Max McCoy

Another fine Indy adventure from Max McCoy. Along with Philosopher's Stone (not the Harry Potter one), these two seem to be considered as the best of the Indiana Jones tie-in books, and I've certainly not been disappointed. Perhaps inevitably, they are not a patch on the films but they're very quick to read and are engaging in a pulpy sort of way. Hollow Earth draws on interesting occult mythology (of the sort that fed Jules Verne and Edgar Allan Poe) and the setting allows the opportunity show more for Nazis to return as Indy's nemeses – a much better decision than the low-rent Mussolini goons of Philosopher's Stone.

It does share some of that other novel's plot holes, with the Crystal Skull curse again becoming an unnecessary plot divergence, and some of the lines can be clunky and exposition-heavy. And yet again, Indy finds himself mostly doing grunt work (the only real puzzle, towards the end of the book, is explicitly delegated by Indy to another character). The book feels less like an "Indiana Jones" adventure because of these drawbacks, especially in comparison to Philosopher's Stone. But these hiccups are more than counterbalanced by a lot of humour (that actually works) and some surprisingly adept writing from McCoy.

Now that I've read the two Indiana Jones books with the best reputation, I can recommend them both for different reasons. If you want a nostalgia trip, something that really feels like Indiana Jones, go for Philosopher's Stone. But if you want the stronger, more cohesive story, delve into Hollow Earth. show less

The fourth and final Indiana Jones book from author Max McCoy, Secret of the Sphinx is unfortunately also the least of them. It has the flaws of its predecessor, Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs, in that it rushes through its plot and character moments. However, it compounds these flaws by trying to cram in too much; in the less than 300 pages of this breezy novel, Indy quests for four separate artefacts across three continents, and it's too much to be able to invest in any one of show more them.

The opening act sees Indy in Japan-occupied China raiding an emperor's lost tomb – it's quite well done and perhaps the best part of the book, invoking a tense atmosphere and traps in the tomb itself and establishing a serviceable villain in the Imperial spymaster Sokai. However, by a rather tenuous link we then find ourselves in the company of a couple of travelling English magicians and negotiate a typhoon, an island leper colony and an Indian black magic practitioner in Calcutta. These are good adventure-serial trappings – there's even a flying boat, which is always nice – but nearly half the book is done, and we're only just starting the main plot.

Two artefacts are sought simultaneously: the biblical Staff of Aaron mentioned in Exodus and the 'Omega Book' in which all of man's past, present and future is supposedly written. The first is particularly interesting, clearly reminiscent of the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but is almost pathetically resolved: they are just given the Staff by some Yazidis they happen to bump into while on the trail of their first clue. The second, the Omega Book, becomes the focus, but develops an absurdity in that it is the Japanese villain on Indy's tail, backed by Japanese soldiers – who are presumably in uniform, even though they are now in Egypt. It's halting and underwhelming storytelling, and quickly resolved. There's then an extended final act following a fourth artefact, the Crystal Skull, which is unconnected to the main plot and seems to be tying up a plot point from McCoy's earlier Indiana Jones and the Hollow Earth (a much superior book, by the way).

It is too much for such a light book to cover, and consequently none of it nestles in with the sort of Saturday-afternoon ease that the films created so effortlessly. Even if comparing the book to the films is unfair – though we wait to see what The Dial of Destiny will do for the reputation of the franchise when it's released in a couple of months – Secret of the Sphinx also compares unfavourably to Max McCoy's previous Indy books. There's a lack of patience in the storytelling and, most disappointingly, no actual clues or mysteries or riddles for Indy to solve at any point. It's all just sort of railroaded along at speed, like that mining-cart set-piece in Temple of Doom.

Nevertheless, despite that lack of patience in the storytelling, there is still storytelling on show here. An Indiana Jones adventure is strong enough simply by being an Indiana Jones adventure; globe-trotting, chasing ancient artefacts and punching fascist villains can never not be fun, even if it's not always good. In truth, I'm not the right person to review Secret of the Sphinx: I love without reservation treasure hunts and lost cities and anything of that nature, and find it impossible to dislike the book. More objective readers, however, would certainly mark it lower. show less

A pleasant piece of pulp, even if it doesn't reach that level of magical pulp that infuses the Indiana Jones movies. The novels in this franchise are a known quantity: they're only for fans craving a little more, and there's an unspoken acceptance that they can't be anything other than a pale imitation of the real thing. You know none of them are going to blow you away. There's no chance of the reader unearthing a hidden gem – that's a feat that remains exclusively reserved for everyone's show more favourite treasure-hunting archaeologist.

Accepting this, then, the reader settles down for a routine Indiana Jones thrill, and that's what they get. The MacGuffin is an interesting one: the prospect of live dinosaurs in unexplored Mongolia, and of a 'missing link' tribe of Stone Age humans. It is, in essence, an agreeable and simplified mix of Lost Horizon and Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World. Even allowing for the obligatory skirmish with the Nazis in the bookend chapters, Dinosaur Eggs felt like something other than just a rehash of standard Indiana Jones tropes. Hypervigilant fans will nit-pick that Indy doesn't always seem like the Indy we know and love, but I quite liked how fresh it all felt.

Having said that, it is the least of the three Indy novels by Max McCoy that I've read (I've yet to open Secret of the Sphinx). It's a disappointment that Indy doesn't have to do much (if anything) in the way of puzzle-solving or questing; he only has to journey to a place, fight, then journey back. On my shelf, Dinosaur Eggs is noticeably slimmer than the other McCoy novels: it rushes through its plot, its character conflicts and its resolutions to Indy's predicaments. The storytelling is a bit artless: any tension is bled out by its hastiness, and we aren't allowed to pause even for a moment to savour the wonder at the 'lost world' Indy discovers.

But, in the end, any flaws in the book are easily forgiven, because it's an Indiana Jones book. You could just write the sentence "It's an Indiana Jones adventure" and have covered all the necessary bases for a review. To people thinking about reading this, the quality almost doesn't matter. You'll read Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs only if you have an itch to scratch – and this it satisfies. show less

An enjoyable piece of pulp. It's not on the same level as the films but it is still entertaining, and more importantly, it feels like Indiana Jones. There is some good dialogue from Indy and it contains moments of humour. The action is also well-presented and the MacGuffin interesting, although the Crystal Skull curse turned out to be a bit of a red herring. There are a number of plot contrivances, but I think perhaps I only noticed these because they were laid out on the page; certainly, show more one can find (and forgive) a number of similar plot holes and contrived plot points in the films, as great as they are.

One disappointment I felt in the book is that Indy doesn't really contribute meaningfully to solving any of the mysteries until the final act (where he pinpoints the tomb's location, and navigates through the various traps). Prior to this, his main contribution is grunt work - fights, daring escapes, and suchlike - and he is relying on others to solve the next clue in the mystery for him. Most inexplicably, the main bad guy, Sarducci, repeatedly throws Indy a bone in telling him where to go or what to look for next, for no real reason. Even in the pantheon of pop-culture baddies continually dropping the ball and letting the hero succeed, Sarducci has no rival in his incompetence. This is not helped by the fact that Mussolini's fascists are much less intimidating as villains than Hitler's Nazis, who provided the villainy for the two best Indy films.

It was nice to encounter Sallah in the book, though he serves little purpose; his function could easily have been done by the Farqhuar character, or even by replacing the Farqhuar character with Sallah entirely. It may seem here like I'm writing a negative review, but I did enjoy it. It's far from perfect but it has heart and one can certainly enjoy it if one feels nostalgia and affection for the old Indy films. show less