I wrote my Storytellers Unplugged essay yesterday and put it on the dashboard to appear this Friday. I dreamed the essay during the wee small hours of Saturday morning, so all I had to do was write it down, more or less.
Then I wrote an Amazon review of Forced Out by Stephen Frey. I don’t really like posting negative reviews all that much, but this book had very little going for it.
Stephen Frey strays from the field of financial thrillers to take on a crime novel that crosses baseball with the mob. Jack Barrett, a former Yankees talent scout dismissed from the club after allegedly altering the course of the 2004 series with the Red Sox, spies a A-league player in Sarasota who could be the “next big thing.” Another Mickey Mantle. The only problem is that the player, Clemant, is hated by his teammates and is hopelessly inconsistent. When Jack approaches the player with promises of glory, he is told to mind his own business in no uncertain terms.
In parallel, a group of NYC mobsters are hot on the trail of a loan shark customer who defaulted on a $100,000 loan and supposedly died in a car accident. It shouldn’t take readers long to figure out who the man they are after really is.
The story has some potential, but it is hindered by several flaws. First of all, Frey’s characters come straight off the rack at Hollywood casting. The mobsters are just like every mobster you’ve ever seen in a third-rate gangster movie. Jack Barrett is the prototypical crabby old drunk. His protege MJ follows the archetype for smart young black kids struggling to emerge from poverty. At the ripe age of 16 he is wise far beyond his years. Jack’s daughter Cheryl is every battered woman you’ve ever read about. Clemant isn’t just a good baseball player–he’s the best. Cheryl’s boyfriend is purely evil. If he had a mustache he would be twirling it as he cackled and rubbed his hands together at his fiendish plan. The author doesn’t seem to understand one of the basic tenants of storytelling–even the villains are trying to do the best that they can, and few people are purely and relentlessly evil.
There’s nothing to distinguish the characters from the cliche. They lack nuance. Their behaviors are perfectly predictable and their dialog, ultimately, is simply a vocalization of their cardboard character descriptions.
Many of the situations are crafted for plot convenience rather than credibility. Clemant’s feat of replicating particular outings from baseball history borders on the impossible, as it implies not only a willful and concerted effort on his part, but on everything else about the games in question falling exactly into place by pure happenstance so his at-bats occur in specific innings.
The characters are deeply self aware and constantly discuss each other, the plot and its implications in ways that human beings don’t normally. Details are repeated over and over as if the author doesn’t trust the readers to remember them. How many times do we really need to hear the story about the head in the box?
The stories of the various mobsters who will play a part in the book’s climax are trite and predictable, and ultimately form prolonged diversions from the real story. Their various dramas with each other aren’t terribly compelling because the characters are so despicable. Just because he has a moral code and is haunted by the loss of his true love years ago doesn’t make the hitman a sympathetic character
The secret of Jack’s fall is kept until the end for no real purpose other than to build curiosity. The story wouldn’t have changed materially if readers knew the facts right from the beginning.
And, finally, Frey orchestrates several incidents at the end that serve no apparent purpose other than to demonstrate the caprice of the universe. The “adopted” daughter disappears from the book once the story moves back to New York. Every other loose end is neatly tied up–too neatly, in fact.
I wish I could find something positive to say about the book but, to be honest, if I hadn’t committed to reviewing it, I would have tossed it aside after about 75 pages.
Angel gets the rimshot award of the week for his reparte on Dexter. When Vince finds a copy of his forensics journal unceremoniously dumped in the trash, he exclaims, “You have disrespected me—and my people.” After he storms off, someone asks, “Who are his people?” To which Angel replies the words in today’s subject line.
The ADA’s gesture to Dexter toward the end of this week’s episode took me by surprise. It wasn’t where I expected the bloodstain plot to go. Is Dexter more at risk now that he is possession of incriminating evidence?
I didn’t understand the complete phrase that was the title of the CI’s new song, but I got “puta” and “mala” so I figured it wasn’t very flattering.
The cool thing about Dexter is the way he perceives that something is expected of him as a reaction. More often than not, he gets it right, as he did this week when he realized he was supposed to be upset about killing Freebo. Sometimes, especially with Rita, he misses the cues, but not often. He seems destined to play fast and loose with his father’s rules this season.
For some reason, it seems jarring to hear Jimmy Smits curse. But Deb’s description of a baby, in her unique vernacular, was hilarious.
Such agony on The Amazing Race last night, as the “comic book geeks” get sent home because they failed to read the directions and took a taxi where they were supposed to walk. The thirty minute penalty imposed on them at the pit stop put them out of the running. Even the team that survived because of this error seemed anguished by the news. Boy, did that bicycle run ever look rugged. The previews hint that someone is going to break a bone next week. Has that ever happened in the past? Someone knocked out by an injury?
Cold Case had a couple of interesting twists toward the end, but I sorta pegged the doer the minute we first met him. The whole “driving to Philly to commit murder” aspect was a nice red herring.
I like the state of confusion that the wives are enduring on The Unit. They’ve been relocated yet again, and are now working for a non-existent aerospace company, except for Kim, who seems to be planted in the home of, who? A spy? One of their guardians? I’m glad to see Tiffy’s daughter on board with the plan for once. And Snake Doc discovers yet again that he sometimes has to make deals with the devil to save the world. Not as intense as the previous week, but the season is shaping up well so far, and the new addition to the Unit adds a new dimension to just about everything. Arm candy indeed.
