Rarely have I been so glad that I checked a book out of the library rather than buying it.
I picked up this bait-and-switch "mystery" because of the intriguing premise detailed on the back cover:
Rob Ryan and his partner, Cassie Maddox, land the first big murder case of their police careers: a 12-year-old girl has been murdered in the woods adjacent to a Dublin suburb. Twenty years before, two children disappeared in the same woods, and Ryan was found clinging to a tree trunk, his sneakers filled with blood, unable to tell police anything about what happened to his friends. Ryan, although scarred by his experience, employs all his skills in the search for the killer and in hopes that the investigation will also reveal what happened to his childhood friends.
SPOILER: Ha ha! Thought you'd find out what happened when he was a kid, right? Ha ha!
The majority of the book is about Ryan investigating a current mystery whose solution seems quite obvious and cliched, and having a cliched and annoying affair with his partner. Periodically, he tries to dig into far, far more interesting mystery of his past, and also the question of why he still can't remember anything about it. He regains tantalizing snippets of memories while investigating and finally figuring out the incredibly obvious solution to the current mystery, which I guessed a hundred pages before he did.
The current mystery comes to a deeply unsatisfying resolution, of the fake-gritty, "you moron, you didn't bother to follow procedure so now the detailed confession by the murderer is inadmissable and they will walk free."
As for the question of his past, Ryan realizes that he will never have any idea whatsoever of what happened. The end!
And then I metaphorically hurled the book across the room with great and metaphorical force.
I have ranted about this before (see hirshberg tag), but I HATE it when something is set up as a mystery which will have a solution, and then the author fails to solve the mystery and instead writes, "Like real life, some things are unknowable and some mysteries are never solved, so this too will have no resolution."
IT'S A MYSTERY NOVEL. It's up to the AUTHOR whether or not to solve the mystery.
I don't mind open-ended conclusions and having to draw my own conclusions about some things, but I very much dislike it when something is set up as a puzzle, and then not solved because it's "realistic." All else aside, in real life things aren't so clearly set up as puzzles!
Why this won the Edgar is beyond me.
In the Woods
I picked up this bait-and-switch "mystery" because of the intriguing premise detailed on the back cover:
Rob Ryan and his partner, Cassie Maddox, land the first big murder case of their police careers: a 12-year-old girl has been murdered in the woods adjacent to a Dublin suburb. Twenty years before, two children disappeared in the same woods, and Ryan was found clinging to a tree trunk, his sneakers filled with blood, unable to tell police anything about what happened to his friends. Ryan, although scarred by his experience, employs all his skills in the search for the killer and in hopes that the investigation will also reveal what happened to his childhood friends.
SPOILER: Ha ha! Thought you'd find out what happened when he was a kid, right? Ha ha!
The majority of the book is about Ryan investigating a current mystery whose solution seems quite obvious and cliched, and having a cliched and annoying affair with his partner. Periodically, he tries to dig into far, far more interesting mystery of his past, and also the question of why he still can't remember anything about it. He regains tantalizing snippets of memories while investigating and finally figuring out the incredibly obvious solution to the current mystery, which I guessed a hundred pages before he did.
The current mystery comes to a deeply unsatisfying resolution, of the fake-gritty, "you moron, you didn't bother to follow procedure so now the detailed confession by the murderer is inadmissable and they will walk free."
As for the question of his past, Ryan realizes that he will never have any idea whatsoever of what happened. The end!
And then I metaphorically hurled the book across the room with great and metaphorical force.
I have ranted about this before (see hirshberg tag), but I HATE it when something is set up as a mystery which will have a solution, and then the author fails to solve the mystery and instead writes, "Like real life, some things are unknowable and some mysteries are never solved, so this too will have no resolution."
IT'S A MYSTERY NOVEL. It's up to the AUTHOR whether or not to solve the mystery.
I don't mind open-ended conclusions and having to draw my own conclusions about some things, but I very much dislike it when something is set up as a puzzle, and then not solved because it's "realistic." All else aside, in real life things aren't so clearly set up as puzzles!
Why this won the Edgar is beyond me.
In the Woods
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Do you have any books to rec which would scratch the "Still haunted by childhood trauma" itch that I hoped the first book would be about?
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If you start your story on a small boy going home to pick up his football so he can get into the game in the corner lot, and then let him fall into one adventure after another until the end of the story, your reader is going to come out of that story fighting mad unless he is told whether or not the boy got his football and whether he ever got back to the game.
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ANGRY SPOILERS ALL UP IN THIS COMMENT
Apparently there's a book with Cassie set after this book. The Amazon reviews said it was a bit better but once bitten, etc.
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Re: ANGRY SPOILERS ALL UP IN THIS COMMENT
I will never read another book by French. WTF!
Also, Rob was a jerk and the solution to the stupid current mystery was kind of misogynistic. GRRRR!
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I loath this book so much I will now attempt to type my agreement with you awkwardly on my phone!
Never before have I finished a book out of pure, hate-filled, spite. I disliked every character, even Cassi for not seeing what douchebag Rob was. No one is even remotely sympathetic! By the end I was almost gleeful Rob was foiled because of how much I wanted to beat his head against a wall for being such a stupid man-child!
Aaaaarrrggghh! It still gives me palpatations. Ugh.
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Rationally, I think it's possible--with that one, at least--that I was reading a litfic novel with mystery novel conventions in my head, but that didn't make reading it any more satisfying or enjoyable. I kept wishing someone had told me, around page 50, "Oh, by the way, you never find out what happened to the brother," so then I could stop.
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It was even worse because The Secret History is one of my very favorite books. Now there's a good example of leaving some mysteries open-ended while still being satisfying.
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Truth is stranger than fiction, because fiction has a responsibility to make sense. Unlike truth. If I wanted unresolved mysteries, I would read non-fiction, thank you so much.
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Geez, as a writer I could come up with all kind of crazy good questions, like how did he end up with his socks soaked in someone else's blood but no blood on the outside of his shoes (if memory serves), but it is total freaking cheat not to answer them.
I read part of her second but couldn't buy the premise. I am ashamed to say I read the third, even after two disappointments. Again, I like her writing page to page. But the killer was pretty obvious, and I kept thinking she was going to pull a twist, but she did not.
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This book- sounds like it would seriously piss me off!
And I'd add 2 of my own- Duplicity Dogged the Dachshund (A Dixie Hemingway Mystery #2) with my review: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/203
That one I chalk up more to the cover/marketing, but it still pissed me off.
And the highly rec'd Eye of the Red Tsar: A Novel of Suspense (Pekkala #1)
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/70153
Which I didn't get around to reviewing, but what pissed me off is the guy is supposed to be some kind of super detective with a massive attention to detail and a photographic memory and the entire plot boils down to him not being able to tell two people apart- both of whom he know and who are probably 10 years apart in age and oh, yea, one has a freaking birthmark on his face. And once you kinda realize he's a moron, you think back through the book and realize they never really had him display even basic competence in solving any mysteries as the Tsar's top guy. And then the very end- which was necessary for a sequel I guess- just confirms the high level of stupid.
Bleh. I'd go look up the Anne Perry novel that made me stop reading Ann Perry novels, but it's too painful to contemplate right now.
Heh- I love seeing bad reviews when they are deserved.
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BUT. BUT BUT BUT, RACHEL.
I JUST FINISHED READING A BOOK THAT WAS SO TERRIBAD, ONLY YOU COULD APPRECIATE IT. i kind of want to write a review, but more than that i kind of want to make you read it so you can suffer with me.
i am so emotionally torn.
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From:tongue. cheek.
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