Okay, I'm gonna be honest. This was a difficult one for me to get through. I don't know if it's because it's a product of an earlier time period where such a novel would be praised as new and thrilling, but I was incredibly underwhelmed by this story.
The narrative is riddled with a sporadic, redundant writing style that, if workshopped a lot more, would probably narrow down the book's length by half. The POV skips back and forth between first and third person perspective, which was jarring at first and something to which I had to become begrudgingly accustomed. Because of the convoluted narration, the twists were either hackneyed, confusing, or just straight up out of the blue (i.e. The Boogeyman. Where the holy heck did that come from?) However, the deepest gashes of the book, I believe, lay with the speaker himself and how his particular perspective guides, or rather, drags the narrative along.
Let's begin with Coben's characterization of racial minorities. It is clear that at the time when Coben wrote this book that he had very few if any black people in his personal life. The black characters who played a fairly significant role in the plot were mere archetypes of what Beck (or Coben) thinks black people and their lifestyles are like. Tyrese, Brutus, Agent Stone (A bumbling Yes-Man to his more competent white partner, Agent Carlson), Latisha (who didn't get one word of dialogue in the story despite her being mentioned and encountered on more than one occasion), and the rest of the black ensemble were characterized not by their individual personalities, but by the mere fact that they were black.
I understand that Beck is a doctor meant to "service the poor", which, to him, is shorthand for "anyone who is black or Hispanic", but he speaks about these people with such self-righteous derision and condescension that you can't help but wonder if his purported convictions are even sincere. He spends a lot of time describing, from his stunted perspective, the woes that plague the impoverished, but never once does he analyze the causes or possible remedies, which begs the question why he brings it up at all. I mean, he's a doctor. He more than anyone should know better than to just rattle off surface-level symptoms followed by a vague, slapdash diagnosis. In one moment he will claim to want to help those in need, and in the next, he will write off these same individuals with little gem descriptors such as "ghetto-garbed father" who uses a "complicated handshake" whilst showing off "gangsta struts".
And let's not forget about (ughh) this:
"I caught my reflection in a building window and couldn't help but notice that I looked utterly ridiculous in my borrowed garb. Gangsta Prep. Yo, word"
Gangsta Prep Yo Word? What? Beck treats racial minorities as if they are cartoon characters who only have one mode and zero dimension. Yes. He at times literally treats racial minorities as though they are invisible. Anyone who isn't white is always "The black guy" or "the Asian guy" without ever affording any other character trait to them in a way he does for the other white characters in the story. Because of this, he comes off less as a sincere doctor helping the needy and more as a hypocritical asshole with a serious Messiah Complex.
But this problem doesn't extend to just people of color. I could pin Coben's treatment of racial minorities on the specific, possibly-purposeful-but-probably-not characterization of Beck and the classism that comes with his "white suburban" upbringing and profession (though being a pediatrician isn't exactly the crème de la crème of the medical field, but whatever). However, his approach to characterizing women (and gay women) applies to multiple characters' perspectives throughout the story. Femininity takes a constant and sometimes literal backseat to masculinity, and his treatment of sexuality, while better than average, I'll say that, still leaves much to be desired.
First, Beck's description of his dead wife, Elizabeth, is of course laced with constant praise of her "slender, elegant beauty" with a tacked-on nod to her intelligence, which is barely even demonstrated or clarified in the novel. In other words, we're told that she's great without actually knowing what makes her so great. Yes, she's his wife so I know he's a little biased here, but we, the readers, are not. She ain't our wife, so why should we care? Knowing what makes Elizabeth so special to him by showing us would raise the stakes (and therefore our investment) even more for Beck and his uncovering of the truth. And even when the truth is uncovered, what is revealed about her character still leaves us with a pretty limp and floppy impression.
Now to Coben's honest credit, he does establish a key lesbian character who has an actual, albeit, failing relationship in the novel. And for 2001, when this book was first published, I think that deserves some recognition. Shauna, the lesbian in question, is actually one of, if not the best things about the book. With a clearly-written and enjoyable characterization, I was always happy to see her name show up on the page. With that said, even she subscribes to a more traditionally masculine role than her traditionally feminine wife, Linda (also Beck's sister), whose integrity both as a character and as a person is steadily watered down to the point that by the end of it, I barely even recognized who she's supposed to be.
But there's one moment in particular that really did it in for me. Without going into too many spoilers, there is a moment when one of the Agents is questioning Elizabeth's parents about their daughter's death. When the Agent is just about to impart a key suspicion within the case, this inexplicably happens:
"The two men hesitated. The hesitation said one of two things: not in front of the lady or not in front of the civilian. Hoyt picked up on it. 'Kim, do you mind if I talk to the agents alone for a moment?'
'Not at all.' She stood on wobbly legs and teetered toward the stairs. 'I’ll be in the bedroom.'
When she was out of sight, Hoyt said, 'Okay, I’m listening.'"
Kim is dismissed to the bedroom like a child who doesn't want to hear their parents bickering. Kim is also the mother of the deceased Elizabeth. You'd think the Agent would want - or even assume - both of the parents to be invested in what's happened with their own daughter's case. But nope. Off Kim goes to the bedroom. She stays there for the rest of the novel too. You think I'm kidding, but anytime we encounter this Hoyt character, his grown ass wife, Kim, is always in the bedroom asleep, forever banished to a life of female insignificance.
Alright, so here's the thing. None of these complaints would be all that earthshattering or even surprising were it not for the fact that there's this underlying subtext that Coben seems to be trying to communicate about subverting expectations, classism and power dynamics, and being socially conscious or whatever. But he does a lot of telling and not enough showing. What's worse, he does a lot of telling, but then has his characters contradict what it is that's already been told.
This all brings us back to Beck. Beck consistently cites the death of his wife as a result of his own shortcomings. Which, you know, could be survivor's guilt and all, I get it. But Coben never actually describes what Beck is feeling as survivor's guilt. Instead he treats his insecurities as something that legitimately need to be worked on in order to redeem himself *as a man*. As if it's somehow "unmanly" to grieve, or to be afraid, or to be knocked unconscious into a lake without any warning whatsoever. None of these things relate to being a man-they're quite literally just circumstantial and painful events anyone would struggle with, regardless their gender.
Beck's personal resolve seems to be less about figuring out what the heck is going on and more about just proving to himself that he can be a man's man. But, like, who cares? If Beck's motivations were simply about him trying to uncover the truth surrounding his wife's death, I would've been perfectly fine with that. But instead, Beck's motivations are muddled with him trying to redeem himself when nothing needs to be redeemed, and to "take action" instead of being passive (which, again, was something that was never actually shown, just told to us). This just reinforces the idea of archetypal masculinity, no matter how phoned-in, trumping everything else, including the book's own plot and narrative.
When Beck makes a revelation about himself at the very end that I honestly saw a mile away, it really throws into question what exactly we're supposed to think of him. And not in a Walter White-ish way either, I mean in a confusing and contradictory way that is due to haphazard character development. He claimed to be passive and sensitive, which we never saw (what, is being a doctor to "ghetto-garbed" patrons supposed to make us think you're Jesus?). His own actions that he shamed constantly seemed to be in the realm of what any normal person would take. And yet, the big reveal just throws that all up in the air and quickly dashes it away because hey! We got a story to wrap up and no time for you, the reader, to question the consistency of this character that you've spent all this time with!
All in all, I stuck with the story because I do enjoy a good mystery, and the novel did deliver in some areas. But Beck's hypocritical tendencies and just the general structure of the story and underlying tone left a somewhat sour taste in my mouth. I haven't read any other of Coben's work, so I won't write him off as an author altogether. This particular one just wasn't my cup of tea.
Also, apparently there's a movie based on this book that got pretty good reviews, so that's a silver lining.
Cheers!