Reed Farrel Coleman

Well, I asked for it, I suppose. I grumbled in my review of the last Coleman outing, [The Devil Wins], that he didn't follow up in any way on the terrifying loose end he left at the conclusion of the first Jesse Stone novel he wrote, [Blind Spot]. He made up for it here, but man, I did not like it. I'm going to get spoilery here, and I'm not going to hide it, so if you think you're going to read this novel, maybe don't read any more of my review. Or maybe, if you love Jesse Stone, don't read show more this novel. I'm serious. Coleman has gone to places Parker would never have gone, and it isn't pretty. It looks to me like he means to discard just about everything that was distinctly Parker, and run his own Jesse Stone franchise without regard to the fundamentals. The only thing he seems to want to keep is Jesse's alcohol problem, and he's even changed the dynamics of that. The old Jesse never lied to himself about his addiction, nor to anyone else, really. Coleman preaches to us about how no drunk can be trusted not to lie to himself and deny he has a problem, and then he makes Jesse illustrate the sermon. This is not my Jesse Stone. What I loved about him was that he was not a typical drunk. He had a problem, he wrestled with it with varying degrees of success, we never expected him to completely lick it, but we were rooting for him. Coleman seems to want us not to care for his Jesse the way we cared for Parker's, and dammit, by the end of this novel I almost didn't. The story line here involves a sadistic killer who means to punish Jesse by hurting the people closest to him, starting with ex-wife Jenn, whose upcoming wedding is the perfect opportunity for revenge. I did not enjoy watching this psychopath torture and kill, and I felt Coleman was doing much the same thing to Parker's loyal readers--every time I saw a bad thing coming, and said "Oh, don't do that to him/her", he did it. Coleman has pretty much ignored Dix, one of my favorite characters, and implies that Jesse doesn't intend to see him anymore. He has eliminated Gino Fish (and I wonder how Ace Atkins is going to deal with that in the Spenser series he's writing), and put Captain Healey into an uncomfortable retirement. He got Luther shot again. He has given Jesse a new love, who was introduced a book ago, was mostly absent from the last one, but now turns up here as if their relationship has been going on and heating up behind our backs. She is a match for Jesse in almost every way, but Coleman senselessly kills her off, and leaves Jesse in guilt-ridden stuporous misery on the last page. I hate to give up Jesse, but I'm done with Coleman.
(I give the novel one star, only because I did think the Gino Fish episode rang true, and it happened early in the book, before the extent of the authorial treachery became apparent.) show less

A darkly funny take on the '80s bad boy New York writers, starring the now has-been Kip Weiler after he is relegated to teaching in coal country. After a school shooting, he falls in with a cultish group of gun enthusiasts led by a fan who uses his books as a Bible. A dash of Misery and Wonder Boys, but a story only Reed Farrel Coleman could tell. And when does the book within a book become real?

When Robert B. Parker died in 2010, his estate sought to keep his book series going by hiring a string of second- and third- rate writers. The Jesse Stone series fell to Michael Brandman, who barely managed to keep it on life support for three books (2011- 2013). In 2014, the series was farmed out to Reed Coleman. Blind Spot is his first Jesse Stone attempt.

Blind Spot bears no resemblance whatsoever to the writing of Robert B. Parker. In place of snappy dialogue, we have awkward prose; and show more in place of fast action, we get verbose, clumsy descriptions. There’s more sex than in all of Parker’s novels put together; and profanity (which Parker eschewed) abounds.

The continuing characters are unrecognizable, not only Jesse himself, but the supporting characters of Molly Crane and Suitcase Simpson – the latter of whom barely makes an appearance. Jesse (a recovered alcoholic in Parker’s series) now drinks Black Label to excess. In contrast to Parker’s taciturn Jesse, he’s now verbose, with none of the wit. And instead of mooning about over his ex-wide Jenn (as he did to a tiresome degree in Parker’s novels) now constantly mopes around about how an injury kept him from a career in major league baseball. Over and over we get scenes of how he sits and broods, repeatedly throwing a baseball from one hand into the other. In Coleman’s version, Jesse is a pathetic, self- pitying lush. Little wonder that his assistant Molly treats him with disdain. Many a reader probably wants to slap him silly.

Aside from its failure as continuation of Parker’s series, Blind Spot is just plain bad writing. The plot is convoluted, and few readers will care through its 338 pages who has done what to whom. Character dialogue is replaced with long pointless descriptions and irrelevant commentary. Further, each of male leads has either had sexual relations with each of the four or so promiscuous women, or wants to. Everyone’s cheating on everyone with someone, or used to have a sexual relationship with someone, or wanted to, with all the attendant subterfuge and jealousies. The sex scenes are excruciating. For example, Ben Salter is about to have sex with Martina.

She swayed while she unhinged the silvery silken bra. She swung it over her head and threw it at him. He snatched her bra out of the air, took in her scent, and stared at her pert breasts. Her nipples were red, erect, perfect, and he said so. (p. 5) Try to imagine a young Lothario seducing his girlfriend with the line “Your nipples are red, erect, and perfect.” Good luck with that.

The action scenes are also badly written. He took a deep breath and opened the door. Though Jesse was slow to react to the punch out of confusion at seeing Vic Prado on the other side of his threshold, he jerked his head quickly enough to the left so that Vic’s haymaker didn’t connect squarely. Instead it was more of a glancing blow to Jesse’s right cheek. (p 185). The awkward description reads less like exciting action than a movie choreography.

Here’s an inner dialogue of Joe Breen, the hitman. He had always hated that expression about pinching yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. He hated it because he couldn’t understand the concept. His life could never be confused with a dream. And though he hadn’t pinched himself yet, he was tempted. (p 247). and on the same page, the vicious assassin ruminates: When the dead hit a hard surface, they made a sound like no other, for they were completely at the sway of gravity (sic). They did not tense to self-protect. There was always that hollow thud. And no thud had gutted him like the sound the girl’s body had made. He had never wanted redemption before. He had never wanted forgiveness. Now he thought there would be no moving forward without it. (p 247).

Parker was at his laziest in the Jesse Stone novels but they were saved to a degree by witty dialogue, fast paced action, and the occasional interesting character. Blind Spot is a weak attempt to continue the series, and it does not succeed. It is no better than mediocre and amateurish, and without Parker's name to carry it, it surely would never have been published. show less

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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I really want to tell you everything about this book—and I also want to tell you nothing at all beyond what the jacket copy is going to say and just tell you that if that sounds good to you—it is, and maybe better than you think. If that doesn't sound good to you, it still is, but it's probably not your cup of tea. Let's see if I can accomplish something in-between.

WHAT'S SLEEPLESS CITY ABOUT?
Nick Ryan is a detective with the show more NYPD—that's all he's wanted to be, and he's good at it. Sadly, because his father did the right thing and testified against a number of dirty cops several years ago—Ryan (and his father) are hated by most of the rank and file (and probably more of those above those). It doesn't matter what Ryan does, his career is going nowhere. He's still doing good work and seems to accept his lot in life.

Until a few things happen—I'm going to ignore those and move on to the results: Ryan is recruited by a lawyer representing unnamed interests who are going to change things for him. He's going to get a promotion, he's going to get to choose what cases he works on—whatever strikes his fancy and curiosity. But when this lawyer calls, he will push pause on everything in his life to take care of whatever these interests want. He's basically going to be a fixer for the NYPD, cleaning up messes they can't, preventing problems, and essentially doing whatever needs done. They'll provide the resources (off the record and unseen), and he provides the results.

In Sleepless City we get the origin story for Det. Ryan, we see his first two cases, and get an idea what the resulting series should look like. Here's the best thing about these two cases (which I'm going to share even if some might consider it mildly spoilery to do so because it's a great selling point): unlike in 95% of thrillers/procedurals these two crimes that apparently have nothing to do with each other do not come around in the end to be related. They are actually distinct from each other. The resolution of one has practically nothing to do with the other (only that some goodwill generated by Ryan in one situation keeps him out of hot water in another).

PROBLEM 1
A few recent incidents (nationally and in the city) have tensions high between the police and black communities at the tipping point. Ryan's called into the scene of a shooting death of an interracial couple by someone who never should've joined the police. Ryan's impulse—and that of several others, it should be noted—is to let the facts come out honestly.

But with the city near the boiling point, the fear is that the ensuing riots will leave too many dead, too many homes and businesses (and survivors) ruined, and the outcome of the protests and riots uncertain. Ryan has to cover this up without turning the victims into anything but victims.

So right away, you know that this book/series is going to live in morally gray (at best) areas. The lengths Ryan goes to—and the means by which he tries to accomplish this coverup are, tell you just as much about the way this series is going to work while the ends tell you about the ethical quagmire it tries to navigate.

PROBLEM 2
The second issue centers around a Madoff-like character who stole a billion or so dollars—a large amount came from various law enforcement unions. The havoc wreaked on the first responders by this loss is great—and the consequences for Ryan's brother (as an example) are devastating.

They're going to be able to put Aaron Lister away for a long time—there's no doubt about that. But no one can find the money—and nothing that the police, the FBI, or the courts have been able to do can get Lister to reveal where it is so they can try to repay the retirement funds.

Enter Nick Ryan.

NO WHITE HATS IN SIGHT
We get the idea early on that Nick Ryan is a stand-up guy, ready to do the right thing regardless of the consequences. But after the events that I alluded to before his recruitment, he takes a different position on the legality of his actions (and maybe that was present before, but it's certainly strengthened now)—it's about the end result for Ryan now.

He'll cut corners, he'll make deals with whatever devils he needs to, and he'll resort to methods that are so far beyond the pale of right, moral, or legal that they should be measured in light years.

In the real world—I'd hate someone like him and want to see anyone doing these vigilante acts imprisoned. And it's not just Ryan, all law enforcement characters like him—Raylan Givens should be tried on several charges, Jack Reacher should've been locked up (not for the reasons he was initially arrested when we meet him—but for everything else in that book, and the dozens following). I want Malcolm Fox to expose Rebus for the offenses he's committed (not necessarily the one's Fox thinks he has, though). Kate Burkholder should confess to shooting that man (in self-defense) and the coverup of that shooting in her teens. And so on.

But in fiction? Bring. It. On. I love this stuff. Particularly because I don't think Ryan's modus operandi is sitting well with him—I'm betting as the series progresses, we're going to see him having a harder and harder time with what he's doing. Possibly even driving him to eventually trying to bite the hand that feeds him and exposing the interests directing him to the world (and going down with them).

I don't have time to talk about the mess that is his personal life—but there's plenty of fodder there for personal subplots for years to come.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT SLEEPLESS CITY?
I had a great time with this book—it's a great action ride and you can spend hours debating the ethical questions it raises (with yourself, with the book, or with others—and I can't wait until people I know have had the chance to read this so we can have those discussions).

The speed at which Ryan is able to pull off these fixes probably strains credulity, but this isn't the kind of book to care about how long things take. And by the time you start to wonder about plausibility, you've blown past the point where the question arose and you're more focused on what happens next.

Because he's the reigning gold standard, I will say there are a couple of scenes where Ryan gets to have a Jack Reacher-esque moment, scenes that have nothing to do with the plot, just a chance for Reacher/Ryan to demonstrate their abilities and stop a wrong outside of the primary storylines. The way that one of these resolves is so un-Reacher that I laughed and re-read it to see where Coleman made you think Ryan was going to try to match the ex-MP's style. Ryan can be violent when he needs to be (quite), but he starts with his brains and mouth when he can in a situation—as satisfying as a good fight scene can be, someone thinking and talking his way through a problem can be as fun.

I think Coleman pulled off quite the feat here—this doesn't feel like his previous work (although I freely admit I haven't read as much of his earlier work as I want to, so maybe it does). This is more about action and less about reflection and thought. But it's not mindless violence and the Ryan is a thoughtful character.

There are moments of fun—Coleman's able to slip in a joke or two, too. But really this book is all about forward momentum, as if once Ryan has taken on this role he can't stop moving and the book follows suit.

I assumed going in between the premise and my past experience with Coleman that I was going to enjoy the book—but Coleman and Ryan delivered something not quite what I was expecting—and Sleepless City is better for it.

I hope I'm reading these books for years to come—and suggest you pick up Sleepless City as soon as you can. show less