Bad Luck and Trouble by Lee Child – 2 stars

I know: this is shocking. A 2 star book from Lee Child? Never say. Sadly, it’s true. Child was just going through the motions here, churning out another book on a tight schedule, and it showed. It felt forced; for one thing, if Reacher is so smart, why would he bullheadedly go down a wrong path without thinking twice about it? Completely disregarding, mind, a very reasonable possibility any reasonably intelligent person would have come up with in 5 minutes? So that Child could drag out the story for another 100 pages, that’s why.

This book was a huge disappointment, and simply does not compare with the rest of his work. 2 stars for being well-written enough—for all the flaws this book has, that wasn’t one of them—for me to make it the whole way through without too much complaint.

authors whose writing style I really like recommend books, I tend to listen. So when both Robin Hobb and Lynn Flewelling (whom herself I found through George R.R. Martin) recommended Fiona McIntosh’s Myrren’s Gift, I picked it up, no questions asked. It seems to be universally liked, but so far I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I suppose the plot could be interesting (I’m not far enough along to really be able to tell), but McIntosh’s writing is just clumsy. Don’t get me wrong; this is far from the worst book I’ve ever read. I’m just not sure it deserves all the praise it’s getting–and from the people it’s getting it from. Dialogue, usually the first thing to bother me, is actually not bad in this book. It’s not great, but it’s not horrible either.

No, what bothers me is the prose. To illustrate, here’s a passage from near the beginning of the book:

In the end it was her eyes that gave them their excuse to hunt down Myrren. Her eyes were bewitching indeed–one a piercing gray, the other an arresting green with flecks of warm brown. Lovely enough in isolation but so ill-matched as a pair that they were alarming to behold. Little wonder then that as soon as those eyes had settled from their newborn blue to their strange final coloring, her parents had fled from the city of Pearlis to the sleepy hamlet of Baelup in the southwest, where they raised their only daughter in relative obscurity.

Both knew this facial oddity would symbolize much to the Stalkers, hungry for prey. Thankfully the family’s sudden departure was soon yesterday’s gossip and quickly forgotten. Meanwhile, the folk of Baelup were known to be of liberal mind. The father, a wealthy physic, was a great boon for a community lacking in any medicinal talent, whilst the mother, a scholar, was a special boon for the youngsters of Baelup.

Not prone to the old superstitious fears of their city cousins, the folk of Baelup welcomed the gentle child Myrren, with her strange eyes and shy smile.

So when the Witch Stalkers finally came some nineteen years later it was such a shock that the physic’s weak heart had given out. He had died at their feet upon answering their terrifiying banging at the door.

The mother was helpless, watching her husband take his last breath while all she could do was rail at them, cursing them for having ever been born. She had finally slid to the floor in despair as she had watched Myrren, now a beautiful young woman, being dragged into the street.

The Stalkers had gone through their usual pointless list of contrived accusations–everything from disease in the south to an irritating bunion on the King’s foot was now firmly linked to Myrren’s devil craft. No farewells were permitted as Myrren was taken to the city.

This scene would have been so much better if McIntosh had chosen to actually step into it rather than describe it as a distant observer. She reveals too much of the backstory (and this is all over the place in the 44 pages I’ve read so far) and is too far distanced from the action. Myrren is one of the main characters in the book (seeing as her name is in the title of the book and all), so one would think that the first scene with her in it would involve her speaking, at least. As it stands, I know nothing about her character at all.

What would have been better, in my opinion, is if this were split into two scenes: one a slice of everyday life in Myrren’s household, where the family members and maybe a local villager or two were introduced (details like the parents’ occupations and the attitudes of the villagers can be revealed through dialogue), and the second the arrival of the Stalkers, both told from the points of view of the characters, not an omniscient narrator. Doing it this way makes it personal to the reader; they start caring about the characters and what happens to them. So far in this book, I can’t say I really care about any of the characters, for this very reason. Yes, doing what I suggested would slow down getting into the main story’s action, but the more invested the reader is in what’s happening, the better it is later on.

By way of comparison, here’s part of a scene from the beginning of Anne Bishop’s The Pillars of the World, which has a somewhat similar plot:

Adolfo, the Master Inquisitor, stood near the wide, open grave, his hands lightly clasped at his waist. A spring wind, too cold for this late in the season, tugged at his long, fur-lined, austerely cut brown coat. He paid no more heed to the wind than he did to the baron, Hirstun, standing beside him, or the common men who had gathered at this place to watch; his attention was focused on the men dragging the bound, struggling woman from the cart.

“Take care,” he said in that quietly stern voice that the countries of Arktos and Wolfram had already learned to fear. “Do [not] let her wickedness incite you to less than honorable behavior. Her remaining time should be spent in reflection and repentance on the harm she has done the good people of Kylwode and not on any harsh treatment that may come from your hands.”

The men holding the woman hesitated, then nodded.

She fought against their hands, making it impossible to lead her forward without dragging her.

Adolfo fixed his brown eyes on her. “Do not make this more difficult. Accept the fate your own actions have brought you to.” He paused, then added very gently, “Unless you have other things to confess?”

The woman stiffened, her eyes wide and fearful. A moment later, she sagged in her captors’ hands.

They led her to the open grave, keeping their steps small as she shuffled between them as well as the hobbles permitted. When they turned her to face Baron Hirstun and Adolfo, her eyes were filled with loathing for the men who had condemned her. She straightened, a last gesture of defiance that made her look like one of the gentry instead of a frightened, bedraggled woman who was about to die.

Adolfo felt fear creep down his spine, felt it collide with the hatred that had shaped his life until it settled into a dull ache in his lower back. That war within himself didn’t show on his face or in the eyes that always remained as soft and gentle-looking as a doe’s.

But the other men shifted uneasily as they felt the power rising in her.

It’s the last time it will rise, Adolfo reassured himself. And it can’t help her now. I’ve made sure of that. “Do you have any last words?” he asked her.

She said nothing.

Can you see the difference? You are dropped right into the action, and by this point (only about a third of way into the scene) you already have a pretty good idea of Adolfo’s character, of his quest, of the terror the woman is feeling. You can feel the wind blowing. Atmosphere: in Bishop’s scene, you could cut it with a knife. In contrast, Fiona McIntosh used about the same amount of words and I didn’t get anything out of it.

So you can see why I’m not too excited about Myrren’s Gift. I’ll do my best to read the whole thing, if only to see what all the fuss is about, but it’s not easy, let me tell you.

Update 08/14/2006 01:11 – OK. I finally gave up on this book. I just could not make myself read it; the writing style was too irritating. 2 stars.