Lucy and her partner, Hugo, are judicial investigators, looking into their biggest and most dangerous case of misconduct yet.
Perhaps Iâ€™m in a John Grisham slump. Or perhaps John Grisham is in a John Grisham slump.
I think back to his first few years, when his books practically crackled with energy and suspense. I devoured them quickly and excitedly.
The last couple have been more out of devotion and habit. Gray Mountain = meh. The Whistler = meh. Both are a bare recounting of facts with main characters who keep a cold distance from both their fellow characters and from the reader.
The Whistler starts off well enough. Characters are drawn out a bit and we get to establish a sense of place and job.
But when something pivotal happens to
Think of the longest, driest police procedural show you’ve ever watched, but without Jerry Orbach to keep things lively.
I want to come back to a John Grisham book that makes my heart beat faster, makes me clutch my proverbial pearls, slings fraught-filled legal maneuvers like lighting from fingertips.
I still believe it’s out there, just waiting to spring from Grisham’s brain. I believe it like Virginia believes in Santa Claus, slightly doubtful but still full of hope and wonder.
This may be a slump. But I know Grisham can do better.
Iâ€™ll be the first to applaud when he does.