Probably the worst of the 15 or so Jack Reacher books. I wonder whether Lee Child got distracted by all the Tom Cruise shenanigans, or whether he thought he had to change the formula a bit. Either way, this is just dreary. The one upside is that it helped me nod off on a transatlantic flight.
I started reading the second in this series of memoirs at a friend’s house. It was so effortlessly entertaining, I thought I ought to read the first one before going any further.Such is/was our exposure to Clive James as a talking head on TV, it’s hard not to imagine him half squinting, half smiling, narrating as you read. The book covers his life until he reaches London and has too much childhood memories for me (kinda inevitable I suppose), but it has enough poignant insights and humour to make for an enjoyable diversion. I read most of it on a pair I long flights and that seemed quite appropriate.
One of my things is to know nothing about a book, film etc. so that I
can experience the work without prejudice and have the story revealed
to me as the author intended.
Matrix, I was stunned by the unexpected twists and turns. And of
course the Sixth Sense is so much more enthralling if you don’t
know… well, you know. Reading Flann O’Brien’s The Third Policeman fits into the stunner
category. SPOILER ALERT. it begins as a regular, rural murder thriller
but soon turns into a trippy, bizarre, wonderful fantasy that is by
turns Paul Auster, Charles Dickens and Lewis Carroll. Reading the publisher’s notes at the end, I’m reminded that the book
appears fleetingly in the TV series Lost. Now there’s a perfect fit.