Whodunit?
Who cares?
What a disappointment. What an awful book.
For some time now I’ve wanted to read Mary Higgins Clark. She’s been well known for decades and has numerous books on library shelves. I finally decided to pick one up, “I’ve got You Under My Skin.’ I really wanted to like this book. I really was hoping to find a new author I enjoyed and stumble into a huge catalogue of novels I could peruse.
I’m writing this review without having finished the book, something I’ve only done one other time. I probably wont even bother.
The premise itself is a bit hard to believe. Laurie is a TV producer who stakes her career on a show that’s like ‘Unsolved Mysteries.’ Her first case is to revisit an unsolved murder of Betsy Powell 20 years ago. The dead woman’s husband, Robert, is a multi-millionaire, who, for some reason in an attempt to clear his own name and the name of some suspects, pays the suspects $300,000 to participate in this reenactment. However, for some reason, rather than using actors, she uses the real people themselves—those who were witnesses. She also has them wear the exact same clothes. Not sure why but I went with it. Laurie, camera crew and a cast of numerous possible killers show up to ‘recreate’ the murder while being questioned by a former detective. In other words, it’s a reenactment/trial.
SPOILER
In some ways, this is a classic whodunit. There were 4 recently graduated students who were present the night of the murder. They are all suspects. The husband, Robert, who was having an affair, is another suspect. There’s the mother of one of the students—another suspect—who was having an affair with Robert. There’s also the obligatory housekeeper as well as the suspicious limo driver. Literally, there are probably about 8 or potential suspects, all with reason to commit murder. 8 people, 1 weekend, 1 large mansion, 1 dead body: My GOD, the board game clue has come to life.
END SPOILER
I have a few issues. 1) The absolute boredom. I’ve read 165 pages of this 305 page novel and honestly, nothing happens. Not a thing. It’s 165 pages of people waking up, eating breakfast, riding in a limo, returning to their hotel, going to sleep. There are many characters involved as I stated above. But is it necessary to devote 3-4-5 pages to each individual waking up and what they had for breakfast. That’s 20-25 pages of waste. And then again, after a day of ‘filming,’ another 25 pages wasted as we see each person going back to their hotel individually and what they ate for dinner.
I’ve never read novels by MHC before and perhaps this is the way she writes but another thing I found annoying was the constant switch back and forth between third person and first person—within a chapter, within one person’s point of view. Also, the constant time jumps from present to past and back to present.
Example: In one scene, one character named George, is driving back to his hotel. (PRESENT) He starts thinking about his wife. (PAST). At this point the narrative goes from third person of us being told George did something to suddenly first person. I remember my wife’s cooking. She was a wonderful cook. I remember the first time I met my wife. (LONGER AGO PAST) I remember the first time I kissed her lips. I remember the first time I held her hand, George thought. I still remember our first trip to Europe and our first night in Paris. It was wonderful. George arrived at the hotel and got out of the car. (3rd person, back to present.) In one paragraph the author had 4 time jumps: Present, past, further past, present. Third person-first person-third person.
I’m not sure if this is how MHC writes but if it is, wow.
There was also the stereotypical plethora of worn characters: the retired NYC cop who apparently knows every member of law enforcement in a 50 mile radius of New York, the protagonist risking her career as she battles with self-doubt, the questionable wealthy guy who spends money hand over fist, the shadowy limo driver who tape records conversations, the football player who now relies on crutches, the daughter who hates her overbearing mother, the housekeeper who has a secret crush on the older age millionaire. And of course, the antagonist—who’s crazy yet a genius.
There were also, in addition to the worn out characters, were an abundance of worn out storylines: The protagonist who missed her son cause he just went away to camp for the first time, the guy on crutches who doesn’t think his wife loves him. An old guy has a heart attack. Someone faints.
I probably will not finish this book. I’m very disappointed because I really wanted to enjoy this novel and hoped to add a new well-established novelist to my repertoire. But I doubt I will finish it. I doubt I will read any more novels by Mary Higgins Clark.