Every time a new novel appears, I’m unsure whether I should thank the old girlfriend, or curse her. The author has a command of the language, though, that I openly admire. Less style. All story, driven forward with the right balance of whatever. I once figured this out and called it “Hardy Boys for adults,” and I think I’ll stick with that definition, as it fits my way of seeing these books.
There’s certainly a serial quality, and this seems to be along the lines of “Stone Barrington,” formerly of the masses, now a super rich guy.
The setup is quick, and the hook is set.
As boring as it might seem to be to read a serialized series like this, and I imagine this really should be a single, large novel, the induction of a new character, one of an endless stream of women in the main character’s life, she’s got a twist. If only I heard about that before. New to me.
Then the body count rises. Always ups the ante in the novel when dead bodies start to accumulate.
Simply put, it’s an installment in a literary franchise. Action packed, twists and turns, weird pacing, and set against the fashionable backdrop of luxury in New York City.
Helps to have friends in high places?
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