A good/bad (or bad/good) thriller. A page-turner whose faults only come into high relief at the end, when This Reader, at any rate, was left thinking, Is that it?
Swanson is not stylist: his writing is clunky and oddly formal (things don't "happen," they "transpire"); his dialogue can sound like a nervous speaker addressing a town meeting, not the way people really talk to each other. He has never met a cliche he didn't like (Channelling the thoughts of his central character, a young man born and bred in New York City, he refers to "the asphalt island of Manhattan." Oh, yeah, that's how New Yorkers think of Manhattan. All the time.)
But for a good deal of the novel, it works, and it keeps those pages turning. It helps that the affectless prose is often very suitable for his characters, who are the oddest bunch of people you might ever (not) want to meet. The clunky dialogue, and odd word choice add to the sense that these are people who once read a how-to book on "being human." They have mislaid it, but they can remember the key points, and they can usually get by, pretending that they care about about other people, and understand their feelings.
It also helps that Swanson is excellent in his pacing, and organizing his narrative. Now, some reviewers have, unkindly, complained about little things like a "glacial pace" and "nothing happens" -- I loved it. I loved the way Swanson uses chapters labelled "Now" and "Then" to layer the narrative -- with the chapters from the past of step-mother and sudden widow Alice providing texture and real menace to otherwise bland details happening in the "now." I thought that was very nicely done.
So, why just 3-stars? Well, the clunky style begins to overstay its welcome, and feel more like, yeah, it's a flaw, not a strategic choice. In the final third of the novel -- and I don't think this is a spoiler -- the careful layering disappears in a plodding dump of exposition: "this is what really happened." Unlike some reviewers, I liked the moral ambiguity, but I don't think Swanson is up to going all the way with the possibilities he sets up: this is no "Lolita." And the ultimately tying up of all the loose ends feels facile and disappointing ...
BUT it's a good read. Great airport read, if we ever get the chance to go on an airplane again. Great way to pass a few lockdown hours.
Swanson is not stylist: his writing is clunky and oddly formal (things don't "happen," they "transpire"); his dialogue can sound like a nervous speaker addressing a town meeting, not the way people really talk to each other. He has never met a cliche he didn't like (Channelling the thoughts of his central character, a young man born and bred in New York City, he refers to "the asphalt island of Manhattan." Oh, yeah, that's how New Yorkers think of Manhattan. All the time.)
But for a good deal of the novel, it works, and it keeps those pages turning. It helps that the affectless prose is often very suitable for his characters, who are the oddest bunch of people you might ever (not) want to meet. The clunky dialogue, and odd word choice add to the sense that these are people who once read a how-to book on "being human." They have mislaid it, but they can remember the key points, and they can usually get by, pretending that they care about about other people, and understand their feelings.
It also helps that Swanson is excellent in his pacing, and organizing his narrative. Now, some reviewers have, unkindly, complained about little things like a "glacial pace" and "nothing happens" -- I loved it. I loved the way Swanson uses chapters labelled "Now" and "Then" to layer the narrative -- with the chapters from the past of step-mother and sudden widow Alice providing texture and real menace to otherwise bland details happening in the "now." I thought that was very nicely done.
So, why just 3-stars? Well, the clunky style begins to overstay its welcome, and feel more like, yeah, it's a flaw, not a strategic choice. In the final third of the novel -- and I don't think this is a spoiler -- the careful layering disappears in a plodding dump of exposition: "this is what really happened." Unlike some reviewers, I liked the moral ambiguity, but I don't think Swanson is up to going all the way with the possibilities he sets up: this is no "Lolita." And the ultimately tying up of all the loose ends feels facile and disappointing ...
BUT it's a good read. Great airport read, if we ever get the chance to go on an airplane again. Great way to pass a few lockdown hours.
