Think Twice by Harlan Coben

Published by Grand Central Publishing on May 14, 2024

When Harlan Coben writes standalone novels, the results are hit-or-miss. When he writes Myron Bolitar novels, Coben ups his game.

Bolitar was a star player in college basketball. His pro career was immediately ended by an injury. He compensated by earning a law degree and becoming a sports agent. His career has moved in varying directions, but he is again working with his best friend, the almost equally athletic Win Lockwood. Bolitar and Lockwood have a knack for getting into trouble.

Think Twice is a serial killer novel. There are way more serial killer novels than there are serial killers, but the reading public’s appetite for fictional serial killers seems insatiable. I give Coben credit for making the serial killer theme fresh and interesting in Think Twice. The novel’s serial killer avoids detection and capture by framing someone else for each of the murders. Since the killings have no obvious connection and since cops will almost always fall for a frame (it’s easier to draw seemingly obvious conclusions than to conduct a full investigation), the killer has had a successful run.

Bolitar gets involved when the police show up at his office, demanding to know the location of Greg Downing. Bolitar believes Downing was cremated after his death three years earlier, making his location difficult to pinpoint. The police nevertheless suspect that Downing has committed a series of murders. Because DNA tests suggest that Downing’s skin was found beneath the fingernails of a recently murdered supermodel, Bolitar is prompted to look into Downing’s death.

It’s not a spoiler to reveal that Downing is still alive and has married a woman named Grace. It would be a spoiler to reveal whether Downing is the serial killer the police believe him to be.

Downing was a frenemy of Bolitar, a competitor on the basketball court who made his way to the NBA, stole Bolitar’s girlfriend (Emily), and had something to do with the injury that ended Bolitar’s career. Downing disappeared to Asia before (as far as the world knows) he died.

To find Downing, Bolitar and Lockwood follow a series of clues that lead them to a gay man named Bo with whom Downing was exchanging flirtatious messages. Bo’s boyfriend was also a murder victim. Could he have been another of Downing’s victim? The body count will increase before the plot resolves.

Bolitar also connects with his biological son, who was conceived by Emily the night before she married Downing. Neither Downing nor Bolitar are models of exemplary behavior, but they are partially redeemed by their guilty consciences and attempts to atone.

Lockwood makes fun of Bolitar’s tendency to examine the moral implications of competing choices (Lockwood tends to simplify moral issues by killing the bad guys), but Bolitar is a more interesting character because he considers (or overthinks) the consequences of his actions. I appreciate the recognition of moral ambiguity that most tough guy novels lack. Bolitar tries to practice forgiveness in his relationship with Downing, for example, but are there some betrayals that do not deserve forgiveness?

The plot has multiple threads, enough to hold the reader’s attention and perhaps challenge the reader to remember details. The ending, including a final twist, is surprising. Coben ties the threads together neatly at the end, but not too neatly. Coben recognizes that full truths are rarely known and deliberately leaves a few minor questions unanswered.

As the novel moves toward its ending, the story creates palpable tension as a key character is endangered. A moving chapter near the end may change the direction of future novels. Kudos to Coben for having the courage to shake up a popular series.

RECOMMENDED

This Country Is No Longer Yours by Avik Jain Chatlani

Published by Penguin Random House Canada/Bond Street Books on May 7, 2024

This Country Is No Longer Yours tells the story of Peru from roughly 1980 to the beginning of the twenty-first century. The story is told from different perspectives in five sections, sometimes in the first person, sometimes in the third.

The focus is on a civil war (or, depending on how you look at it, a fight between the government and terrorists) during the 1980s and 90s. The brief initial section is narrated by a Peruvian student who, at the behest of a professor, is in Cambodia during the late 1970s to study Pol Pot’s version of Maoism. He is tasked with watching “the end of the world” — or, at least, the end of more than a million lives at the hands of the Khmer Rouge, whose members have evacuated cities and towns, forcing residents to work collectively in fields, “liberating” them from capitalist excess while murdering university students, teachers, lawyers, doctors, members of the media, landlords, and Pol Pot’s critics. The student is uncertain that Pol Pot’s methods can be implemented effectively in Peru.

The professor is Abimael Guzman. He wants to lead his own Maoist revolution in Peru. To that end, he founds the Shining Path (Sendero Luminoso). The Shining Path wages a guerrilla war with the aim of liberating ordinary people from the influence of intellectuals, politicians, property owners, and anyone else who doesn’t follow Guzman’s brand of communism. Terrorizing the population with brazen robberies and killings, the Sendero kill and gut stray dogs before stringing them up on lampposts, symbolizing the fate of the “dogs who betray Mao.”

Within a few years, Sendero terrorists have chased Indians from the countryside into Lima, where they live in poverty. Most people with resources have secured visas and fled the country.

Part two is narrated by a government security officer who works under an advisor to President Garcia known as the Doctor. The officer is later recruited to work for Garcia’s successor, Alberto Fujimori (El Chino). The officer fights against the terrorists by adopting their tactics. He kills Sandero members who try to rob the passengers on a bus but raids aid organizations (purportedly to search for Sandero sympathizers) and steals their cash. He enlists surgeons to harvest organs from the dead. He matches the symbolism of hanging dogs on lampposts by hanging the corpses of terrorists from trees. As the two sides wage war, electricity regularly fails, streets are increasingly empty, food is in short supply, and all the people caught in the middle are losing hope.

Readers who are old enough to remember Dean Acheson will not be surprised that he makes an appearance in the novel, furthering the American policy of supporting any corrupt dictator who claims to be fighting communism. Acheson offers military support to Peru’s president by arming thousands of (mostly South American) soldiers and positioning them in Argentina in anticipation that they will “intervene” in Peru. Acheson is correctly portrayed as “a hopeless man” with “hopeless causes.” Naturally, Acheson supports the Peruvian president’s plan to fight communism by claiming more power for himself, effectively making himself a dictator. People in the streets cheer as members of the legislature are dragged away in handcuffs. So much for democracy. The U.S. is fine with anti-democratic dictatorships as long as the dictator isn’t a communist.

Newspapers are controlled with payoffs rather than overt censorship. The president intends to deal with terrorists by detaining them indefinitely without a trial and gathering information through torture, a reprehensible path that America later followed at Guantanamo and the various dark sites at which it stashed purported terrorists. The Peruvian president's plan also meets with Acheson’s approval. To me, the dissection of America’s exacerbation of Peru’s troubles is at least as interesting as the larger story.

The third section is narrated by a female journalist as she covers the election of 2001. A nationalist is running for president on a platform of expelling all people of foreign blood from Peru. To prove he’s tough, he advocates death by stoning as punishment for nearly every crime, including homosexuality. Sounds like a forerunner of MAGA. He will lose the election to a more enlightened but equally corrupt candidate. His daughter writes letters to the journalist that tell awful truths about her abusive father. Their differing perspectives call attention to the glory and shame of both Lima and its mountainous countryside.

The journalist travels to Andahuaylas in the mountains, where her grandfather was killed during the civil war because he was a shopkeeper. She is interested in the lives of the provincial women. She learns that they profess to be proud of their husbands despite their tendency to be violent, unemployed drunkards. It doesn’t occur to them that the post-war media attention the provinces are receiving has nothing to do with their husbands.

In the final section, two former terrorists meet again in a time of relative peace. One is now a teacher with a family, but he attempts to rekindle a relationship with a woman he once admired as a ruthless killer of dogs. She was captured, imprisoned, and repeatedly raped by soldiers. Now she has no papers and is selling herself on the street.

The changing perspectives over a period of years are a useful way to provide insight into the suffering of Peruvian people inside and outside of Lima because of both political leaders and purported revolutionaries. At the same time, the shifting perspectives impair the reader’s opportunity to become engaged with any character’s story.

I appreciated the novel’s illustration of the failure of leadership in Peru, both in the government and in the use of uncontrolled violence to challenge the government. The reader is nevertheless kept at a distance from the violence that caused so much harm. Characters talk about disappearances and rapes, but the story never focuses on an incident in a way that drives home the pain the country must have felt. For that reason, I admire the novel more as a history lesson than as a dramatic work.

RECOMMENDED

The Instruments of Darkness by John Connolly

Published by Atria/Emily Bestler Books on May 7, 2024

At some point in The Instruments of Darkness, Charlie Parker tells a cop that he’s read all the John Sandford novels and believes Sandford is “as good as they come.” There’s no doubt that Sandford is an excellent storyteller. He populates credible plots with strong characters and writes snappy dialog. But John Connolly is also a gifted storyteller. Plus, Connolly’s prose has a literary quality that only a handful of crime writers can match.

Colleen Clark has been charged with murdering her son. She’s hired Moxie Castin to represent her. As usual, Castin has hired Parker to look into the charges. The police don’t have a body or proof of death, but Colleen’s husband says he found a bloody blanket in the trunk of Colleen’s car. The blanket came from their house, making Colleen a prime suspect.

Colleen suffered from postpartum depression and made the kind of remarks that parents typically make about regretting her choice to have a child. Parker believes those facts merit sympathy but knows they’ll be used against her. Her husband called the police when he found the blanket and, this being an election year, a decision was made to prosecute Colleen for manslaughter — with a promised upgrade to murder if the police find evidence that Colleen intended to kill her son.

The setup might seem flimsy, but the prosecution is based on the political reality that it doesn’t look good for the death of a child to go unpunished. Charging Colleen will satisfy the perpetually outraged public and help the career of an attorney general who wants to be governor and a prosecutor who wants to be attorney general. The prosecutor assumes that jurors will ignore the absence of evidence (apart from the bloody blanket) because they will be too outraged to care about reasonable doubt. This is a cynical and entirely accurate view of how the criminal justice system works. “A child was missing and his mother was about to be dragged into the machinery of the law. It chewed people up, the innocent as well as the guilty, and called the result justice, but only a fool would accept that as true.”

Colleen tells Parker that her husband admitted to having an affair but she doesn’t believe he would have killed their son. Parker’s investigation leads to a puzzling inability to find the woman with whom Colleen’s husband had sex. How that plays into Colleen’s innocence or guilt is revealed late in the story.

Connolly usually adds a supernatural element to his stories, both because he sees Maine as a creepy place (it produced Stephen King, right?) and because the supernatural is a way of envisioning evil as a force — the kind of force that is necessary to abduct and kill a child. A key character is a medium who speaks to (or at least hears) the dead. Parker has been known to converse with his dead daughter, so he is open to the woman’s help.

Another force of evil is white supremacy and nationalism, represented here by a group of kooks who live on land that is adjacent to land owned by a family of misfits — a family that seems to be harboring or perhaps ruled by the malevolent force that the medium senses. Connolly describes one of the nationalists as “a frightened creature, fearful of change; fearful of anyone whose color, creed, or language was different from his own; and most of all, fearful of others who refused to follow his path.” That about sums it up.

Parker and his two foot soldiers, Angel and Louis, have had unfortunate encounters with the supremacists before, paving the way for more violence when Parker interferes with their plans. The trio (plus Castin) engage in darkly amusing dialog, balancing dark drama with dark humor.

The Instruments of Darkness blends a detective novel with a horror story, although Connolly downplays the horror to an extent, at least as compared to some of his other books. I prefer detectives to look for clues and, while Parker does that for much of the story, he ultimately relies on the medium to solve the mystery. Still, Connolly maintains tension and ties up every thread by the time the story ends. Charlie Parker novels are always a joy to read, if only for Parker’s guardedly optimistic view of humanity as it struggles against evil. This one is no exception.

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Cut and Thirst by Margaret Atwood

Short story published by ‎ Amazon Original Stories on May 1, 2024

Fern has MS, for which her three old (pardon me, “older”) friends blame eight men — or is it nine? — who caused her so much stress that they put her in “a wheelchair rolling downhill to the morgue.” The women plot revenge and since they are well educated, they quote Macbeth. The women all taught at universities at some point, but Myra wonders why anyone would want to teach these days, with students so eager to “rat the professors out for the slightest verbal misstep.” Look at Chrissy, who was mobbed on social media as being anti-woman for teaching ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore. Never mind that she chose it as an example of misogyny. In Myra’s view, kids today only want to study literary works in which everyone behaves perfectly all the time. “How French Revolution of them,” says Leonie. The story makes clear the difficulty of walking the line between sensitivity to the feelings of others and the excessive demands of expressive conformity on college campuses.

Amusing digressions to comment upon the state of the world (and the new cheeses they try during their weekly meetings) occupy more of the story than the plot to murder eight men (or is it nine?). The women all began their careers in the literary world (mostly as proofreaders), writing for each other in the hope that their work might reach a larger audience before opting for academia and steady paychecks. They still have connections in that world, mostly to the authors with whom they slept, but Fern is the only one who earns a living writing books.

Back to the plot. The eight or nine men savaged an anthology that Fern edited because she decided not to include a story by Humphrey Vacher, an affluent and conceited author who owns a few small press publications, the only publications that will consider their work. Because they owe Vacher, they trashed Fern’s work on the ground that it appealed to “the sloppy middle-age women and easily duped teenage girls” who are the reading public. They even condemned it as “girly,” a term they wouldn’t be allowed to use today.

Coming up with a successful assassination plan proves to be challenging. “Their respect for murderers is increasing: not so easy, this murdering business.” Ultimately they settle upon a workable revenge scheme that, naturally enough, does not go as planned.

The women learn that revenge, when served cold, might no longer have a purpose by the time it is executed. Which leads to the lesson that revenge is better left unserved. That’s always a lesson worthy of illustration, and Margaret Atwood does so in an enjoyable story that mixes amusing characters, pointed insights, and a few laugh-out-loud moments.

RECOMMENDED

The Return of Ellie Black by Emiko Jean

Published by Simon & Schuster on May 7, 2024

Like most crime novels, The Return of Ellie Black fails to live up to its marketing hype. This is nevertheless the kind of novel that certain readers seem to crave. It is the story of a serial kidnapper of teenage (or younger) girls. The villain brutalizes, brainwashes, rapes, and eventually kills his victims — apart from Ellie Black. Serial kidnappers, like serial killers, are far more prevalent in the world of crime fiction than they are in the real world, but the market for child snatching stories never seems to be saturated.

Michael and David apparently work together to kidnap teenage girls (and at least one preteen). Assisted by a woman named Serenity, they hold the girls in a buried bus for two weeks to break down their sense of identity. Some of the girls apparently starve to death before they forget who they are. The men give the survivors names like Faith and Hope. They hold the girls captive, using them as their sex slaves with the apparent aim to make them pregnant.

The story departs from the formula when a kidnap victim is found alive. Ellie Black has been missing for two years. She turns up in the woods in a shattered emotional state. Ellie is not cooperative with the police, a fact that the police attribute to her unwillingness to revisit her trauma. Yet there may be another cause of her reticence, which proves to be the only interesting aspect of a novel that is otherwise formulaic.

Most of the story is told in the third person as it follows Detective Chelsey Calhoun and her investigation of Ellie’s kidnapping. An article of clothing Ellie is wearing links her to a couple of other missing females. A few scattered chapters are told in the first person as Ellie recalls her ordeal.

Emiko Jean gives us the usual theme of a police detective who thinks “If only these [missing] girls could talk” and imagines them whispering “Find us, please.” Some readers seem to have an appetite for obvious efforts to manipulate their sympathies. Sometimes the mention of the word “victim” is enough to draw them into the story.

Fictional female detectives like Calhoun — dedicated to victims, unable to sleep because they are haunted by the victims’ voices, who “will do anything to save a life” — are ubiquitous in crime fiction. They are usually one dimensional. “Just think of the victims” becomes a substitute for a writer’s inability to think of interesting characters. Jean is no exception in that flawed approach to crime fiction writing. I usually avoid stories of that nature but the marketing hype made me think this one might be different. It isn’t.

Calhoun’s insecurity, followed by her eventual triumph, is another part of the formula. Also formulaic is Calhoun’s motivation for becoming a cop — a missing and murdered sister — and Calhoun’s self-recrimination because she didn’t prevent her sister from dating the wrong guy. Have you heard this story before? If you read enough crime fiction, you’ve encountered it over and over.

Another tired cliché of thriller writing is Calhoun’s boss, who takes credit for her successes and blames her for failures that weren’t entirely her fault. And, of course, Calhoun makes predictable decisions to defy authority and do what’s necessary because she just cares so much about victims. Victims are more important than her job or her relationships or anything else because victims.

Ellie has a dark secret that makes her feel guilty. It can’t be too dark because the reader is meant to sympathize with Ellie, even when she does something awful. The true reason for Ellie’s failure to cooperate with the investigation ties into the secret. It isn’t at all credible, but it is at least a departure from the formula.

Jean’s prose style is acceptable and she tells the story with good pace. The reveal of a kidnapper’s true identity is standard thriller fare — contrived and unsurprising. The villains are caricatures of evil men with mommy issues. The story’s positive qualities permit a tepid recommendation, but its familiarity prevents me from recommending it to anyone who doesn’t crave stories that feature detectives who can’t stop talking about how much they care about victims.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS