I really had looked forward to this book.
Lee Child had been one of my inspirations as a writer. His Jack Reacher character has become a heroic cultural icon, and with good reason. Reacher is extraordinarily tough, resourceful, brilliant, and relentless in his pursuit of vigilante justice for victims of powerful predators. Child's personal example, as an unemployed TV director who turned to writing thrillers in mid-life -- encouraged me (then pushing 60) to finally get around to writing my own thriller series. In fact, my Dylan Hunter vigilante hero, though in many respects different from Reacher, is drawn from the same basic mythological archetype: the knight errant with a passion for justice.
Having interviewed Child in 2007 for a magazine I edited at the time, I came away believing that his fictional hero was the product of deep-rooted conviction, not of commercially motivated artifice. Which is why I so eagerly anticipated "The Hero," Child's first work of nonfiction. I hoped it would offer unique insights into the nature of fictional and cultural heroes, from the perspective of an author who had created his own contemporary folk hero. The promotional material for this book certainly promised as much.
But perhaps I should have paid closer attention during that interview, when Child told me he'd never really aspired to become a writer; that he only wanted to be an entertainer. It hinted that Reacher might have been less the product of burning inner passion than of cool market calculation. So did Child's willingness, much later, to allow the diminutive-but-bankable Tom Cruise to portray his crusading Goliath on screen, despite the fact Cruise's stature clashed laughably with the long-established public image of the giant character -- which ignited an angry rebellion among Reacher's most devoted fans. So did my uncomfortable impression, shared by some exceptional fellow-authors, that in several recent books Child has been "mailing it in" (as one of them put it).
Still, I pre-ordered "The Hero" and read it as soon as it arrived. Finishing it, I was more than disappointed.
I was angry.
First of all, I have invested more time in long yawns than it took me to read this trifle masquerading as a "book." Even so, an essay can condense powerful insights in few words. Here, though, there were few insights to speak of -- unless you think stuff like the following qualifies: "What is the purpose of fiction? I think it can be summed up in a simple phrase: To give people what they don't get in real life."
Well...duh.
That profundity appears not at the beginning of the "book," but 75% of the way through it. En route, we are taken upon a long and winding anthropological and archaeological expedition filled with the author's speculations, such as why homo sapiens survived while Neanderthals did not, and much else that had little discernible relationship to the "book's" title and (I therefore foolishly assumed) subject.
In fact, even for an exposition this slight, Child doesn't really dive down into the topic of "story" until two-thirds of the way in, when he proclaims that "The entire purpose of story is to manipulate." Leaving aside that dubious proposition, he opines that centuries ago there developed a division between the "official heroes" pushed by governing elites, and "folk heroes." He uses the evolution of the Robin Hood myth as an example of how the "establishment's" need for social control competed with deep-rooted emotional needs of the public to shape a given myth to serve its time and place.
Then we encounter my second disappointment, besides the trifling length of the "book": a shocking descent into cynicism. Cynicism about heroes, particularly.
Child begins by sneering at the politically manipulative use of the term "hero" to describe most soldiers, who never see combat. All right, point taken. Then he decries the promiscuous application of the "hero" label in everyday life, to many other undeserving recipients. Sure; it devalues the concept; so who would argue with that?
But then he leaps from attacking the wrongful use of the concept "hero," to attacking the concept per se. This is from the close of the "book":
"For these reasons and more I avoid the word, and distrust the concept. I have no heroes and recognize none. 'The main character in a popular book' is good enough for me, especially if that character lights up the circuits that evolution has wired inside me. I need encouraging, empowering, emboldening and consoling, the same as anyone else. Happily there are a lot of writers who know that...All good. Except not really...There's an unthinking assumption that evolution is always progress...Who are we descended from?...The nice guys died out. By the end the human population was reduced to the nastiest handful...They would kill you as soon as look at you. My ancestors. Hopefully diluted by subsequent random mutations, but to at least some degree, and always, a part of me, and of the characters I like to read, and the characters I like to write."
Now here is Lee Child, inventor of an iconic folk hero, writing a "book" purporting to tell us all about "The Hero" -- but instead informing us, in his closing sentences, not only that the "hero" concept is applied too promiscuously, but that it is a bogus concept to be discarded.
The sheer cynicism is breathtaking. Child has become extraordinarily famous and wealthy by creating a fictional role model whose courage and ingenuity in pursuit of justice, and in the face of great risks and obstacles, are "encouraging, empowering, emboldening and consoling" millions of readers. Yet now he's telling those very fans, who elevated him to his lofty social status, that the real purpose of stories like his is to "manipulate" -- and worse: that he doesn't really find his creation to be a "hero," but some "nasty" descendant from our savage evolutionary past.
This disrespects his readers and trivializes their need -- especially at times like these -- for inspiring heroes like Jack Reacher. When that popular hero's creator writes a book titled "The Hero," then ends it by attacking the very concept, that's called "bait and switch." I'm sure a lot of Reacher fans will rightly view it that way.
I have made it a point of honor never to publicly criticize other fiction writers. I know, first-hand, how tough and challenging this gig is. But I am making my first exception. A writer engages in a transaction with his readers, and there's an implied contract involved. He should respect his creation, especially one beloved by so many; and he should respect what they are seeking and finding in his creation. If he loses that respect, then at very least he owes it to his readers to keep his dispiriting cynicism to himself.
In writing this critique, I take nothing away from Lee Child's storytelling skills, or the merits of his thrillers. They stand as terrific tales of suspense, and Jack Reacher remains a towering hero to me, as he does to millions.
It pains me deeply that I can no longer say the same for his creator.