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October 12, 2006
Mary, Mary, au contraire(e) -- Or Why I'm Cross with Alex Cross
I just finished reading James Patterson's latest Alex Cross mystery, Mary, Mary, and while it's a quick read with familiar, entertaining characters and the requisite gory murders, it feels a little slap-dash, making me wonder at what point a popular writer gets a pass from the critics; the reviews on the cover are stellar.
Anyhow, there's a problem with the plotting that left me troubled when I set it down; it involves spoilers, so if you haven't read it yet and don't want to know whodunnit, stop reading. On the other hand, if you're curious to find out what the hell I'm talking about, read on . . . .
Patterson writes from a first-person perspective for both the hero and the killer, putting us inside their minds. The killer, "Mary," is revealed early on to be a man, assuming the identity of a female killer, and Patterson muddies the waters by adding passages in the first person by a third character, a woman named Mary.
The real killer is portrayed as someone with a grudge against the entertainment business, who begins his spree in a New York City cinema, then continues on the West Coast, with an excursion to Canada, where he hooks up with and later murders an old girlfriend, after revealing his new-found flair for homicide.
The author drops a couple of clues about the killer's job, mentioning an office setting, as well as co-workers who don't really know their colleague's true nature. Later, after the murderer decides to end his killing spree after the crimes are pinned on the mentally-ill Mary, he goes out to dinner with his friends to celebrate -- they think he's been signed to write a blockbuster Hollywood film, while he's rejoicing in having gotten away with murders. Amidst much beer and sushi, they toast the secret killer's success, and much fun is had by all.
The killer ponders the unearned (in his opinion) fame and fortune of one of his friends, who lucked into his own hit film. When they say good-bye, the serial killer leaves the gathering in his 7-year-old BMW, watching his truly successful buddy leave in a Bentley. Feeling somehow forlorn and empty, the bad guy ends the night sobbing on the front lawn of a low-rent house, somewhere in L.A.
Here's the thing. Patterson reveals the killer to be the husband of one of the victims, a famous Hollywood writer-director-actor type, living in a huge mansion with their three daughters. When F.B.I. Agent Alex Cross interviews the husband, he's a grief-stricken husband and father, surrounded by wealth.
The motive is supposedly the husband feeling that his career had stalled, while his much-more successful wife was going to divorce him.
But, and this is key, all the information revealed through the first-person narrative of the killer is entirely inconsistent with who we learn has been shooting, stabbing, slicing and dicing his way through the ranks of the Tinsel Town elite.
The passage that really doesn't make any sense is the dinner and drinks with his friends to celebrate his movie deal. Remember, he's recently widowed, his late-wife shot and mutilated at their palatial home, and yet there's no mention of this misfortune from any of his friends, even the one who's also a big-shot in the Biz.
It just doesn't scan, and makes me wonder if any of the critics actually read the books all the way through.
Look, lots of books have fanciful premises, requiring the willful suspension of disbelief on the part of the reader -- hence the success of sci-fi, fantasy and horror. But to work, the novel has to have some level of internal logic, to be true to the characters and their motivations.
Mary, Mary, au contrary, didn't make my smile grow.
Give it a pass.
Posted by Mike Lief at October 12, 2006 12:47 PM
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