Good God! What the hell happened to the writer who wrote “Fatherland” and “Enigma”? This work is too long by at least half. Harris would be well advised to decide if he’s writing History or Fiction, because his version of historical fiction doesn’t work. Too bad, because there is a half-decent story here; someone just needs to chop it out with an axe.
Fforde is ffantastic! Ffifty shades better than that other pretender who used a similar-but-longer title in a recent bestseller. Ffour spoons out off ffive. Iff only the scenes with the giant swan attacks weren’t so graph(f)ic! Too soon, Jasper, too soon!
Just think. A sixteen-year-old Reacher in New York City, alone, looking for good music and a chance to get lucky. Just think. New York in the middle of the blackout in a heat wave and Son of Sam stalking Reacher and his date as his luck plays out. Just think. Reacher’s sense of chivalry putting him between a tainted FBI agent and the mob leader she’s trying to bring down. Just think. A preternaturally mature Reacher bringing his finely honed sense of honour and inborn confrontation skills into play well before he becomes the man we know form the series. Just think. High Heat. Sucky ending, though.
It has become so commonplace to plot a novel by following seemingly unrelated characters along individual plot lines until they all merge together into some seemingly fated event as to be cliche. Unless you’re Alexander Yates. Then, it works. A stunning debut novel, almost as magical as the bruho who populate it. The difference is that each thread could be an actual novel in itself, not just a device to tie it all together. The finale wraps up not as we expect it, or as we think it should, or even how Yates thinks it should; it ends the way it must.