Take Down: Spoilers for the Ending

In Take Down by James Swain, the portion of the ending which surprised me related to Maggie.  I liked her character through most of the novel, though when she was relegated to being chained up in the truck I thought it didn't fit her character.  She's a con woman, has been all her life, and she can't make the cops buy the fact that she's prepared to turn in Billy, so they handcuff her in the truck while she stares impotently at the monitor.  It didn't fit the character for me.
 
I think Mr. Swain was trying to show she was reckless and desperate, but I think there were more subtle ways of showing that.


In any event, Billy finally gets together with Maggie, his crush from the time he was a teenager.  He sleeps with her and then decides he's done with her, that she's no further use to him.  He doesn't say goodbye, doesn't talk to her, instead he leaves some cash on the pillow as he leaves the room, telling himself that she'll get the message and be grateful for the cash.


It's pretty hard to take from a character who has been the protagonist, and there's very little way to justify it, beyond the recognition that he sees people as things to be used. 


It goes to the heart of the cruelty of a con man, and what the con man takes.  The confidence man earns people's confidence and trust, then exploits it.  In so doing, he takes not just the money, but the trust and faith that people have in humanity, and leaves them poorer, not just in their wallet, but also in spirit.


For Billy, the rest of the world are either grifters or marks and marks are meant to be used and left behind.  In leaving the money for Mags on the pillow, he didn't just use her, he wanted her to know she had been used, that she was a mark, and he was leaving her behind.  He wanted her to know that she had no hold over him, and he had conned her into thinking she did.  It occurs to me that it's similar in attitude to Michael of The Reader,


Read While Walking: The Reader, Exploitation and Victimization


and I wonder if Maggie will react in the same way as Hannah.

Take Down by James Swain and the Conscience of a Confidence Man

Take Down by James Swain follows a cheater and his crew as they scam casinos in Las Vegas, and he is then hired/blackmailed to protect a new casino from all the other cheats in town.


Two things make Take Down different from the other James Swain novels.  The casino Billy is protecting (a wide open candy store) is run by gangsters.  Most of the Tony Valentine novels are more about the plot and the cons than the characterizations.  Here, James Swain does a very neat job of drawing convincing villains, who are understandable in their motivations.  Ike and T-Bird are somewhat sympathetic, and somewhat stupid, often played for comedic effect, but I didn't find it overdone.  I found Shaz Doucette understandable, and also genuinely frightening.  The villains, more than the mechanics of cheating, gave the novel its pacing and excitement.


The second aspect is that the protagonist is a con man.   Unlike the Tony Valentine novels, Take Down is told from the perspective of a cheater.  It's similar to James Swain's other novels, and includes some of the same cons and tricks.  In many ways, it's easy to forget that the protagonist here is a cheat, as opposed to a detective dedicated to catching cheats.


I like stories about con men.  I enjoy reading about the con, I like the cleverness, I like to think about whether it would be possible to carry off the con in reality, and I look at it a bit like a magic trick.  I don't tend to think of con men as particularly bad in the criminal food chain, particularly because it seems to be a trope that con men don't carry guns and avoid violence.  I also tend towards the idea that the con man takes an amount that won't leave the mark too poor, and ideally in such a way that the mark can't complain about the theft (usually because the mark is engaged in illegal activity).  So fleecing people who think they're ripping off someone else seemed to me that the con man is like the  Robin Hood of criminals. 


James Swain hasn't taken this approach to con men and cheaters in his past novels.  I've always had the sense that Tony Valentine takes pride in catching a cheater, that he has absolutely no doubt that the cheater is morally wrong, and never feels sympathy for the cheat. 


It's an aspect of his character that, while it rings true in-story, has a hard time getting my sympathy in reality. I roll my eyes a bit at the thought that a casino might be losing money, and considered that the narrative intrusions about how bad cheating is for the gaming industry, and the inherent goodness and expertise of the Nevada Gaming Commission to be authorial recompense for giving Mr. Swain access to some of the insider information on casinos. 


So I was surprised to find Take Down featuring a cheater as the protagonist, and was curious to see how Mr. Swain would manage to prevent him from becoming too sympathetic a character, or if he would fall in line with the usual con man Robin Hood sympathies (perhaps ripping off a gangster-owned casino creates its own moral justification).


I think Mr. Swain did a very good job of showing a con man for what he is, for why he's morally wrong, while doing it subtly enough that it's easy to miss the cues as the reader roots for Billy's success. 


The key to being a con man, I think I have to acknowledge, is a lack of conscience.  If a con man feels sorry for the suckers, he can't uphold the con.  (Paul Newman learns this in The Color of Money).  The con man has to have no sympathy or empathy with his victims... and the entire world forms his potential victim pool.  Accordingly, the con man is exclusively interested in his own welfare.  As I indicated, Mr. Swain builds it very subtly, occasionally letting Billy even convince himself that he's justified in ignoring the welfare of anyone who means anything to him. 


For myself, I was genuinely surprised at the ending of the novel and the decision Billy makes.  It's consistent with his character as we've seen it throughout the novel, it's just not consistent with what I wanted to believe his character was throughout the novel.  I've tried to reconsider his actions, or come up with some other justification (he's young, he didn't think it through) but I'm forced to come back to the realization that he's a cheat and looks only to his own self interest without the slightest twinge of conscience.  To me, that was much more effective than authorial sidebars on the harm caused by cheaters, and one that will influence how I look at stories about con men going forward.

Indigo Slam by Robert Crais

I read Indigo Slam immediately following Sunset Express.  I guess it's a testament to my enjoyment of the Elvis Cole novels, but I also wanted to assess the cohesion of the series, and the extent to which the novels were interlinked.


I was extremely pleasantly surprised, and gained significant admiration for the series.


The story itself was good, though it involved perhaps a few too many agencies with differing goals.  I had a tough time getting the actions and motivations of Clark, the absentee father to line up properly.  But it was a fun plot, a good resolution and retained the distinctive character of Elvis Cole, with Joe Pike beginning to develop more of his own character that would be more fully fleshed out in later novels.


Each of the Elvis Cole novels can stand on their own.  I haven't read them in order, and I don't think there's any requirement to do so.  I had thought there were only casual nods to continuity, such as the Jimminy Cricket décor of Elvis' office and the presence of the cat at his house.


I have to credit Mr. Crais.  The novels have an excellent continuity, and significantly more interconnection than I appreciated.  Not just the little things, like Peter Alan Nelson of Lullaby Town showing up to babysit for Ben, but long term planning in how the relationship between Elvis Cole and Lucy Chenier will play out.


One of my favourite Elvis Cole novels is The Last Detective (which, if you are following the numerical order of the series, follows L.A. Requiem, which follows Indigo Slam).   There is a subplot involving Lucy's opportunity to get a job with a television station in L.A.  I really liked how that subplot was handled, giving Lucy her own power and agency to resolve the situation without Elvis needing to come to her rescue.  However, in a complete surprise to me, done subtly and skillfully, plot elements dealing with Ben's father were sown into Indigo Slam as part of this side plot and presage events in The Last Detective. 


To my mind that level of foreshadowing and interconnection takes significant advance planning, and is a comforting assurance that Mr. Crais has a clear idea of how the story and his characters will develop.  I'm looking forward to reading more of the Elvis Cole novels to gain greater appreciation for this level of craftsmanship.

Sunset Express by Robert Crais

I really enjoyed Sunset Express, as I enjoy most of the Elvis Cole series.  I really liked the character, and I think it's because of my fascination for how he lives and how I can learn from it myself.


Most private eye novels have characters who are prepared to mouth the formulaic disclaimer that it's just another job, and the romance wears off with the end of the first case.  But they say this even as risking their lives for the principle that they owe everything to their client, and work day and night without rest or food in support of that duty of loyalty, whether or not there is financial compensation to match.


Elvis Cole is a change from the usual formula, in a way that's almost hard to explain. 


He's an ex-special forces U.S. Ranger who fought in Vietnam and was heavily decorated for his bravery there, which he doesn't like to discuss.  He had a rough childhood which he rose above to join the military.  He also has a black belt in martial arts.  Following his return, he developed good connections in the police department, opened a one-man private detective outfit, and is scraping by with his small office, in the heart of L.A., while he lives in a large house with a great view and drives a convertible sports car.  All of this is pretty standard private detective fare, and judging from most fiction is probably part of the job suggestions the military hands out as part of the exit package.


Unlike many private detectives in fiction, Elvis has a girlfriend.  Lucy Chenier is attractive, a media personality, independently wealthy, an Olympic class athlete and a lawyer.  Still pretty standard for fiction, and perhaps in another series of novels she'd be solving the cases instead of Elvis, but perhaps that's for a later installment.


Elvis Cole's friend, Joe Pike, remains enigmatic in these earlier novels, still more of a concept to bail Cole out of trouble than a fully realized character, but he's coming along.  (Joe is also ex-special forces, a martial arts expert, has mysterious and unending sources of income and has a troubled childhood and connections in the police department). 


So far, not too out of the ordinary, though a bit difficult to find principles that can be developed into life coaching lessons.


The part I like about Cole though, and the part that lifts this series above plot machinations to say something about the human condition is that Elvis actually seems to live a life.  He knocks off work on the case in the afternoon.  He heads home and cooks dinner for himself.  He takes time with it, and seems to enjoy the act of cooking in a way that relaxes him for the evening.  There is usually a detailed description of what he's cooking for dinner that sounds both achievable and realistic for a guy living alone with time to enjoy cooking and eating healthy foods which strike a balance between healthy and convenient (there's a heavy use of canned foods, even canned potatoes).


Sometimes he has a beer, but he doesn't overindulge.  He feeds the cat and sits with him while he eats.  He watches movies, sits on the deck, plays with his cat, and goes to bed in good time.  In the morning he undergoes an extensive exercise routine on his back deck.  Sometimes it's just for enjoyment, sometimes it's to work out some of his stress.  He enjoys the morning air, and usually makes himself a substantial breakfast.  Then, at his own pace, he heads into the office. 


He doesn't check for messages, nor follow up leads in the evening.  He's not an alcoholic.  He doesn't have connections to the criminal underworld that he cultivates all night, and he doesn't mix around L.A. nightlife trying to pick up leads.  He calls witnesses, makes appointments and schedules sufficient work for the day without trying to do too much.  It's a quiet life alone, earning enough for a living he's comfortable with, but not working so he doesn't have a life.  And I can picture him being able to do it.  Leave aside the black-belt ex-special forces business and this kind of life should be achievable.


Rare though it is, in fiction or life, Elvis Cole appears to have a genuine work-life balance.  This despite the fact that he works on important, life or death cases.  As impressive as it is to create a fictional character with work life balance, somehow Mr. Crais also manages to introduce a sense of urgency into the timeline, despite Cole refusing to be hurried or moved to compromise how he lives his life for the job.


In later books, Pike indicates that one of the reasons he's attached himself to Cole is because he's fascinated by how centered Cole seems to be.  He has it all together and prioritizes that which is important and Pike wants to learn from it. 


In Sunset Express Cole makes time to tour his girlfriend and her son around L.A..  They're not in danger, and they don't form part of the more urgent elements of the plot.  It's just more stuff that Cole does to achieve balance in his life, and he takes time from the investigation to spend with them.  Sometimes things come up that necessitate an adjustment in plans, but Cole is not putting work first or second, he's simply doing what needs to be done in each aspect of his life.  It's really amazing.  Part of that is what fascinates me, like Joe Pike, into continuing to follow Elvis Cole.

FaceOff ed. David Baldacci

FaceOff is a neat concept book.  It gathers together a number of authors and has them collaborate, in pairs, to create a short story involving their main characters.


I was really excited to read it to see Harry Bosch and Patrick Kenzie work together (Michael Connelly and Dennis Lehane, respectively), and also Paul Madriani and Alex Cooper (Steve Martini and Linda Fairstein) and Jack Reacher with Nick Heller (Lee Child and Joseph Finder).  Basically, the collection seemed to assemble quite a number of authors I enjoy reading, and would have short stories featuring their characters.


From a fan service standpoint, I'd say the collection was a success.  The reader gets to see their favourite characters interact with each other and work together on a brief case.  I guess what I was hoping for however, was a little more of Harry Bosch's impressions of Patrick Kenzie and vice versa, and to see them use their strengths to work together.  The trouble with that, is it probably needs more room than is available in a 20 page short story.  So the collection worked from a tasting menu perspective.  You got to see a glimpse, it is probably what you were looking for, but not fully satisfying. 


For myself, I am interested enough in a couple of the authors featured to pick up books featuring their characters (Jeffrey Deaver and Linwood Barclay), but it's difficult even to tell whose writing style you're getting in the course of the short story.  So I'm not sure I could recommend this as a way of getting into new authors, but at most for giving a brief sense of the characters involved.  Sometimes that's enough I suppose, but I think FaceOff is ultimately targeted at people who are already fans of the authors and characters.

Absence of Light by Zoe Sharp

Absence of Light is a novella by Zoe Sharp, featuring her protagonist Charlie Fox.  In Absence of Light Charlie is providing protection services to a humanitarian search and rescue group, while also investigating possible criminal activity by the organization.


I enjoyed this novella.  I really liked the early Charlie Fox novels, but the last few I haven't enjoyed as much... perhaps due to the plot circumstances with Sean Meyer, but I think also some of the things I liked about the first novels have been decreasing as Ms. Sharp writes more novels and the character of Charlie develops.


Absence of Light, like almost all of the Charlie Fox novels, uses the flashback technique to plunge the reader right into the action.  Just like Shell Scott, by Richard S. Prather, most of the Charlie Fox adventures start with her in the heat of action, or suffering an injury and reflecting back on how she got to this point.  Used well, it can be an effective technique to start things off with an exciting first chapter and build up goodwill for some exposition immediately thereafter, while building suspense about how things must transpire to reach that point.


It needs to be used carefully though, because it can also have the effect of limiting suspense (since you know certain characters must be alive when the flashback catches up to current events) and sometimes giving clues to the outcome of the mystery.  It's actually the latter point that I think trips up a number of authors.  By trying so hard not to reveal clues in the initial scene, or in the flashback, sometimes the narration becomes awkward, unrealistic, or seems as though the initial scene is forced into the novel.


It can also be tricky for authors to transition back to present time when it comes time to bring the flashback to a close and resolve the initial suspenseful event.


As I said, Richard S. Prather does it well, and in many of her novels, so does Zoe Sharp.  In Absence of Light she uses an embedded flashback, so within the flashback Charlie flashes back to how she got to that point.  It's actually pretty smoothly done.  And she avoids pitfalls of bringing the flashback to a close by ending the novella with an epilogue once the flashback catches up to the present.


It's more like the old style of Charlie Fox that I enjoy.  Some action, a mystery, some cleverness by Charlie (that's always the part I like best).  I liked the setting, and thought the tie-ins to Parker, Sean and the ongoing plot points were well done and subtle enough that a non-series reader could enjoy the story without full knowledge of the relationships. 


Ms. Sharp describes the novella as a bridge between the Charlie Fox novels, and perhaps it will be, but it also stands on its own very nicely.

The exclusive right to publish. Finders Keepers legal commentary.

Under the Copyright Act, authors (or first owners) of a literary work have the exclusive right to publish the work, or any substantial part thereof.   


The Berne Convention on Copyright (which has 93 countries as members including the U.S., China, Japan, Canada and the EU) provides that authors of literary works shall have the exclusive right of authorizing their work to be made available to the public through sale or transfer of ownership.  It is, however, permissible for member countries to create exceptions once the author has first published the work.


But the concept, almost universally where copyright is recognized, is that an author has the exclusive right of publication of his or her work. 


This gives an author the right to claim infringement, and therefore sue for compensation if someone else publishes work they have created.  It's a right that makes sure that authors are compensated for their creations, and that someone else can't steal and print their work and receive all the financial rewards.


But what of the corollary?  Because the author has the exclusive right to publish the work, it must also mean that the author has the right to choose not to publish a work.  If an author wrote works while a juvenile, or political position papers or rough drafts, the author would have the right to restrain anyone from publishing those works.  Most authors would probably support that position.


In Finders Keepers by Stephen King, someone finds new work by an author after the author has been dead for about thirty years.  In the book it's viewed (potentially) as a collector's treasure; the notebooks that can be sold for millions.  That aspect is correct, from a copyright standpoint.  But the idea that those books could be turned into movies, or published and distributed, would be an infringement of the author's copyright, which continues for 75 years following the author's death.


In the context of the novel, the author is one of the great American writers, not dissimilar from J.D. Salinger.  By his choice, he elected not to share his works with the world.  Is that intended as a right the author has?  Beyond merely the question of who should receive the remuneration for the publication of work, should a writer be able to withhold his work from the world from beyond the grave?


Agatha Christie left instructions for Sleeping Murder to be published after her death.  (Curtain had similar instructions, but apparently Dame Agatha authorized its publication while still living). Robert Jordan left detailed instructions for the publication of the final volume(s) of his Wheel of Time series following his death, as well as the completion of the series by Brendon Sanderson.  It is a bit unclear how much of the final volumes appropriately identify Robert Jordan as the author, but it seems generally agreed he wrote particular scenes which appear in the final novels.


So authors can, and do, control and authorize publication from beyond the grave.  As indicated above, I think most people would accept the proposition that an author can control their work while alive, including restricting it from publication.  The idea that an author should be able to entirely destroy their work is a bit harder to swallow if you're a fan, but would be almost impossible to regulate by law.


Should the restriction on the right to publish continue after death though?  If someone discovers works of the author, shouldn't they be entitled to publication?  I acknowledge the estate should still reap the financial benefits, but is it up to the estate to determine whether or not the author would have wanted the work published at all?  And should the estate be entitled to destroy the work if they deem it unsuitable?


What if Christopher Tolkien determined that The Silmarillion should not be published at all, but should be destroyed instead?  Some of the richness and wonder of Middle Earth might be lost to us. 


Finders Keepers, in avoiding any discussion of the author's estate, sidesteps the question a bit, and its ending ignores potential claims by the estate for infringement.  But I think it raises an interesting question as to which copyright rights should survive after death, and whether the estate should have the sole right to determine which works are fit for publication, which authors will "complete" the work, the extent to which they disclose what is original and what is added, or which works will never be seen by the public.


With a copyright term that extends 75 years beyond the death of the creator, I think it's worth asking the question whether that term after death should be solely to provide compensation to three generations of heirs, or whether that term is intended to give the third generation rights to control the use and distribution of work created by the author.

The right way to use callbacks for external reference points. Finders Keepers

If I told you that I had just read a book which involved an obsessive fan of an author's work, who discovered that the author had killed off, or fundamentally affected the life of the author's principal character and it caused the fan to become so upset that the fan had to confront the author, take the author hostage and demand an explanation before violently assaulting the author... could you guess which book I had read?


Some spoilers follow if you're trying to guess.


What if I added that the protagonist used his knowledge of how the character's story arc turned out in the yet unpublished novel to taunt the antagonist, and at a crucial moment, set the author's manuscript on fire, causing the antagonist to attempt to put out the fire with their bare hands, eventually burning to death in the conflagration?


Would you think perhaps that the book was ripping off Misery by Stephen King?  Those exact things happen in Finders Keepers by Stephen King.  So is it self-plagiarism?  I said before that I liked the book, and I do. I see it as a reference to Misery without being a retread.  I haven't re-read Misery in some time, so I can't really say whether Finders Keepers has something different to say about creators and their relationships with or obligations to their fans... though my impression is that Mr. King's views as expressed in Finders Keepers seemed pretty consistent with his views on those matters as I had recalled from his earlier works, whether from Misery or The Dark Tower or others. 


And while those events happen, and unquestionably a key element of the novel is the question of the relationship between readers and authors, as I indicated in my earlier post, to me the novel shows the ways in which love for a novel can lead to good while also having the potential to lead to something worse, but in either case if it speaks truth about character, then it can speak to vastly disparate people and find elements to unite them. 
Read While Walking: Finders Keepers by Stephen King


If Finders Keepers had been written by another author, I probably would have felt the author was plagiarizing Stephen King.  As it is, it seems more like Mr. King is deliberately referencing his earlier work for the enjoyment of his fans.  I had some of the sense of Misery at the beginning of the novel, but it subtly built up, increasing the anticipation that the protagonist would pull out a lighter and threaten the manuscripts, because it was so clear that must happen in the worlds of Mr. King.  When he did, it felt earned, appropriate, and a treat for longtime fans.


I'm reminded of the Spartacus television series on Starz.  The series built the anticipation for the viewer to hear the phrase "I am Spartacus" and built, and built, to the point it started to seem funny, then almost forgotten, and finally rewarded the viewers so desperate for that phrase.  Spartacus did it better, but Finders Keepers was trading on that same need for its knowledgeable fans to feel as though they know something more than the immediate text would indicate and will be rewarded for their knowledge and loyalty.
I like that type of external reference as a treat to reward the loyal fan, but only when it's done in such a way that doesn't detract from the work itself, nor cause those unfamiliar with the reference to feel as though they have been left out or are missing something.  I thought both Finders Keepers and Spartacus handled that type of reward about as well as it's possible to do.

Are character actions determined by the author or by outside forces? Finders Keepers

Finders Keepers by Stephen King has a great deal of commentary about the role of the author and how the characters in a novel turn out.  Many of these seem to be done in the authorial voice, so that the reader has a sense they relate more to Mr. King's views than the views of the characters in the novel.


While I found the descriptions consistent with Mr. King's other works and observations, I also found it interesting to consider some of the issues he raises, and how they relate to other authors.


The first element I found interesting is the question of who controls the characters?


Finders Keepers justifies the in-book fictional character arc of Jimmy Gold by saying the authors don't control the characters.  Authors get inspiration and the story takes them where the story needs to go, all the author does is to record.


This approach is consistent with that described in The Dark Tower series and elsewhere in Mr. King's writing.  Whether it's inspiration coming from Gan, or a mean gunslinger threatening the author, the characters have a life of their own, and for the author to try to force them in another direction doesn't work for the story or the character.


 Having created a world and its characters, there are some things those characters can and will do, and some they will not.  The author can only move them so far before he feels them straining at their own reality.  The interesting point in Finders Keepers (or perhaps The Dark Half?) is that sometimes the characters move in ways that may not have been originally anticipated by the author. 


Perhaps this is caused less by a muse directing the author's hand, and more by the author's understanding of the character he or she has created.  For the author, the character is fully real, four dimensional in the author's mind (three dimensions, plus time) and must organically react to certain events or even drive events in particular ways in the story or series.  The author knows, with a bone deep understanding, not only how the character would look or behave in a given circumstance, but also how the reactions would change depending when in the story or series arc the character is confronted with the circumstance.


I get the sense that Michael Connelly would have this sensibility about Harry Bosch and his other characters. Harry acts in certain ways when he's a cop in Hollywood division, differently when he's a private detective, differently again when he's on the cold case squad and after he becomes a single dad.  I think Mr. Connelly would talk about what Harry would or would not do as though he's a real person... and to him (and many readers) he is.


Other authors, for all their realism in developing fully formed, four dimensional characters, never cease to see them as constructs of paper to be moved and dealt with as they wish.


I'm reminded of George R.R. Martin asking how many children Scarlett O'Hara has.  She has one in the movie version of Gone With the Wind but three in the novel.  So which is correct?  Mr. Martin proposes that a correct answer is none... Scarlett O'Hara is a fictional character.


I find Mr. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series fascinating, because he seems to hold that attitude throughout, while somehow managing to give real depth to his characters.  Readers intuitively know what Jaime Lannister would do in a given situation, how he would react as though he is a real person.  The same is true for most of Mr. Martin's characters, in that series and otherwise.  And yet, he seems to feel no more attachment for them than he would for any other constructs of paper.  If they get tortured in hideous ways, or killed, I don't get the sense it bothers Mr. Martin internally, since they're just fictional characters. 


I get the sense that Karin Slaughter would share Mr. Martin's sensibility about Will Trent. 


I don't say that's a bad thing, but it does make a different reading experience. 


Messrs. King and Connelly and their spiritual colleagues would be loath to kill off their characters or put them in life altering scenarios.  It would feel to them like they had killed a real person or put a real person in those circumstances, so it wouldn't happen without a lot of careful thought, and probably some sense in the book that it had been earned, or was a worthy experience somehow.  That gives me as a reader a certain sense of assurance and comfort in reading their books.  If they do kill a character or cause some life altering experience, I anticipate I'll get some kind of satisfying closure.


With Mr. Martin and Ms. Slaughter, I feel a greater sense of danger when I read their books, because I feel as though the floor could drop out from under any character at any time, and I don't know if things will be resolved in a meaningful way, or even if it will happen for a reason.


When I started writing this commentary, I was tempted to refer to Agatha Christie and her steps to kill off Hercule Poirot.  In the end though, her decision in Curtain was not so much indicative of where she finds her inspiration and plot directions, but instead about the importance for an author to control the works in which a character appears.  And in that regard, I suspect Mr. Martin, Mr. King, Mr. Connelly, Ms. Slaughter and Ms. Christie would all agree that the author ought to be entitled to control where their characters appear and how they are portrayed. 


That may be a good segue into the question of what rights readers and fans have to direct the course of a work, which will be a topic for later this week.

Finders Keepers by Stephen King

I was quite surprised and really excited to find that Stephen King had written a sequel to Mr. Mercedes featuring Det.-Ret. Bill Hodges. 
Read While Walking: Mr. Mercedes by Stephen King


I know there's a certain amount of fan service involved in being an author, but I was extremely gratified to see that Mr. King had seen my wish for a series featuring a PI firm run by Holly and Hodges and decided to answer it... though with a book about the dangers of failing to cater to your fans.


In the result, Finders Keepers was a really good book, and a good story.  Mr. King didn't spend much time on the characters of Hodges and Holly, assuming that readers were familiar with them from Mr. Mercedes.  Instead, the book centered on the two characters who received the stolen notebooks, Morris and Pete.  Briefly, both Morris and Pete (separated by a number of years) are ardent fans of an author and his trilogy of books.  But the author has become a recluse and stopped publishing, though he hasn't stopped writing.  His notebooks are stolen and contain two sequels to the original trilogy.  Both Morris and Pete want the opportunity to read the novels and learn about the further adventures of their hero Jimmy Gold.  Potential financial consequences of the find are decidedly secondary.  I also laughed when one of the characters considers trading the notebooks as part of a plea deal, but concludes that a prosecuting attorney couldn't appreciate the value of them, and probably thinks that Erle Stanley Gardner is great literature.


There's a bit of proselytizing which seems to be coming more from Mr. King than organically from his characters about the role of the author, but  it's to introduce explicitly some ideas about authors and their obligations which may not be obvious if left sub rosa.


There's some good suspense and action sequences, a couple of narrow escapes which show Mr. King is still a bit of a softie, but it's why I like his books; I don't need to worry about getting too upset at the bleakness and tragedy unless it's fully earned and provides closure in some ways.

I guess the best part of Finders Keepers for me is the way Morris and Pete are two sides of the same coin.  They both have the same drive to read, and both place the work of literature as central in their lives.  Mr. King has to work fairly hard to make sure Morris is sufficiently unlikeable that he comes across as the bad side of obsession to Pete's good side of love for literature.  I think, from time to time, I could see where Stephen King was starting to make Morris more sympathetic and then pulled back just a bit for contrast to prevent too much sympathy from falling on him or to remind us he's not a nice guy.  It's fascinating how easy it is (for me at least) to start to feel sympathetic with a character just because he likes books... but I think to some extent that's what Stephen King was trying to show in this book.  That a good story can unite people and help us to understand what we have in common with them, even if it's as little as a shared love of the same literature.  Knowing what they like to read tells us something about them, and despite everything else, if we like the same books, they may not be that different from us in how they see themselves and the world around them.