“Her face held the wonderful enthusiasm of youth as yet unblemished by life. That age was a nice time in anyone’s life. And it was necessary. To get through what was coming in later years. If we all started out cynical, what a shitty world that would be.” (Memory Man by David Baldacci)
Every now and then, life calls for a bestseller. It may happen when you’re particularly busy or stressed out, or on the contrary, when you’re bored and need to fill a spare group of hours. Perhaps it’s not every now and then, perhaps your life is always a life that calls for a best seller, and that’s OK too. Best sellers aim to please, they’re not demanding, they don’t require you to dress up in your intellectual best, but merely to come as you are, hot mess and all.
Of all the reading lists I keep stored in the back of my mind, on post it notes, and in various digital files, one of them is made up of bestselling authors. I’d like to read a Roberts, a Baldacci, a Grisham and a Patterson as if they were each their own particular genres. Yet, like many projects, this is not one I have tackled head-on. Instead, I read them here and there. Of Baldacci, I can now say: exceptional pacing; unexceptional plotting. While Baldacci paced the book so fast that I almost didn’t have time to notice, some rather large plot holes (especially in the second book) were unmissable at any speed and, in the end, took away from my overall enjoyment of the series.