Mary Mary is an Alex Cross novel, and that normally would be a good thing, except that it isn't. Patterson started writing Cross novels in 1992, with Along Came a Spider, which instituted the forumla of pitting Alex against this week's serial killer. Along Came a Spider pitted Cross, a psychiatrist who doubles as a Washington D.C. homicide detective, against a copycat serial killer seeking to emulate the best work of others. Mary Mary is the next of the line; one hopes it's the last.
Having said that, if you've never read any of the Alex Cross novels, please read this one first. That way, you'll get the lousy one out of the way, and you can enjoy Kiss The Girls and even mediocre fare like The Big Bad Wolf that much more. But if you have read even one Alex Cross novel -- or any book more advanced than The Very Hungry Caterpillar, give Mary Mary a very wide berth.
Just to give the basics here very quickly, Alex Cross is an African-American detective -- now special assistant to the FBI director -- from the mean streets of Southeast D.C. He lives with his grandmother, the ancient Nana Mama, who is forever telling him to spend more time with his young family. His young family, Damon, Jannie, and Little Alex, are forever telling him to spend more time with them. His ex-girlfriend Christine, the mother of Little Alex, is trying to gain custody of the child on the grounds that Alex doesn't spend enough time at home with him. Alex feels continually guilty about chasing down serial killers all the time and not spending enough time with his family. Let me know if you begin to sense a trend here.
So, it should be no surprise that Patterson sends Alex and his family to Disneyland, where Alex is immediately called away to investigate the gruesome knifework of yet another serial killer. (Authors can be cruel that way.) And there is nothing wrong with this in theory, I suppose; having Alex miss his family humanizes him somewhat, makes him less of a bloodless superman, and provides counterpoint with the lives of the serial killers that he faces.
But Patterson has, I feel, beat this particular drum once too often, and beats it again and again until your ears pound. If you've never read an Alex Cross novel, it may not bother you; people who have read them all will cringe at every page. At one point, early on, Nana Mama expresses a desire to see Siberia, and the reader thinks, yes, that's a very good idea, let's send her, and forget her return ticket.
What you lose out of all of this, unfortunately, is Alex himself. By putting Alex mostly out on the West Coast, it separates him from Southeast, and we lose virtually every bit of local color or anything that makes the books interesting and true. All that's left is Alex clashing with bigoted LAPD officials and trying to track down the clues that will inevitably lead to the serial killer.
It is the serial killer -- known, unimaginitively, as the "Hollywood Stalker" -- who is terrorizing Los Angeles, doing away with high-priced starlets and local anchors and anyone that he (or she) disapproves of, or so it seems. It is the serial killers who make the Alex Cross books so interesting -- Patterson usually even allows them to narrate (in third person) about half of the books anyway. The last Alex Cross entry was The Wolf, a psychotic ex-KGB agent who enjoyed zamochit, which means breaking every single bone in the victim's body, even the tiny bones in your ear and those special bones that Ken Griffey breaks in his hand every so often. It would be hard to top that.
Patterson doesn't even try. This killer -- who calls himself "The Storyteller" is lame in the extreme. We know he's out there because -- wait for it -- he sends e-mails to a reporter at the L.A. Times announcing his kills, along with juicy little details that only the true killer would know. Which would be fine, just fine, if only Patterson hadn't used the exact same schtick in Kiss The Girls with "The Gentleman Caller". And he was a lot more romantic and literary and interesting than the Storyteller, who just hacks people up for giggles.
Does the Storyteller have a cunning plan? Sure he does! It was even original when Agatha Christie thought it up in 1936. (You may think I am kidding; I am not.)
Mary Mary is flat, uninteresting, and not worthy to be mentioned with the rest of the Alex Cross books. There is nothing in its pages to recommend it to anyone, so bad it is. I encourage you to read it only if you buy it used on Amazon (I am listing my copy as soon as I finish this review, really I am) or find some poor soul willing to give you his copy.
Why is it so bad? Well, if you look at James Patterson's Wikipedia page, it says that in 2005 he published a "Women's Murder Club" book, and three other books, and has another book coming out in February. If Mary Mary is bad, and it very deeply is, then it's because nobody has spent any time on it to make it better. Maybe it's time that Patterson took Nana Mama's advice. I'm sure his family would be glad to see him again.