The Lincoln Lawyer

The Lincoln Lawyer: Michael Connelly, January 13—18, 2012 My rating: ♦♦♦♦♦

In the prequel to The Brass Verdict, defence lawyer Mickey Haller must represent a man accused of brutally attacking a woman in her home. As the cover tells us, neither victim nor accused are as they seem.

From the outset we are sucked into Haller’s intense life, hardly stopping for breath between cases. We meet both his ex-wives: his first, a prosecutor, and his second, his case manager. Both are complex relationships that add real depth to the character, even if a little cliché.

Connelly educates us as we race through the book, explaining tactics and giving us insight into the workings (and failings) of the criminal justice system.

Haller is a flawed protagonist, easy to sympathise with and reaches a crisis of confidence that makes him an incredibly interesting lead actor who lives permanently in shades of grey. The colourful supporting cast are distinct, adding flourishes of colour to the palette.

Connelly never drops the ball, and the plot has enough surprise twists to keep you going right to the end. There’s an abundance of subplots, some relevant to the main story and others important to Haller, and they all add a richness to the story that leaves you constantly engaged.

In short, every expectation is met and exceeded in this rollercoaster journey. A tight plot, believable and three-dimensional characters, excellent writer’s craft and intriguing analysis into the court system makes this more than worthy of five full stars. You won’t be disappointed.

The Hound of Death

The Hound of Death: Agatha Christie, November 23—30, 2011; December 23, 2011—January 13, 2012

My rating: ♦♦◊◊◊

The Hound of Death is the first set of short stories to feature in The Agatha Christie Collection. I’m not generally a fan of short stories, although Christie offers up some rather good ideas in this supernatural portfolio. Although some of the themes begin to get repetitive, there is enough to distinguish them from one another. Christie successfully resolves some of the stories with “natural” solutions, while others are more open-ended and suggestive, meaning the reader can play along without knowing whether the phenomena described have alternative explanations or not.

The Hound of Death ♦♦◊◊◊

The titular first tale sees a nun haunted by the fact she saw the shape of a black dog on the wall of her convent after it blew up. Although this starts as a semi-interesting premise, the whole tale rapidly descends int the frankly sublime with other worlds and assorted mumbo jumbo that makes it too bizarre to care about.

The Red Signal ♦♦♦♦◊

The best of the twelve, The Red Signal begins at a dinner party where the guests describe the instinctive feeling of danger. Predictably, one of the guests just so happens to have that feeling right now and the guessing game begins on whom the inevitable tragedy will befall. The story progresses with the lives of some key characters which adds the personal touch lacking from other instalments. It ends with a twist you don’t see coming and is a clever opening for the collection after the false start in The Hound.

The Fourth Man ♦♦♦◊◊

Three men on a train – a lawyer, a doctor and a member of clergy – share a train journey and discuss the supernatural from their respective standpoints. They soon turn to discuss a specific case of a girl with multiple personalities who strangled herself to death, and the fourth man at their table joins the conversation to shed further light on it. The case is well thought out and genuinely creepy.

The Gispy ♦◊◊◊◊

Although one of the shortest in the collection, The Gipsy seems to drag on forever. In effect, a man sees a gipsy who freaks him out and vanishes. She pops up again right before major surgery and he has a flip out. The story proceeds from there, and it’s the most far-fetched drivel with a distinctly mediocre ending.

The Lamp ♦♦♦◊◊

In a change of tone, The Lamp follows three generations – grandfather, mother and child – who move into a house which appears to be haunted by the ghost of a child. Christie has here the seeds of a good story which feels rushed to its conclusion. Had this been a full length novel, or perhaps a movie, it would have had great potential but unfortunately she sells her idea short with this curtailed rendition at only 8 pages.

Wireless ♦♦♦◊◊

An old woman hears her dead husband’s voice on her wireless and before long he drops the minor bombshell that she’s about to pop her clogs. Another clever, if slightly predictable, story which reaches a satisfying conclusion that (unlike Christie) you could see coming.

The Witness for the Prosecution ♦♦♦♦◊

The most recognisable title from the collection, The Witness for the Prosecution is later adapted into a full-length play and it’s clear why. This is classic Christie, delivering multiple twists and a great ride along the way. A solicitor tries to help his client, accused of murder, but his only key witness – his wife – has decided to lie about his alibi to deliberately incriminate him to end their acrimonious marriage. Out of the woodwork appears a mysterious witness for the defence and things hot up. Hats off to her for a killer climax. It has to be mentioned, though, that the story seems out of place in a supernatural short story collection when it’s a straightforward murder mystery.

The Mystery of the Blue Jar ♦♦♦◊◊

A good but poorly executed story in The Mystery of the Blue Jar. Jack Hartington hears a cry for help at the same place, at the same time every day and wonders if he is hearing a ghost, or going mad. The pacing is slightly off with too much attention paid to a slow build up and the ending rushed despite being one of the lengthier entries.

The Strange Case of Sir Arthur Carmichael ♦♦◊◊◊

The pacing issues continue into the next story. Unlike her, Christie shows her hand almost immediately and much of the story involves the reader waiting for the incredibly dense protagonist to catch up. When they finally do, the frankly crazy conclusion follows that requires you to not so much suspend disbelief as scrumple it into a ball and throw it in the bin.

The Call of Wings ♦♦◊◊◊

Unlike many of the other stories, The Call of Wings has a focus on redemption, anti-materialism and paradise. With the dark side of the supernatural manifest in the other instalments, we see a clear change in tone. The story itself is quite fluffy and more apt to being on the Christmas TV channel than perhaps in this collection, but it’s not the worst.

The Last Seance ♦◊◊◊◊

An incredibly dark story without much of a storyline. It explores – if you can call it an exploration – the concept of manifestations becoming permanently tangible. It’s very underdeveloped with a rushed ending which isn’t in keeping with the characters’ behaviour to that point and overall, very uninspiring.

SOS ♦♦◊◊◊

The final story sees a spiritualist’s car break down in the middle of nowhere. He takes refuge in the home of a bizarre family with a secret to hide. He finds SOS written in his bedroom and seeks to help whichever individual wrote it. A relatively clever idea spoiled with messy writing and an abrupt conclusion.

Chart Throb

Chart Throb: Ben Elton, December 1—23, 2011

My rating: ♦♦♦♦◊

Ben Elton’s Chart Throb is the successor to X Factor and the novel follows the lives of the judges and contestants in what can be generally described as a satire of the format.

The judges are pertinently Simon Cowell, Sharon Osborne and Louis Walsh-esque, right down to the Beryl’s The Osbornes style show. The characters in the book actually refer to Cowell and Osborne (and their superiority to them) and to X Factor, which Chart Throb has replaced.

It’s fair to say Chart Throb, as a novel, is not generous to the reality TV scene. It presents Calvin ‘Simon Cowell’ Simms as an uncaring puppet master and the show is shamelessly manipulative. Is this reality? I would like to give X Factor more credit than Elton does, but there are also clearly elements of truth.

The main characters are all likeable in their own bizarre way, lampooned to breaking point but entertaining for the reader. The contestants, too, have distinct personalities and back stories. One of the most prominent and interesting storylines is Calvin’s attempts to have Prince Charles win the competition which begins as a thoroughly bizarre twist but, with enough suspended belief, becomes all part of the fun.

The concluding twist is completely unexpected and very well-played. Elton delivers a thoroughly shocking final act that ties up the remaining loose ends and delivers the book’s message.

The drawback for me is how dark and graphic the novel becomes in parts. The high jinks and nonsense are juxtaposed with a bulimic character who almost kills herself, for example, and crude, explicit sexual details. The unpredictable tone makes it hard to swallow.

Overall, Elton has devised a clever story and writes it very well, creating colourful, hilarious characters that doesn’t quite get three yeses from the panel, but manages to get two and through to the next round.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time: Mark Haddon, November 18—22, 2011

My rating: ♦♦♦◊◊

The advertised premise of The Curious Incident is that a 15-year-old boy, somewhere on the autism spectrum (considered to be Asperger’s by the publishers but not the author), discovers a local dog having been killed. He then investigates the murder and recounts his mystery in first person to the reader. It’s fair to say that the ‘murder’ does not feature as heavily in the plot as you might expect. While it is the cause of the book – started ostensibly by the narrator to document his investigation – the greater focus is on his personal life, particularly in relation to his family. Indeed, the ‘killer’ is unmasked quite early on, however it does start a chain of events which play out to the book’s conclusion.

Your overall satisfaction with the book will depend on what attracted you to it in the first place. The ‘murder’ mystery, as I touched on, doesn’t have a prominent focus. There’s not much in the way of ‘interviews’ or the compiling of ‘motives’ or ‘alibis’, rather it acts as a catalyst.

The plot, as it develops, contains a few surprises and seems to develop quite naturally. Although not ‘as advertised’, it’s clear how one thing leads to another and overall it’s entertaining. I would criticise the ending, though, as it just stops dead. Although you can see how the author has tried to use the final paragraphs as a conclusion, it’s abrupt nonetheless and leaves the reader dissatisfied.

The other principle attraction may indeed be the main character’s learning difficulties, however ambiguous the diagnosis. Haddon admits he did no research on autism before penning the book and it has been panned almost universally by sufferers and those knowledgeable in the condition as inaccurate at best, insulting at worst. However it is a crucial vehicle for the character and indeed the story, and the book quite simply wouldn’t have worked without it.

The character’s autism lends more to the book that the plot, making it the dictionary definition of character-driven drama. There are some kooky quirks, such as the chapters being prime numbers instead of cardinal ones. It gives a new level of detail as the narrator relays his observations, including doodles and drawings and generally brings a fresh twist that wouldn’t have been evident if not for the condition of the narrator and, indeed, his first person narrative.

Having said that, the character’s limited emotional intelligence leaves the book without much depth. There is a little dark humour in there, but the tone is mostly neutral. As such, nothing is dwelt on too much (unless it’s analytically) and this prevents the reader from getting bored.

Although marketed as adult fiction, The Curious Incident won a Children’s Award, which is concerning given the strength of the language (the f-bomb is dropped quite a lot, and there’s even a C U Next Tuesday thrown in there). That being the case I would consider this only suitable for an adult audience.

It’s original, it’s short and while it might not be what you expect, there are few flaws which detract from it. The Curious Incident Starting With the Dog in the Night-Time (as it should be called, apologies to Conan Doyle) probably doesn’t warrant the hype it was awarded, but it’s certainly worth a go.

Soul Harvest

Soul Harvest: Jerry B. Jenkins & Tim LaHaye, November 6—17, 2011

My rating: ♦♦♦♦◊

As Left Behind returns for its fourth outing in Soul Harvest, we find ourselves picking up from the Wrath of the Lamb, the worldwide earthquake that wipes out a large proportion of the earth’s population. There is a distinct change in focus and direction in the early part of the novel. Attention alternates between two unfolding stories: Buck’s search for Chloe in the USA and Rayford’s search for Amanda in the Middle East.

The change works well. It allows us to get to know both characters better as individuals and not just part of the Tribulation Force. In particular, Buck’s story drags on a bit before anything actually happens although to be fair, if we’d have skipped the detail of the aftermath, we would have felt cheated. (Speaking of the post-earthquake era, ten points for the tongue-in-cheek naming of the Global Community’s communications network, Cell-Sol.)

As the novel progresses, more layers of intrigue are added and it continues to improve. The other cast, such as Ken Ritz, Tsion and Mac, are also fleshed out more than they have been and for the first time in the series we care about the individual characters, their lives and what happens to them. They become more distinct, they speak and reason differently.

Rayford’s ongoing tenure at the Global Community is becoming a little unrealistic. It’s hard to imagine why Carpathia keeps him on, even with his supposed upper hand in knowing someone who knows something about where Ben-Judah and Durham may nor may not be. However, putting that aside, it’s well written and very entertaining. For me, Fortunato becomes one of the stars of this instalment as the slippery sycophantic right hand man of Carpathia. The scene in which he and Rayford clash over titles (reprised with the Pope who isn’t the Pope later on) is hilarious and easily the funniest sequence of the series so far. The politics, hand-changing and deal-making element is a brilliant aspect which I’ll be sorry to lose when the time inevitably comes.

The ending is strange. All of the storyline threads begin to reach their respective climaxes around the time of the first trumpet – hail, fire and blood – which would have been a dramatic and sensible end point. Instead, we fast forward several weeks. We have no aftermath and, indeed, the whole trumpet is dealt with in mere pages. It also fast forwards from the other storyline climaxes and undermines them a little. The purpose? To include a tiny piece of dialogue which sets up part five. If it were me, I would have ended the novel immediately before the fast forward, set up the next instalment with some clever narration and started Book 5 a few weeks later for a cleaner, more fluid transition.

Overall, while possibly not the strongest book to date on plot, it surpasses its three predecessors on character drama and, although it doesn’t have the same cliffhanger as Nicolae that leaves you desperate for the next one, the character empathy and slow burning plots (not least Molegate) leave the series in a strong position for Book 5 to build on.

Dracula

Dracula: Bram Stoker, September 30—November 3, 2011

My rating: ♦♦♦◊◊

Count Dracula, easily the most famous vampire other than perhaps Michael Howard, makes his début in the eponymous novel by Bram Stoker. As such, the premise needs no introduction from me.

The early part of the novel, and in my opinion the strongest, follows Jonathan Harker into Count Dracula’s castle and we see through his eyes the horrible realisation of who – and what – his host is and his desperate struggle to escape. It is here that Stoker builds Dracula into a marvellously intelligent, charming and enigmatic villain. Introduced to the reader via Harker as the audience surrogate, we share his horror and panic.

Thereafter, the attention switches abruptly to Harker’s fiancée back in the UK, her BFF Lucy and Lucy’s multiple suitors as half of London decides to propose to her on the same day. For a sizeable chunk of the novel, our surrogate Harker vanishes from the scene and Dracula himself becomes, at best, a supporting character. Instead, we hang around waiting for someone else to die of their vampire bite. For ages. To the point I wanted to just smother her with the pillow already and move on. Everyone is utterly bamboozled other than Van Helsing, who knows precisely what is wrong but doesn’t say a word.

Not only is the death more long and drawn out than double maths on a Friday afternoon, but it’s intensely frustrating as the reader has already been informed of Dracula’s being a vampire. As a result, there is no suspense for the reader, but a long wait on everyone else catching up. Lo and behold, she kicks the bucket and from there begins what I consider to be the third and final section: the characters (including a returned Harker who we no longer care about) decide to go kick some Dracula butt and try to kill the evil vampire.

One of the most interesting concepts about the novel is its epistolary nature, consisting mainly of journal entries by the main characters with some telegrams and newspaper clippings thrown in for good measure. I always praise an author who tries to do something a little different and, credit where it’s due, Stoker has carefully thread together the various documents which comprise the novel. The most obvious benefit comes when the characters themselves begin reading each other’s journals, therefore providing a clear, quick and easy way to convey what the characters now know (i.e. whatever we do) without the need for repetition and this serves Stoker well. Another advantage for me, albeit a matter of personal preference, is that the character’s do not bother to include in their journals what their house, mother, socks or breakfast look like. I prefer to let my imagination do the work. Only Dracula and Van Helsing are described in any detail and this is a deliberate and successful use of writer’s craft to attach importance to these characters.

The biggest downside of this technique, particularly given the genre, is the guaranteed survival of the writer until at least the end of their entry. The writing is also very clinical at times. It’s written in the extreme past tense, leaving the reader to feel like they missed the action rather than being part of it. Where Harker’s journal at the beginning worked, the rest of the novel failed. Again, there is no suspense or atmosphere. That terrifying, day-by-day realisation lends itself well to journaling, but action sequences are done a disservice.

This technique gives the reader a unique and intimate way to get to know the characters, and Stoker completely failed to capitalise on that. Every character writes their journal in the same way: the same layout, the same format, the same tone, the same vocabulary. The reader should be able to pick up the book and know exactly who’s writing, but the opportunity is wasted and actually results in the cast becoming one big bland corporate narrator, plus Van Helsing. It’s little wonder some film adaptations go a step further and even amalgamate multiple characters into one.

My only other criticism of the journal system is that Dracula himself is overlooked. Your normal omniscient narrator would be able to take us to Dracula, show us his mind and get him more involved. Perhaps it was deliberate on Stoker’s part to make Dracula distant, unknown and untouchable. But personally I’m disappointed he didn’t have a greater role. By rights, the novel should be called Dr. Seward.

One of the most interesting sub plots was Renfield, the psychiatric patient who had a form of connection to Dracula. I found his part intriguing and Dr. Seward’s case study on him was an intriguing parallel story worthy of some scholarly analysis if you so wished.  There is great fodder within the novel for some good study and exploration – the themes, symbolism and more philosophical dialogue.

While Stoker’s contribution to the genre cannot be ignored or overstated, I was underwhelmed with the final product. It is slow and long-winded (if you were to cut out all of the pledges or allegiance, swearing by each other, et cetera at the end of every entry you’d probably half the length straight away), not to mention extremely melodramatic (if the maid brings them tea all of the men burst into hysterical tears and fall in love with her on the spot). By contrast, I felt the ending was extremely rushed: the final battle was over in around six lines, as if Stoker realised he was late for his bus and just wrote “and then they killed Dracula. The end”.

By the end, you do begin to wonder if you yourself have been drained of enthusiasm by having it sucked from your neck.

Think of a Number

Think of a Number: John Verdon, 12—29 September, 2011
My rating: ♦♦♦♦◊

Verdon’s Think of a Number is a murder mystery with layers of interesting concepts. The killer apparently knows which random number the victim will think of. He leaves footprints in the snow that just stop without a trace. A myriad of seemingly impossible things that baffle your average plod.

For me, when a writer sets up such intriguing mysteries, it’s crucial that they’re properly explained, and Verdon provides really clever, logical explanations for his puzzles, which in turn gives the killer real credibility.

The first third of book is a build up to the inevitable murder. Although it’s relatively fast paced with new developments every chapter, you do find yourself just waiting for Mellory, the victim, to hurry up and die. After he does pop his formerly alcoholic clogs, the ball starts not so much rolling as zipping about like the literary equivalent of a pinball machine.

Gurney is a likeable detective but his wife is perhaps the most annoying woman since records began. Never satisfied, almost whinging, long-suffering Gurney can’t do right for doing wrong. OK, it’s good that we’ve avoided the clichéd divorcee/widower set-up, but far too much time is spent at home enduring the most dysfunctional marriage since the Websters hit Corrie. The primary cause of the strain came as no great shock and was completely unresolved by the end of the book. Worse, his erstwhile son is brought up, referred to a couple of times, ignored and forgotten. A tangent we could have avoided. It also has to be said that a publishing house like Penguin should have better editors – Madeleine had to cancel her party’s. Her party’s what?

In his other life, down the station, retired Gurney is something of a celebrity and the fun Verdon has with the various characters is brilliant. Clichéd to the point of satire, the supporting cast of detectives make compelling reading and provide some (unintentional?) light relief. Everyone will recognise the one-upmanship and sycophancy so colourfully brought to life.

All in, it’s a very readable, fast-moving novel but the overemphasis on Gurney’s drab and dreary home life rips away the heart of urgency that is so crucial and makes what could have been a cutting thriller about as sharp as a butter knife. For a début novel, though, Verdon has put real effort in and it’s a pleasure to become engrossed in a book that is not only entertaining, but cleverly plotted that makes you work for your money. Remember, you’re not a spectator – you’re a reader!

Dead Simple

Dead Simple: Peter James, 29 August—10 September, 2011.

My rating: ♦♦◊◊◊

The first case for Detective Superintendent Roy Grace was a relatively unique thriller in the way it was presented. The basic storyline is thus: groom goes on stag night, groom buried in coffin as stag night joke, stags killed in car accident, hunt for missing groom.

From the outset, we are told that his best man knows where he is but is keeping silent, effectively allowing him to die. The book follows the story through the victim, the would-be murderer and the detective. It’s not a whodunnit, or even a howdunnit, more of a what-are-they-going-to-do-now-since-they’ve-dunnit.

Let’s start with the victim. Michael Harrison may or may not survive his coffin ordeal, and unlike many whodunnits that start with a body, we suffer with the victim through what could be his final days. The scenes are well written and very claustrophobic, and the reader feels Michael’s panic, hope and disappointments.

The villains of the piece are a little underdeveloped. Although some thought has gone into each character, they’re quite one-dimensional and could have been more rounded.

And Detective Superintendent Grace, the star of the show and of this new series? A down-to-earth and likeable character who has a dry sense of humour and strong sense of conviction. He’s achieved moderate success but has his frustrations. The disappearance of his wife ten years ago looks set to be a theme which will continue through the series, and one particularly pertinent to this case, even if dealt with a little inconsistently. He keeps her toothbrush and dressing gown in situ in case she returns, but also goes on two dates in the course of the book. Is this the realisation of his own inner conflict, or just poor writing?

As a standalone book, Grace would have been forgettable. But for a long-running series, his character could be slow-burner we’re going to keep learning more about, and it’s a journey I’m happy to take with him.

Set in Brighton, there are a number of welcome reminders that it’s a UK series with lots of cultural references. As police procedurals go, James has done his homework and provides detailed, interesting background to the inner workings of Brighton’s police force. Having said that, it seems American in tone and I wasn’t surprised to learn subsequently that James has written screenplays in the US.

I was also slightly annoyed by silly mistakes – quotation marks opening again in the middle of speech, at one point not closing, elsewhere missing out an apostrophe. Basic errors and editor should have spotted. Elsewhere, swearing was used too gratuitously and the sex scenes were perhaps more graphic than necessary.

The plot moves quickly and the chapters are short, giving great readability. Some of the twists are far fetched, and Grace appears thick as a brick. Although the reader has the benefit of knowing what’s going on, Grace bumbles along wondering, “I have 1 and 1, I wonder what they equal?”

Very obvious conclusions are not made where they should have been. Easy leads aren’t picked up on. And instead of proper police work or following up on these leads, the man seems lead by hunches. And then…

Spoiler warning

Mr Jones’ Rules for the Modern Man

Mr Jones’ Rules for the Modern Man: Dylan Jones, 13—25 August, 2011.

My rating: ♦♦◊◊◊

Here are Mr Taylor’s Rules for the Modern Reader of the Above Book:

1. Think of someone in a job which is less glamorous/lower paid/less senior than your own and practice your sneer in advance. It will make it easier to do on demand while reading.
2. Have the following on standby: your (probably very) little black book, your cheque book (for gazing at), a mirror (ditto) and something with a designer name on it.
3. Book yourself some therapy lessons in advance and repeat the words ‘I am inadequate’ as often as you like.
4. Make provisions for the drooling in admiration at Mr Jones (from Mr Jones on the back flap, not from you).
5. And don’t.

They tell you never to judge a book by its cover. This book’s cover is brilliantly designed for its subject matter, has ringing endorsements from Simon Cowell (who I like) and Jeremy Clarkson (who I don’t) and makes Dylan Jones sound like he’s worth listening to. But, like the photo of a dish on the packaging of a cheap ready meal, it doesn’t quite turn out like that.

Let’s get the so-called rules out of the way first. There’s a wide range, from the serious to the silly, and some are actually quite useful. ‘How to jump-start a car’, for instance, is probably something every man should know how to do. I didn’t, and now I do, and it’s the sort of rule this book was right to include. ‘How to ask for a pay rise’ raised a good point – why would your boss pay you extra for doing your job well, when it’s what you’re paid to do anyway?

On the other hand, ‘How to stop a fight’ was ridiculous (Hug the guy? Really?), ‘How to buy a second-hand car’ failed to make any mention of how to haggle, and as for skiing advice from a man who can’t ski… Other tips, such as ensuring you have had meaningless sex with a minor celebrity by the age of 30 and ‘How to behave at a lap dancing club’ betray Jones’ view of ‘the modern man’ as being little more than an overgrown modern boy. I’m not sure I agree with his definition.

But my biggest problem by a long way with Mr Jones’ Rules isn’t the rules. It’s Mr Jones.

Dylan Jones is obviously very satisfied with his lot. He seems to have it ‘together’ to be able to give such presumptuous advice. Almost every rule has some mention of his designer clothes, his fancy car, expensive hotels, expensive restaurants, expensive cologne, bespoke suit, Rolex watch, pricey golf clubs… He is also a serial name dropper. No anecdote is complete without throwing in a few stars he’s rubbed shoulders with, like Jonathan Ross (twice), Jeremy Clarkson (him again) or even Tony Blair. He might think it makes him sound impressive, but if he needs to cling to a polite nod from A-listers who probably doesn’t know who he is to give him credibility, his opinions suddenly seem less inspiring.

Other annoying habits include persistent use of one-word sentences to emphasise a point. Constantly. (That was an example). Used sparingly, yes they add emphasis. Used on a per-page basis, it gets annoying. If the word is important, use it in the actual sentence, and if it isn’t, don’t. He’s also obsessed with reminding us at every opportunity that he is editor of GQ. In fact, I expect the magazine paid him commission to name it, refer to it, cite excerpts from it and allude to it at every conceivable opportunity, no matter how unnecessary or forced. It’s probably printed on the paper of recycled issues.

Basically, I started the book having never heard of Dylan Jones and finished it wishing I still hadn’t heard of him. His tone is the most pompous, arrogant, self-obsessed I have heard in a long time. Certainly, I’ve had to plough through books with boring plots or poor writing, but never – I mean never – have I ever had to resist the urge to abandon a book purely because the author himself is personally getting on my wick.

I like the drawings – they break up the page and make it look interesting – but they lost their charm after they used the same “Mr Jones” name card about five times and the two glasses about four. It just made it look like cheap clip art and lacked imagination. Surely the editor of the most successful upmarket magazine (we’re told) would have noticed the repetitive drawings?

What would have made the book better is to have each section written by an expert in the field. An etiquette expert, a health expert, a management expert and so on. I find it hard to believe Jones is an expert of all fields, and this falseness makes what he does know about it ring just as hollow.

I learned two things from this book. First – David Cameron duets in karaoke, and this indicated to Jones he may one day form a successful coalition government (if you take ‘success’ loosely, a fair insight for a book published in 2007). Second – if the modern man really is the one described in Jones’s book, I hope I never, ever meet one.

Secret Asset

Secret Asset: Stella Rimmington, 5–18 August, 2011.

My rating: ♦♦◊◊◊

The former Director General of MI5 has written a spy thriller. It should have been the equivalent of Jamie Oliver cooking you dinner or David Beckham teaching your kids how to play football. In fact, it was a bit like Bruce Forsythe telling you how to stay young. I don’t think I truly understood what an airport thriller was like until I read this.

The problem with Secret Asset isn’t just that it wasn’t good enough to be good, it also wasn’t bad enough to be bad. At least bad books have the decency of helping you dislike it. But Secret Asset was just… bleh.

There are two cases being investigated: an upcoming terror attack by Muslim extremists, and a mole in MI5 planted by the IRA back in the times of the Troubles. The cases, like in all such books, inevitably merge into one connected dose of criminality.

Our leading lady, Liz Carlyle, is a likeable enough sort of a lead character, and Rimmington at least tries to flesh her out a bit; she is single, her flat is untidy and her mother has cancer. The cancer storyline in particular was about as random as it gets. We meet her mother in one brief scene and the treatment is mentioned a few times, always in the back of Liz’s mind. It seems like an afterthought by Rimmington to try to humanise her main character but fails. It adds nothing, isn’t developed and just seems like the keyboard meandered into a bit of a rut with that one.

Among Liz’s less human abilities are omniscience, or so it seems. Every hunch Liz has, every bit of intuition, is - quelle surprise - spot on. But despite her superhuman mind being laid out before us, we never really get the chance to get to know her properly. There’s no sympathy or understanding of the character other than a name of the person driving the plot.

The supporting cast is a simple collection of average fuzzy nobodys with nothing in particular to distinguish them from each other. They are a collection of stock characters, any of which could be dropped with no impact on the story.

Whodunnit in the whodunnit is plainly obvious. Even when you figure it out in books, you want to at least doubt yourself a bit. But it’s so incredibly stark from the outset, even Rimmington doesn’t bother getting excited with the reveal. Liz tells her boss, ‘It’s so and so’, and her boss agrees she’s probably right (of course). It has all the excitement of a wet fart.

When the story limps to its grand climax, it conjures all the enthusiasm of a cold pizza. The resolution of the villain’s crimes are ‘off-screen’, as it were, with some boring cameo character explaining what happened to them. There’s absolutely no reason we couldn’t have at least been shown that.

On the plus side, the writing style is clear and readable. A lot of novels – especially thrillers – have heavy bits you need to wade through, but Rimmington at least manages to keep you going with relative ease, although that’s probably to do with the lack of substance rather than any particular craft or design.

Remember, the author once ran the government body she’s writing about. Her former career as Director General is emblazoned on the front cover. And the inside flap. And the page before the inside flap. It’s a USP, and part of what drew me to the book in the first place, so it’s not unfair to expect some return on that boast. But instead of a unique insight into an intriguing world, instead of plots complex and villains insurmountable, we get a damp squib. It’s readable, and you’ll get through it fast. And then you’ll completely forget all about it.