OK. That being said, things were not entirely awful. I'm nearly done with Tigerman, which I picked up because an NPR reviewer practically had babies with it. "How do you know when a book has hooked you? When it really gets you in the guts and won't let go?" he gabbled. "When you can't stop telling people about it. When you catch yourself inserting the title of the book into conversations where it has no place, breathlessly insisting to all your friends and relations that they need to read this book right now, and waving it around on elevators and hoping that someone asks you about it." Crikey. It's like he's found religion, or a really great sex toy.
But nothing can compete with that kind of build up, it turns out. Or probably something could, but not Tigerman. I'm 95% of the way through so it's possible the last few pages will just knock my tiny socks off, but given what I've digested so far, it's only OK. I put it down without regret and must remind myself to pick it up the next day. While I appreciate many passages, Harkaway spends way too much time in his narrator's mine, ruminating. Like a cow chewing her cud. This is what's happening. This is how I feel. This is what might occur next. This is what it all means. Dude, seriously, put the brain down and pick the gun up. I would never offer that advice to a real person, but you are the narrator of a thriller: stop philosophizing and do things.
|Love the Chip Kidd designed cover, though!|
Dear genre fiction ... I love you, but we need to see other people.
To see the other Coffeehouse reviews, which hopefully will be more enthusiastic, go to our kindly host's page. Happy reading!