Jul 132010
 

http://img1.fantasticfiction.co.uk/images/n11/n58196.jpgA former Irish copper (really, that’s what Turow calls him, a copper) now an ex-alcoholic flunky in a powerful law firm goes on the hunt for embezzled money and a lost colleague in a fictitious Caribbean country.  Mack the copper dishes what is supposed to pass for gritty street-wise philosophy, doesn’t seem to enjoy the gratuitous sex sprinkled liberally across the novel, nor come to think of it, does he enjoy much of anything.  I laughed aloud on several occasions at Turow’s purple prose.  The writing is not that far from Keillor’s Guy Noir parodies of gruff detectives.  Not a good sign.

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