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A.J.'s Reviews > Hold Tight
Hold Tight
by Harlan Coben
by Harlan Coben
When Alfred Hitchcock said that whodunnits can basically be summed up in an epilogue, he wasn't exaggerating.
I've tried, my friends––I've tried so hard to accept the mystery/thriller genre. I've taken classes, read the best authors, examined everything from Edgar Allen Poe to Elmore Leonard. I figured that since I've got a reading list pretty stacked with horror, fantasy and scifi, I might want to shake things up a bit, add a little variety, and take a look at Harlan Coben. That, and he happens to be my father's favorite author. Nothing against my old man, but this book is lacking.
First of all, Coben has two speeds: dialogue and exposition. When he's not cramming same-speaking characters into scene after scene of noirish banter, he's got his writerly cap on, trying desperately to make me care about his cast of stock characters. Oh sure, I suppose they each have a trait or two that helps me distinguish them, but they're all universally uninspiring.
His style is blunt. No-nonsense. You want frills and pink doilies? Piss off. That is, of course, until he realizes that his own characters lack backstory and world view. At varying times throughout the 416 page novel the plot gets put on hold while he delves for a page or two into the life and times of Character X, Y, or Z. Half of it pertains to the obligatory ending; the other half is just...well...there.
Perhaps my scathing criticism is a product of my tastes, but with nearly every mystery I've ever read, the author seems to simply be going through the motions. Mr. Coben is particularly guilty of a class 1 felony, Failure to Develop Characters. The only––and I mean only––reason I can muster as to why people read a book like this is simple.
Airports.
You've got four hours to Florida, and four hours back, plus or minus ten in waiting, delays, etc. You're not looking for depth, you're not looking for substance. What you need is a question presented to you on page one which should, if all goes well, be answered on page 400. Don't waste time with characters, don't waste time with a theme. Give me the cotton candy book and help me take my mind off the stench of the guy sitting next to me. I suppose that's okay, but for me, without a more attractive premise, you'd better bring something besides twenty pages of explanation at the end of the journey to make up for the desert that was the first 9/10 of the novel.
Take a pass on this. There's too many good books out their to sink your time into another formulaic mystery/thriller.
I've tried, my friends––I've tried so hard to accept the mystery/thriller genre. I've taken classes, read the best authors, examined everything from Edgar Allen Poe to Elmore Leonard. I figured that since I've got a reading list pretty stacked with horror, fantasy and scifi, I might want to shake things up a bit, add a little variety, and take a look at Harlan Coben. That, and he happens to be my father's favorite author. Nothing against my old man, but this book is lacking.
First of all, Coben has two speeds: dialogue and exposition. When he's not cramming same-speaking characters into scene after scene of noirish banter, he's got his writerly cap on, trying desperately to make me care about his cast of stock characters. Oh sure, I suppose they each have a trait or two that helps me distinguish them, but they're all universally uninspiring.
His style is blunt. No-nonsense. You want frills and pink doilies? Piss off. That is, of course, until he realizes that his own characters lack backstory and world view. At varying times throughout the 416 page novel the plot gets put on hold while he delves for a page or two into the life and times of Character X, Y, or Z. Half of it pertains to the obligatory ending; the other half is just...well...there.
Perhaps my scathing criticism is a product of my tastes, but with nearly every mystery I've ever read, the author seems to simply be going through the motions. Mr. Coben is particularly guilty of a class 1 felony, Failure to Develop Characters. The only––and I mean only––reason I can muster as to why people read a book like this is simple.
Airports.
You've got four hours to Florida, and four hours back, plus or minus ten in waiting, delays, etc. You're not looking for depth, you're not looking for substance. What you need is a question presented to you on page one which should, if all goes well, be answered on page 400. Don't waste time with characters, don't waste time with a theme. Give me the cotton candy book and help me take my mind off the stench of the guy sitting next to me. I suppose that's okay, but for me, without a more attractive premise, you'd better bring something besides twenty pages of explanation at the end of the journey to make up for the desert that was the first 9/10 of the novel.
Take a pass on this. There's too many good books out their to sink your time into another formulaic mystery/thriller.
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Hey Ed,Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with what people like to read. You like mysteries? Totally cool. They just haven't done much for me. Yes and yes on Chandler and Hammett; I've also read a little Agatha Christie, Robert Parker, Arthur Conan Doyle, and viewed a list of noir films from here to the floor. A few of the films rocked me, but the fiction has been ho hum for the most part. And I wasn't meaning to thrash the genre as much as the Coben novel. I scarcely feel qualified to sit in judgement on an entire genre. The stuff I've tried may or may not represent the cream of the crop.
Hope you enjoy Martin's series. I hope by "picked up" you mean that you physically lifted "Twilight" off the shelf, broke out laughing, and promptly put it back down (preferably out of sight).
Cheers,
-A.J.
A.J. wrote: "Hey Ed,Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with what people like to read. You like mysteries? Totally cool. They just haven't done much for me. Yes and yes on Chandler and Hammett; I've also re..."
I hope by "picked up" you mean that you physically lifted "Twilight" off the shelf, broke out laughing, and promptly put it back down (preferably out of sight).
A.J.,
Absolutely. I do not understand the fascination with, not only this book, but the whole recent rush to "vampirism". I am not trashing the whole genre but just a lot of the recent manifestations.
Have you tried James Lee Burke? Alan Furst? Manning Henkell? Jonathan Kellerman? Raymond Chandler? Dashiell Hammett?
Granted I'm a fan of the genre, you so generously trashed but to include all so-called mystery/thrillers in your condemnation seems to me to be overreaching a bit.
I also read your review of "A Clash of Kings" and immediately added it and its sister volumes to my "To Read" list. I also liked your review of the "Twilight" disaster. I picked it up at a bookstore and broke out laughing. No need to actually read the thing. I can hardly wait to skip seeing the movie.