“Pantser” was--and may well still be--a term used in the publishing industry to describe authors who do not plot, who “write by the seat of their pants.” And while you can’t always tell if a particular writer is a pantser, there are certain books and series where there is absolutely no doubt that the authors write as they go. The most common identifying trait is filler, sometimes obvious filler. The reason pantsers are not always recognizable are writers like Stephen King, who comes to the re-writing process seriously, and mercilessly kills anything that doesn’t contribute to the story. Or Lawrence Block, a pantser in regards to the majority of his work, who for most of his long career was able to think so far ahead that there was no need for filler; only in recent years, as he has slowed down (he was once able to produce twenty pages a day), has the meandering become noticeable. But the most obvious contrast between pantser and plotter can be found in the work of a single author: Robert B. Parker. Initially a plotter, when asked to finish Raymond Chandler’s Poodle Springs, he decided that since Chandler didn’t plot, neither would he. He adapted the style to his own work from that point. I believe it is the main reason longtime fans feel his later novels are inferior, for the most part, to the first fifteen or so that began his career.
I’m not necessarily criticizing pantsers. Some are among my favorites. The aforementioned Block, for example; and John Sandford and Ed McBain to varying degrees work(ed) this way.
Long before I became aware that Lee Child had publicly discussed the subject, I had no doubt that he was a pantser. Now, if I choose to be honest, I never could have drawn that conclusion from his debut novel alone. But after four books, I came to the fifth, Echo Burning, expecting filler. That’s exactly what I got.
Child’s nomadic hero, hitchhiking away from a problematic situation, is picked up by Carmen Greer, a woman of obvious Spanish decent who is in desperately need of someone like Jack Reacher. Trapped in a small Texas town where Mexicans are treated secondarily at best, she has no money, no friends, and is stranded with her husband’s considerably rich family as he serves a tax evasion jail term. She is unwilling to run because her husband would never renounce custody of their six-year-old daughter, the only joy in her life. He is about to receive an early release, which would compound her misery by adding domestic abuse to the mix. She relays all this to Reacher over the 300-mile trip home. And due to other circumstances, she has to tell it again. One hundred pages later they enter Echo, Texas.
I think even Child was aware that he was treading water with his setup because along the way some moron picks a fight with the hulking Reacher, and Child also intermittently cuts away to a small team of assassins as they travel to Texas and isolate and kill their target. These killers are the most interesting thing in the first quarter of the novel.
And so, the obvious question: If Child is wasting so much time and space, why haven’t I learned my lesson and moved on; why even open the book? The same thing that has kept me around this long. Digression and inertia are the price of admission. Once we get into the meat of the story, Child is the best there is.
That begins upon reaching Echo. We meet the little girl. And then the in-laws, a brother and the mother, the latter of whom rules the family with an iron hand. And the two ranch hands who eventually accost Reacher, and this time it’s an altercation that actually makes sense. They are experience rodeo riders, rural tough guys who do not scare, and they’ve done this before--and they arrange for the confrontation to take place where they have plenty of likeminded friends. Of course, if they really knew Reacher they’d know all these perceived advantages would not matter.
As Reacher gets drawn into the drama in his efforts to protect Carmen, a murder takes place, and a kidnapping as well as a frame-up, and in the course of untangling these events, we learn more about the assassins and how their victim relates to Carmen’s plight. Once Reacher’s presence forces countermoves by the villain behind everything, even minor hiccups, like the first clue to his identity being fairly obvious, cannot derail the momentum. Child has learned that if you can’t properly disguise your clue, just give it to the readers and if they figure it out, so be it. The reveal of his identity was never the point, has little to do with what led up to it, and has no effect on the finale.
The finale, and most that preceded it once tackling the problem proper, is what makes the book successful. If the first one hundred pages feel like a slow crawl, then the following 450 or so make it feel as if you can’t read fast enough. A fair trade.