I was ready to rant about Stephen King’s endorsement of this book. Authors regularly gush about new authors, not because they like the book, but because their publisher asked them too. Once you’re big enough to be influential, there’s no excuse for cheating readers with false praise. King, author of ‘On Writing,’ should be the last author to pump a bad book.
Then I read King’s back-jacket blurb more carefully. Though the words are positive, he’s careful to praise only elements that arguable deserve it. He knows how to put words together; here, I believe he slipped his negative feelings past the dullards who make up the publisher’s marketing team. Near the end of the blurb: ‘. . . broadcast news . . . is the keystone of the book and I intend to recommend it to everybody I know IN THAT FIELD [caps added] . . . this . . . story will stay in my memory for a long time.’ Like the taste of sour milk. King might know one or two broadcast news people. He probably doesn’t like them, but he’s going to recommend the book. Not to anybody else, though. Thank you, Stephen King, for having some integrity.
What Thayer does well is capture the back-stabbing, superficial, egotistical snake-pit that is TV news. He also makes a nice backdrop of extreme MN weather. It takes half a book, but two of the characters emerge as complex and likeable people. Everything else, he does badly.
His prose is sloppy and pretentious. From the beginning, all his characters are unlikeable assholes. A sensible reader would quit there. The sexy anchorwoman, having an affair with the governor, has a discussion with him about the murders. The governor is frustrated he can’t fight the serial killer the way he’d fight a rival politician. “Sometimes, I think there’s nothing I can do except let the police do their job.” Ha! The cops are useless too, so that won’t work. The sexy anchorwoman agrees with him that the serial murder of young women could be bad for both their careers. As a reader, I hoped the killer would kill both of them.
The book spans years, apparently so that each chapter can have a new seasonal weather event. Tornado, downpour, flood, blizzard, ice-storm. These are dramatic back-drops, but it’s hard to become engaged when we have to keep leaping forward three or four months to catch the next weather moment.
Then they arrest the TV weatherman. They have a partial fingerprint, almost certainly not his, in a public parking ramp that all the TV staff use and where the first victim was found. The weatherman is a big guy; witnesses have described the killer as big. He has size 14 shoes but doesn’t own the brand that left a shoeprint at another murder scene. The murders all occur around weather events when visibility and mobility are impaired. The police find out the Weatherman had a crush on a girl in high school, and she rejected him.
The arrest, the trial (which takes two months to present what I did in the previous paragraph), and the conviction are all based on this new type of logic. A fingerprint with some similar points to his couldn’t be in the parking lot he uses daily unless he’s the killer. Since he’s a big guy, he must be the killer. Since he has size 14 shoes, he must be the killer. And, topping it all, since he had his heart broken when he was 17, he must be the guy who killed seven young women. Unspeakably ludicrous, but no more ludicrous than the notion that the police would not look for other evidence: where was he at the time of each killing? Did he plan the ambush sites, and if he did, who saw him, what part of his day did he use to observe, what was his method?
The problem with crazy killers is that they’re crazy. We don’t have a sensible chain of motivations that lead to the killings, we have crazy. This is boring or annoying, and it’s up to the author to show us the illogical path the killer has chosen. See: ‘Red Dragon’ by Thomas Harris. Here, Thayer has pretended that a mystery can be: Five normal people, all assholes. None has a motivation to commit the crime. Then, two-thirds of the way in, let’s declare asshole number 4 to be a psycho.
Pathetic.