Jack Reacher's deep backstory, like Harry Bosch's, is no longer referenced in the twenty-second novel in this series about an ex-military cop, now a drifter, who lives an eccentric Zen-monk-existential life. He somehow becomes involved in righting wrongs without the aid of weapons, cell phones, computer, automobile, credit cards, home, family.
Hitchhikers stop and pick him up, even though he's six-five and mighty threatening, with hands as big as dinner plates. He's smoothly included by law enforcement or others with institutional standing who need his flinty strategic intelligence and physical might to help them; data banks and institutional depth and recency are still not enough. I imagine Rutger Hauer, with intimations of replicant status, instead of Tom Cruise here.
But I always miss the early novels' accruing narrative of haunting loss that has created my reader loyalty to a series, even as the quality of them becomes sere, repetitive, and over-compressed.
One of those accommodating drivers suggests early on that he feels guilty about a woman; perhaps its the woman who dumps him at the novel's beginning, because she decides he's not marriage material, much as she loves him.
Jack seems to be descending into compulsive, compensatory behavior, signified by hypnotic and repetitive descriptions of long drives on gravel roads following or creating rising clouds of lingering dust kicked up by fast moving pickup trucks. (This caused me to recall my childhood's plaintive cries during vacation, "Are we there yet?") Between showers,
he seeks the dark reason behind a pawned West Point ring he finds in yet another nowhere town on the high plains.
That reason is a heart-breaker, and Jack doesn't hesitate to take care of the fix required, questionable as that may be.
He still hasn't slept with anyone as the novel winds down, and this is about the only suspense left. We aren't to be disappointed. He makes love to the war veteran he has saved, telling her that his sole criterion for his choice in women is the expression in their eyes. (For me, the deal breaker is a sense of humor.) It's really quite lovely, reminiscent of the scene in "Coming Home", when Jane Fonda sleeps with the paraplegic with whom she's fallen in love.
Hitchhikers stop and pick him up, even though he's six-five and mighty threatening, with hands as big as dinner plates. He's smoothly included by law enforcement or others with institutional standing who need his flinty strategic intelligence and physical might to help them; data banks and institutional depth and recency are still not enough. I imagine Rutger Hauer, with intimations of replicant status, instead of Tom Cruise here.
But I always miss the early novels' accruing narrative of haunting loss that has created my reader loyalty to a series, even as the quality of them becomes sere, repetitive, and over-compressed.
One of those accommodating drivers suggests early on that he feels guilty about a woman; perhaps its the woman who dumps him at the novel's beginning, because she decides he's not marriage material, much as she loves him.
Jack seems to be descending into compulsive, compensatory behavior, signified by hypnotic and repetitive descriptions of long drives on gravel roads following or creating rising clouds of lingering dust kicked up by fast moving pickup trucks. (This caused me to recall my childhood's plaintive cries during vacation, "Are we there yet?") Between showers,
That reason is a heart-breaker, and Jack doesn't hesitate to take care of the fix required, questionable as that may be.
He still hasn't slept with anyone as the novel winds down, and this is about the only suspense left. We aren't to be disappointed. He makes love to the war veteran he has saved, telling her that his sole criterion for his choice in women is the expression in their eyes. (For me, the deal breaker is a sense of humor.) It's really quite lovely, reminiscent of the scene in "Coming Home", when Jane Fonda sleeps with the paraplegic with whom she's fallen in love.
As for the question of lingering guilt, and the possibility of this act's compensatory nature...nah. It's Jack Reacher, righteous, gentle, steely loner, and we still believe.
No comments:
Post a Comment