Each time I pick up a Gregg Hurwitz novel I expect a standard page-turning thriller and find myself instead having to work a little harder than that -- in part because his writing is, albeit on occasion over-selfconsciously, a bit more literary than that of many of his peers, in part because he usually offers something to think about beyond the thrills 'n' spills.
In The Crime Writer moderately successful crime writer Drew Danning tells us how he was found sprawled across the brutally slain body of his ex-fiancee, tried for her murder and deemed innocent by reason of insanity: he had been suffering a malignant brain tumor that made it all too possible he'd suddenly and violently lose control. But then, after his release, when another young woman is found slaughtered in very similar circumstances, Drew finds himself back in the cops' crosshairs again.
He decides, therefore, to try to solve the crimes as if he were writing them as one of his own mystery novels. He knows, and is soon able to prove, that he was innocent of the second crime; but he's well aware that he might eventually find himself guilty of the first during those few hours of his life he lost to the now-extracted tumor.
The plot's far-fetched in its premise and if anything even more so in its development -- this is a novel where you need not so much to suspend your disbelief as leave it at the door -- but after a start that was rather slow (which I didn't mind) The Crime Writer gets up a good speed, and there's always the fascination that the narrator is unreliable for the very good reason that he himself isn't sure what happened. I don't think Hurwitz really pulls off the artifice of Drew writing this as well as living it, but the occasional manuscript extracts are fun, and even more so the annotations of Drew's snarky editor/copyeditor. The solution, when it comes, is in part a tad predictable, in part so out of left field that it adds a whole new dimension to the overall far-fetchedness. (It also requires some special pleading on the part of the author, who has to bat away anticipated objections to it in a not wholly convincing manner.)
Where the book really scores, though, is in some of the writing. Late on, there's a wonderfully evocative, neo-Chandlerian description of evening social life in La-La Land that runs on for several pages and that I'm sure Hurwitz's editor must have threatened with the Red Pencil of Doom. Luckily it survived, as did many other Chandlerian touches. The text is also surprisingly full of a humor that is Hurwitz's own rather than Chandleresque and that occasionally had me chuckling aloud.
As an entertainment, then, The Crime Writer is much to be recommended -- assuming, as noted, you're not too persnickety about the plot's plausibility. As a metafiction, it's far less successful, but, with enough else to enjoy -- including a surprisingly strong roster of supporting characters -- I found myself able to swallow my disappointment bravely.