Frustrating, but who's to blame? A few pages in, after a slam-(literal)-bang intro on a plane, a gruff take-no-bullshit FBI Sergeant Krupinski yanks the cords out of the protagonist's hospital room television. No television for her, 'cause it could taint the case. Why didn't he yank the cords before she woke from her coma? This was the kind of sloppy plotting I often enjoy in B-movies, the have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too approach to exposition: needing some way to convey a lot of information, you set up some kind of way of telling and then have a character say "None of that" (shutting off the videocamera, punching the narrator, yanking cords from a television But still.
And then he was an FBI Sergeant, which a quick googlesearch confirmed was not a rank available in the FBI.
Listen, I'm no weak-kneed Plausible
. This is, after all, a book about an UberConspiracy of terrorists (and I'll leave what passes for spoilage unspoiled), a woman who survives a plane crash no one else does then communes with the dead to unspool and destroy the U-C. You don't go to a zoo and then complain about the stink of animal shit. Still, I demand either a fervent, even furious embrace of such absurdities or some kind of sly tickling of the conventions. I'll give this to King: he seems to be having fun, and he does invite the audience in. (Another recent Angry Robot release just bored the crap out of me with its portentous seriousminded repetition of dull dull dull conventions.) But so sloppy, more half-assed than Lovably Silly.
But maybe I'm just in a bad mood. I'm certainly not giving up on Angry Robot, which seems to be working a very sweet vein of pulpy potential. (And Joel
points to what promises to be a way better example.) Meanwhile, my hopes are being raised yet again by Robopocalypse
. There is NO way that can be bad.