FIRST off let me say that Gerald Seymour is an outstanding thriller writer, one of the very best of our time. I have been privileged to read some of his books, Line in the Sand being one such masterpiece that sticks in the memory. Now here's the catch...
I thought this was a tired, repetitive, unbelievable dirge of a book which I found only magical in respect that when I thought I was reaching the end the pages just seemed to multiply. It is rare that I find myself actually wishing a novel to finish other than when it is so intriguing I just have to find out what happens. Unfortunately I couldn't have cared less about the climax here.
Possibly I'm out on my own with my views of Jericho because I notice it was a Sunday Times Thriller of the Month and received high praise for its brilliant ending, among other things. Well, I predicted the ending at least six chapters before, give or take a couple of things which I missed, probably because by this time I'd lost the will to live.
Back to the basics then. Stories are all about characters in my opinion and not only did I find none of them likeable, I didn't even find them believable or engaging - in either a good or bad way. The suggestion that one of the main ones, an intelligent woman archeologist named Henry Wilson, would almost instantly decide she would plan her future around one of two men who suddenly appear in her life is just too simplistic and, dare I say, patronising to someone who is as level-headed, intensely self-dependent and brave as Henry appears to be in every other aspect of her life.
The Jericho in question - though mainly a bit part player - is an old hand in an espionage game that is rapidly changing. He doesn't come across as particularly bright however, or even charismatic enough to persuade people to risk their lives for a cause he obviously believes in. I'm not really sure what that cause is, either, other than to thumb a nose at modern methods. In the days of drones and Hellcat missiles, the idea he would take the autonomous decision to launch a highly dangerous mission into the Yemen in the hope of killing an Al-Qaida leader seems flawed in the extreme, particularly when he has little backing from his superiors and must deny everything if it goes wrong.
Basically, this means he is risking the lives of up to 10 people in the vain hope that when he is eventually pensioned off he will be seen as something of a hero.
Now we come to the protagonist, Corrie. A survivor of kidnap and torture from a previous mission in the Middle East he is asked to spearhead another, even though he is still suffering permanent physical damage from that last escapade. He is known as the 'sixer' by two Iraq war veterans who must accompany him, one a skilled sniper called Rat whose job it will be to eventually shoot the target. Rat and Corrie don't get on for some reason, the soldier believing that the MI6 man is just a pen pusher (a strange conclusion to draw from a man walking with a serious limp and being chosen to go on a deep undercover mission into deadly territory). What's even more bizarre is the fact that even Henry - a total stranger to the ways of espionage and warfare - thinks of Corrie as the 'Sixer'. Where she might have heard this term, I've no idea.
Rat and Corrie constantly argue as to who is the leader of the mission. Fair enough, but you would think that might have been established by the supposed genius that is Jericho even before they flew out. Neither Rat nor Corrie appear to have any redeeming features - in fact Rat strikes me as nothing but a bully and a coward - and his mate Slime, who carries all the baggage, does exactly what it says on the tin. He's just slimey.
On and on come the anomalies.
The strangest for me is that everyone seems to believe the Al-Qaida man's big plan - being worked upon by his technical partner-in-crime The Ghost - is to bring a passenger plane down in one of the deepest trenches beneath the Atlantic. Everyone goes on and on about this as if it is the most important thing on the mission when, to my mind, if your jet explodes in mid-air it will scarcely matter to you how deep the trench is where your body parts will eventually come to rest.
What nagged at me more and more as I read was the repetitive nature of it all. This type of writing can work on occasion, but in this case it just became boring. At times I found myself almost shouting at the book, 'Yes, I know! I know!'
Cut out even half the repetition and the book might have come in at a manageable 300 pages rather than a totally overwritten 470. Even during lockdown it's taken me a good five or six months to read, simply because it doesn't thrill and excite enough at any particular stage. I didn't find myself thinking, 'I must read on to see how they get out of this one'. I either knew already because it was telegraphed or the suspense simply wasn't there in the first place.
Sorry Gerald Seymour, I really didn't want to rip your book apart. People will likely have completely contrary views to mine and that's what reading is all about. I love many of your other works, but for that reason I felt obliged to give my honest opinions on this one.
Jericho's War? To my mind, this was Jericho's Bore.