I finished this book. Yeah, I had quoted it in a blog post. But it was not in the way of a recommendation for any of you readers out there.
For the book was a slog. Normally, I shove such books aside. Donate them half-read to the thrift shop. I don't know why I kept going. It was 562 pages of my life I'll never get back.
One of the reasons was to see how many appalling metaphors the author could cram into those 562 pages. Did I mention there were 562 pages? Oh yeah, sorry, three times now.
Samples, just a few out of hundreds ~
When a fellow's hair lifts off his forehead:
"It settled back to his temples like roosting doves."
On a small sound from someone:
"Like the wheeze in the chest of an asthmatic, or the faint whimper of a small creature dying at the side of the road."
"The inquiry team were starting to dissipate their energies fruitlessly, like men urinating into a strong wind."
Reflecting on a picture of a six year old girl:
"Fair hair cut raggedly across her forehead and a selection of teeth and gaps like a half-demolished wall."
"Tears crawled over his skin, like tiny slugs, slow and painful."
Apart from these, there were also times when metaphors were needed as in two sets of parents with murdered daughters not reacting to the loss and horror. At all. In fact, one couple doesn't bother to come back from their vacation. A face etched in grief at the death, a small sob over the casket? Not at all. No funerals even mentioned.
And the resolution at the end was so forced along with the perpetrator being signalled from Page 1 or 2.
Oh, boy. Someone should have told Mr. Booth that appalling metaphors takes a reader right out of the story as she contemplates those slug-like tears and teeth like a wall or a pile of men urinating into the wind, while her mind frets over the conundrum of that chilly pair of non-grieving parents.