By W.E.B. GRIFFIN
A piece of junk if it were not that this author has published more than a dozen acclaimed books. He can write, but he is pedantic and more verbose than a hyper-active monkey with a keyboard. Synopsis
Now, in Final Justice, Detective Matt Payne of the Philadelphia police department—newly promoted to sergeant and assigned to Homicide—finds himself in the middle of three major assignments. The first case, a fatal shooting at a fast-food restaurant, seems simple, but rapidly becomes complicated. The second, a rape that tumbled into murder, begins complicated and only gets more so, as it becomes apparent that the crime may be part of a disturbing, and escalating, pattern. The third is the most bizarre, as Payne becomes involved with a local figure who long ago fled the country, leaving behind the mummified body of his girlfriend in a trunk. Ever since, the murderer has been sending taunting postcards from his safe haven—but all that may be about to change.
Weaving in and around this already hectic schedule are the visit to Philadelphia of the self-absorbed star of a series of improbable police movies, who wants Payne to show him “the real stuff,” and the appearance in Payne’s life of two very different women. Either one of them alone would be enough to set his head spinning, but together . . . this might be the most complicated thing of all.
Filled with colour and detail and plots as real as the headlines, this is a riveting novel of the men and women who put their lives on the line, from the cop on the beat to the commissioner himself. It’s a story of fears, dangers, courage, loyalty, and genuine heroism: storytelling at its best.
A piece of junk is being extreme in summary but this book is one of the most disappointing I have ever read.
In searching for my next read, author W.E.B. Griffin came up as an interesting possibility for a book to read. He had more than a dozen acclaimed books. I selected it.
It was a mistake.
This is one of the few books which I can dissect clearly as to why I disliked it and what might be its redeeming qualities.
I really disliked how this author, likely for the sake of authenticity, wrote about individual characters, people in the story, to the “nth” degree. Naming them, mentioning their names repeatedly, all to no avail. No development or advancement of the story. The result, confusion, chaos and conundrums. He publishes names as if they were spices adding to the flavour of the final dish. Too much spice destroys a dish. Chef Griffin does it.
He writes about sideline characters a lot, mentioning this one, and that one, and another one…to what purpose? Who knows but it does not develop the story, nor develop the plot one iota. It simply adds to the confusion and chaos that a reader needs to sort.
The above is a serious distraction from the story, as you read, you are inundated with names and characters. There is no reason for such to occur as the story or plot is not advanced by it.
Removing all the above distractions might make the story more readable, more engaging but perhaps it would be too short for the publishers.
As is this book is not engaging. Rather it is a confabulation of story pieces, seemingly assembled in sporadic writing periods.
Not the best way to spend your reading time. To call it a piece of literary junk, may be making an extreme statement, but it is likely assigned to the lowest level of my reading list.