation went through the Richard Bach phase quoting profusely from Illusions, saving a special place in their hearts (and bookshelves) for Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

When I was young and impressionable, and not so jaded, I fell in love with just about every dashing character in the novels I read. Like Jason Bourne, for instance. I could never get him out of my mind among all the two dozen Ludlum novels I read until the plot all began to get enmeshed, confounding my poor brain.

I refused to watch Matt Damon's Jason Bourne movies because I did not want to distort this perfect image of Bourne I had shaped in my teenage mind. Eventually, I did give in and watch, fighting and knocking it all the way through. I love Matt Damon. Totally. But, I liked the Jason Bourne my mind created more. Matt was just too cute to be Jason in my head. No matter.

Anyway, taking a popular character like Bourne, written by a master of the genre, and trying to present him to the same (and potentially new) audience is not easy. So, when I heard about the new Jason Bourne novels by Eric Van Lustbader, I scoffed thanks to my usual state of resistance to welcome change.

And then, I came around and read them. And, they are not too terrible. Considering how easily I get disenchanted these days, it has not been easy to stick with tedious and meandering prose and plot in action mystery thriller novels genre anymore.

Did I like the new Bourne books? Well, it depends on what we mean by "like".

I read it fast, it wasn't too time-consuming. It wasn't too painful. The prose was quite repetitive and blasé. The plot moved more at a leisurely freight train speed when I expected close to purposeful jetliner speed, if not warp-speed. But, that's just me. I'll stick with my original Jason Bourne until Ludlum decides to come back and breathe life into his enigmatic character, entangling him in believable yet convoluted plots, unfolding a fantastic story that I have to read holding my breath.

The Lost Symbol

The Lost Symbol
by Dan Brown

Ages ago, when I recorded my thoughts on my then recent-reads by Dan Brown, I was looking forward to the next book involving Prof. Langdon. Now that I've read The Lost Symbol, I must say I feel terribly let down.

I typically reserve this little corner of mine for noting down books that I liked - a sort of self-imposed rule to share the joys... after all, what is the point of writing about all the books I didn't enjoy? However, I have to make exceptions every now and then, and this is one of them.

The Lost Symbol was frustrating to get through, to say the least. The writing was banal, the plot was anemic, the characters were stale and tiresome, the villain was one-dimensional and unsurprising. All of this would have been easier to handle if there was an overarching mystery minus the sermonizing.

Rather than languish in the disillusion, I'll quit with this brief report.

[Image source: knopfdoubleday.com/danbrown/]

The Black Tower by P.D.James

The Black Tower
by Phyllis Dorothy James White

I've read about a dozen or so of P.D.James. About a decade ago. On a whim, I wanted to read a few again just for nostalgia, like reading Agatha Christie over and over even though I know what happens...

Adam Dalgliesh, aging yet athletic, sharp, with a keen sense of justice, makes a likable protagonist. BBC's production of Adam Dalgliesh mysteries are probably well-known, but, reading P.D.James is quite a different sort of pleasure altogether. Dry, wry wit, some incidental humor, fairly serious yet not fantastically outlandish plot, gradual development of characters over the pages, unlikely hero caught up in a web of deceit that he must unravel at the risk of his life... throw in some fairly pathetic supporting characters, a few murders and a colorful adversary, and you get a winning combination for a satisfying detective novel.

This is a macabre story, bordering on creepy, especially since it is set in a remote sanitarium with terminal invalids who feel desperate and hopeless about their lives; and, Adam keeps convincing himself that he is past his prime and is no longer suited for solving crime, as if suffering from borderline depression, and is just convalescing after being told that he was terminal, so he doesn't really actively investigate until too many coincidences and incongruities become impossible to ignore.