About a quarter of the way through The Lock Artist, by Steve Hamilton, I began pondering one of those meta-questions about reading: What are the qualities of a book that make you not want to put it down? That compel you to read "just a couple more pages" until you wake at 4:15 a.m. with the lights on, your glasses perched on your nose and the book stretched open across your chest? That make you willing to tote two or three extra pounds of hardcover book in your bag, despite the sore neck it causes, on the off chance you'll be able to sneak away at lunch and read a chapter?
At first glance, The Lock Artist doesn't seem to be the sort of book that inspires these kind of musings. It's not book club material; there are no author interviews and high school English class style questions at the back. I only marked one passage, on page 36, with a Post-it® flag. The prose is crisp and clean, squarely in the American crime novel tradition, though more soft boiled than hard boiled. But it didn't inspire me to re-read passages (except when I realized I'd dozed off trying not to put the book down). In a twist now so conventional it's not twisted anymore, the narrator is the criminal, not the cop pursuing him. The plot, like the prose, is not complex. The author uses a technique that often annoys me, alternating chapters between past and present to build up to The Big Reveal, by which time almost anything revealed will be anti-climatic.
All the makings of a very ordinary crime thriller--that I couldn't wait to get back to, that I sacrificed sleep for, that I couldn't put down. The Lock Artist is one of those novels where all the ordinary pieces are so well done and come together so seamlessly that the result is an extraordinarily good read.
The narrator, Mike, is the 17-year-old Lock Artist, a boxman, a yegg, a safecracker and pick-lock with natural talent. He is a specialist who is called in to do one thing, get through the locks and into the safe. He is also the Miracle Boy, who at 9 survived some unnamed horror that has rendered him completely mute. The novel alternates between telling the story of how Mike became The Lock Artist and telling the story of how being The Lock Artist wound him up in prison, where he is at the beginning of the story. Is he redeemed from his life of crime and relieved of the trauma that silences him? No spoilers here. Read it for yourself.
One has to give some credit to Mike for making this book so gripping. He's a great character, likable, a little naive, honest despite being a thief, lacking in self-pity and stoic. His muteness allows those around him to impose their own personality on him, which he is sometimes able to use to his advantage. He does not blame anyone for his life or his own choices, and he is perhaps a bit too generous toward those who took his choices away from him.
Mike is an artist in another way: He draws. He communicates to the love of his life through comic book panels that become his voice and finally allow him to tell his own story. It occurs to me that much of the book has that comic book quality (meant as a good thing; I like comic books). Each chapter, each scene contains only what is needed to convey the story, and yet the simplicity is deceptive because what is conveyed with a single line is more evocative than pages of text.
Last week, The Lock Artist won the 2011 Edgar Award for Best Novel. It is well-deserved. Lately I've been disappointed in several books that have garnered awards and praise and top spots on best-of lists. This book restores my faith in the award-givers that sometimes, at least, they really do know what they're doing.