Damm! I did it again. And I promised myself I wouldn’t. In fact it’s all I have been doing these last couple of months. Yes, you’ve guessed it. I been gorging on Jack Reacher. Three “wham bam thank you mams” in a row. I’ve forgotten the titles of the first two but the last was “Gone tomorrow”.
After I read a Lee Child book I am torn by conflicting emotions. The first is the usual “why DID I waste my time on that” lament. Life is short and the list of good literature immense and ever growing. Why waste my time reading a story that I will not even remember three months hence? At the start I know for certain, for absolute 9 mm parabellum certain, that Jack will survive. He will win. The enemy will be defeated. For certain.
But there’s another feeling. It’s way way more sly and sneaky. It’s called delight. When I read Jack’s ubermensch adventures I experience an emotion that I can only describe as delight.
When Jack is smarter, stronger, braver, and any other word ending in “er”, than his enemies, I feel a tiny quiver of delight. Oh that I could be like Jack. Not give a goddam hoot in hell about life in general. I pay all my bills on time, if not sooner. Jack doesn’t change his clothes and all he owns in the world is a tooth brush. I fret about scratches on the car. Jack will punch your lights out if he has to. I will most certainly apologise to you no matter how unpleasant you are to me. So I do understand, while I certainly do not approve of, where this devious little delight comes from.
But it makes reviewing a Jack Reacher book rather more perilous for me. When I tell you I disliked something about it, does that mean I really disliked it or, perish the thought, did I actually LOVE it. You know love it secretly and deep deep down where the Jack Reacher in all of us operates.
So, given that disclaimer to Father Freud, I did enjoy “Gone Tomorrow” despite all the sweat, tears, biffs and bangs, and guns, knives and bullets. If only I could settle some of my own existential unease with a similar swift punch to the solar plexus of life.
At the End of the Day 