There will be the usual gnashing of teeth and rending of
garments over the new Dan Brown thriller, Inferno.
I’ve downloaded it and will (along with six other books on my ebook stack) try
and enjoy the book as much as I have with most of Dan’ past adventures with
Robert Langdon. I say gnashing and rending because many of the critics can’t
wait to jump all over this book racing to be the first to trash it. Me, I’ll
wait. I know what it takes to write a book, I know about the fun of the research
and the thrill of uncovering a story line or a tidbit of a tale that will lead
you on the next revelation. And I don’t give a hoot about the “reality” of it
all (i.e. city map of Rome in Angels and
Demons comes to mind). You want reality watch Survivor (and is that really
reality?).
What is the lurking shadow hiding behind a trashy review?
Jealousy, in all its green and purple shades. The most flowery prose is couched
as a twisty knife. They attack facts (remember this is fiction), the writing
style, the lack of a pedigree, anything to discredit the success of
the book. Even to the sad point of maligning the writer himself. Sad, too sad.
It’s terrible to be a wildly successful writer (ask their financial consultant,
he knows the horror of it).
What makes a best seller? I haven’t a clue. One man’s
trash is another’s best seller. The list is too long to try and needle out a
reason, Fifty Shades of Gray, Harry
Potter, Michener, Ludlum, Baldacci, and Jack Reacher (to mix books, authors,
and characters). If there is one constant it’s that the writer had one great
hit and then built on it, and in some cases got better, good example is
Michael Connelly. Reread The Black Echo
and then The Black Box and you will
know what I mean. They all write on a dependable schedule and meet the demands
of their publisher. But then again maybe trash and best seller have a lot in
common.
It’s the story stupid (to wreck a political moment)! An
engaging story that the reader can identify with and feel as though they haven’t
wasted their time – that’s it, period, full stop. Were they entertained? Lots
of ways to do that (horror, love, intrigues and dangers, a nasty villain) Were
they engaged with the story, I hope so. I have a stack of books that the
critics loved and I couldn’t get past the fifth chapter. Even a train wreck of
a book, if it engages you (ahem), can be a best seller (Fifty Shades of
Whatever).
The characters, that’s the secret. Do you want to dress
and talk like them? Do you wish you were bullet proof and god-like handsome
(Jack Reacherish)? Multi-faceted like Gabriel Allon (art restorer – Israeli
spy)? Baldacci’s Will Robie - damaged beyond help but we love him anyway. The
list is endless. We often see our lives through these phantoms, ask any girl
about Hermione Granger and she will get all puffed up and smile. Characters,
the more real, the more better. You have to read about them; it’s like going
out to a long dinner with a close friend and discovering something new with
every sip of scotch.
Every once and a while a literary bestseller manages to
push aside Patterson (either one, Richard or James) and Nora Roberts to find a
momentary place in the sun on the NY Times Best Seller list. But they almost
never reach the sales numbers of thrillers and romance (I know, I know, A Game of Thrones can lurk out there but
George R.R. Martin is just too weird). Just click here and see the potpourri of writers and stories
out there on the best sellers lists. I rest my case.
We read to be entertained and that is very difficult
considering all the alternatives and distractions: TV, movies, games,
gardening, clubbing (and I don’t mean baseball which is also a distraction). We
choose to read, to maybe balance a small piece of ourselves with all the Sturm und Drang flying about. The world
of a book is in our heads – nowhere else. You make the colors, you make the
sets, and you make the characters in your image. Kind of god-like don’t you
think?
More later . . . . . . .
