Foul Play (A Stone Barrington Novel Book 59)
Foul Play
After ripping though, I think, 47 out of 49 of the Spenser books, I feel like I understand the serial nature of the crime novels, if not a greater love for Boston and its environs. So my adoration, as of yet unabated, gets answered about every two or three months, with a new Stuart Wood’s novel.
It’s a pleasing fantasy, a walk in world where I don’t live, and I’ll make no effort to return to, either, except in the printed word. What attracts me to Stone Barrington fiction is growth over a period of time, a seemingly timeless nature, pleasing as narrative in that there seems to be an endless array of lovers, and way the plot itself rips right along.
What I’ve long admired, and I can back this up even more now, is the apparent “style-less” prose. In every half dozen books, I might find a single typo, but otherwise, this is the slickest editing I read, and therein is part of the hook. Maybe ten or fifteen books back, I found a sentence that caused me consternation, grammar, meaning, possibly a typo. After finishing the novel, I remember thinking of including the passage. Out of the — over 50? Out of those book, a single errata?
Bump words together in way that satisfies.
Each novel seems to turn on a single trick, a simple hook, just one theme. After 40, maybe 50 out of the series? I just figured that out three-quarters of the way through this last one? Not complaining, just observing. Action, adventure, politics, and police.
There’s a precision in the plot, the way the devices all neatly far into place. Fiction has to make sense, and this is fiction that makes sense. Mostly. The characters don’t seem to age, and do get laid a lot, but we could all hope for that life style.
Well-executed current fiction of a sort. Not for everyone, but I really enjoy it.
Three or four books in year? Each weighs in right at 50-60K words, and each is that exemplary prose. Maybe it’s an editor, but over time? I suspect the author is just a good writer.