After grudgingly giving praise for King of Lies, I picked up a copy of Hart’s next book. But after a few chapters I just couldn’t stay with it. I kept barking my shins on these awful clichés: CLUNK, buff son; CLUNK, another buff son; CLUNK, angelic hot sister; CLUNK, hard as nails patriarch; CLUNK, his loyal offsider. The family cast and setting are so midday movie, and I hate that lazy device that we’re supposed to automatically care more about these one-dimensional mouthpieces because they’re really rich. It’s just melodrama, and I found myself just skimming to satisfy my vague curiosity about the plot without having to endure the bruising journey of posturing caricatures and by the numbers dialogue (opposite to Chandler, where I could care less about the plot, but want to savour every word of the journey).
An Edgar? Really?