A friend of mine who likes thrillers recommended Lee Child.
I’d never read a book by him and I wasn’t going to until I saw a selection of books that had influenced him spread out on a table in a bookshop. There was a little card on each saying why he liked it. He had such good taste I decided to give one of his own books a try.
The one I chose is called The Visitor.
It’s about a maverick tough guy called in by the FBI to help find a serial killer. Hmm. Very humdrum, isn’t it? Some people call it a thriller. It’s not really a thriller. It’s a mystery novel that’s not very mysterious because you can anticipate the rough outline of the plot as soon as the main characters are introduced and you can guess who the killer is about half way through. Lee Child makes an effort to kick up a little dust to disguise the identity and motive of the killer but he sticks so closely to the conventions of the genre that there are no shocks or surprises. That’s to his credit, I suppose. He has a very competent narrative style and a dry sense of humour, which makes the grisly subject matter a lot more palatable than it should be.
Why do people read so many of these kind of books?
I’ve no idea.