Speed can be the saving grace of any number of literary sins: cliched plotting, shallow characterizations, you name it. Make a story fast enough and kicky enough and readers will forgive the author a lot.
Crush is an example. It reads like the wind: fast and slick, but completely lacking any nutritional value.
Caleb Rush (the titular Crush) is the younger reincarnation of Dalton the Magic Bouncer from Road House. He's big, bald, indestructible, and able to suss out trouble before it happens in the too-cool-for-school Hollywood club he haunts. He rescues Amanda Trask -- the bitchy, spoiled-rotten teenaged daughter of bitchy, spoiled-rotten zillionaire Stanley Trask -- from two Russian thugs bumbling their way through a kidnap attempt outside the club. This kicks off a chase that doesn't end until about five pages from the end, and involves exploding houses, much hand-to-hand combat, hair's-breadth escapes, topless hookers, torture, and driving vintage muscle cars through improbable places.
Yes -- it's a novelization of a Vin Diesel movie that hasn't been made yet.
Crush reads very, very fast. I finished its 218 pages in about three hours. The prose is pretty stripped-down, but there also isn't very much along the way that's complicated enough to slow you down. The author salts in some wry humor along with the wise-assery. It's a fun ride while you're in the thick of it and being dragged along at warp speed; it's only when you stop that the whole thing dissolves into fairy dust.
You won't have any problems casting the characters. The types are so familiar because you've seen them all in more movies than you can count. In addition to the Zen-warrior bouncer and hot-crazy-rich-chick client, there's the bouncer's genius-computer-hacker-geek stepbrother, the bouncer's tough-but-loving martial-arts guru (who's also a hot woman, filling the ass-kicking-female spot on the checklist as well as the unaccountable-platonic-relationship list item), the whoring-hyperventilating-scumbag tycoon, the rabid-dog Russian mobster, even the Agent Smith-inspired FBI agents. The author confuses convoluted character backgrounds for depth and complexity, and bitchiness for grit. The settings are movie-ready and as familiar as the character types; the only one missing (how did this happen?) is the upmarket strip club.
Crush is a fun, vitamin-free rocket-sled ride that ends with a NutraSweet aftertaste. As I mentioned, I finished it in three hours and Didn't. Believe. A. Word (including "and" and "the"). It'll look great when Mr. Diesel turns it into a big, blowsy summer action extravaganza. The screenplay's already done (it's the book). If any of this sounds appealing, then by all means, pack it along for the LAX-Chicago leg of your next trip and don't look back when you leave it on the seat for the next guy.