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Seymour books often differ from the Clancys and Ludlums of the world in another respect - don't expect too many happy endings. Seymour writes about worlds where there's a certain inevitability of disaster - and he often lets disasters happen. That makes his stories much more credible, and much more frightening than most.
Seymour also poses moral dilemmas for his characters. He's not an author who thinks one side is completely right and the other completely wrong. For Seymour, all combatants are flawed in some respects. In "A Line in the Sand", Seymour creates a moral dilemma for the inhabitants of a small English village - do they support one of their own or deflect a threat to their village by casting that person out ?
I enjoyed "A Line in the Sand". In fact, it's one of Seymour's best novels so far.
But while I eagerly continue to wait for another Seymour thriller centered in Northern Ireland, I decided to read his book Untouchable, which while not perfect, had me in its grip from the first to last page.
So I decided to give Seymour another whirl, and I picked out A Line in the Sand. After reading it in about two days, I have to say the analogy one reviewer made of Seymour's plots coiling around a reader like a boa constrictor as the tension builds to an unbearable level is well put. The book is very hard to put down, and really doesn't have any flaws (apart from a couple of minor facts not worth mentioning here).
Furthermore, like in his other books Seymour doesn't just write a thriller, he presents the reader with an ethical question. "What would you do if you found out your neighbor was marked for death by a state sponsor of terror like Iran? Would you rally to his side, stand aloof, or try to drive him out of your pretty little village?"
As for myself, I'd like to think that I'd continue to be a friend and neighbor, but suggest that my good friend the terrorist target take a long vacation until the threat subsided.
Bottom Line: A superb read, it is reportedly being made into a movie even as I write this. I look forward to seeing that . . .
. . . But I hope with all my heart that with his next book (titled Meaning No Evil) Seymour returns to his familiar stomping grounds of Northern Ireland and with all the wonderful characters that he created there: Inspector Rennie, Cathy Parker, Gary Brennard, and of course, Frankie, the IRA man.
Brit Gavin Hughes was once a salesman selling illicit industrial mixing equipment to the Iranians for the latter's use in making weapons of mass destruction at a top-secret base. Then MI6 caught on, and put the squeeze on Hughes to become an informant. Gavin's information eventually allowed the Mossad to deal a crippling blow to Iran's WMD program. For his own protection, MI6 gives Gavin a new identity and life. He's now Frank Perry living with his wife Meryl and foster son Stephen in an isolated village on the Suffolk coast. The thing is, you see, a Saudi raid on an isolated terrorist camp yields evidence that the Iranians have discovered Gavin's identity and are sending in their master assassin, the Anvil, to make the hit. The British Security Service (MI5) now has jurisdiction, and pleads with Frank to run once more, but he adamantly refuses. Thus, an odd lot of players are converging on the village, its inhabitants, and the Perrys: the Anvil, the assassin's local accomplice previously converted to Islam, MI5, Scotland Yard, the SAS, an FBI anti-terrorist specialist, a sullen Scottish tracker and his dogs, a former British diplomat and his scarred foreign-born wife (the latter a survivor of Chile's torture chambers), and an injured marsh harrier - a migratory bird of prey.
One of my pet peeves with some "highly acclaimed" writers is that they impart no individuality to the principal characters of their books. The British government minister, the Yank CIA officer, the South American drug king, and the Tokyo police detective all talk and act as if they're cut from the same cloth, which might as well be that of an insurance broker in Des Moines. Seymour, on the other hand, makes each individual unique and real. This talent can make up for other faults. However, A LINE IN THE SAND is not deficient by any standard to which I hold. It's a taut, smart, finely crafted thriller that should encourage the reader to investigate Seymour's other works. More than that, it's a contemporary parable on the consequences of one's actions.
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If you are someone who is a fan of Sherlock Holmes and is always looking for more, than this is a book you will want. The stories are of a consistent quality, written by authors who are practiced in their art, and involve Holmes and Watson considering problems whose solutions are not normally obvious from the outset.
For me, while none of the stories were particularly outstanding in either good or bad terms. I enjoyed Stephen Baxter's 'The Adventure of the Inertial Adjustor', Peter Crowther's 'The Adventure of the Touch of God' and Zakaria Erzinçlioglu's 'The Adventure of the Bulgarian Diplomat' marginally more than the others.
I'd recommend this book to Holmes enthusiasts, or to those with little exposure to the Great Detective. It is a good collection of decent quality.
That said, there are a few stories that do come close with "The Adventure of the Bulgarian Diplomat" being my favorite. If you really like the Conan Doyle originals you may be disappointed in this collection.
Only one of the cases, in which a series of grisly killings are investigated, is not quite in the voice of Doyle (mostly due to the graphic descriptions). However, this case also lets Watson shine. Rather than the standard Watsonish "Amazing!" or "Remarkable, Holmes!" every time Sherlock utters a revelation, Watson gets to do a little detecting of his own, albeit medical. What I particularly liked in the story was that Watson is not left to simply marvel at Holmes, but gets to contribute more than just the use of his service revolver.
The timeline at the end of the book is also helpful in putting Sherlockia in some sense time-wise. When did Holmes first begin detecting, when did he stop, when did such-and-such a case occur? All are nicely laid out.
The book is divided into the early years of Holmes' career, his middle years, and later years. We get to see early cases, and his final case.
The choices of stories by the editor are first rate. This is easily the best collection of new Holmes you're likely to find on the market.
The voice of the Master can be heard throughout the book!
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Isadora Duncan's autobiography is a terrific example of the above. She was a hugely talented, flamboyant individual who chose to march to her own drummer from an early age. She is passionate in her descriptions of her inner life, her career and her lovers and changed the whole concept of "The Dance", breaking away from ballet (which she considered ugly and contrived) and inventing what we'd call "modern dance".
She was a fantastic dancer, but as a writer she is far too interested in her own inner world. The people around her float by as a succesion of badly defined cardboard cutouts, and one visited city sounds much like any other. After a while this DOES get rather boring. The lack of dates (such as "that was in 1925" or whatever) or a neatly defined chapter structure means that it's pretty hard to keep track of the passage of time. In the end, reading this book becomes a bit of a struggle: it's like being stuck in a someone's rather boring dreamworld.
Her sollipsism is (at times) a bit of a hoot and her inability to perceive the world for what it is provide the reader with occasional bits of unintentional black comedy.
An example: after deciding that ancient Greece was the mother of all art, Isadora sunk a great deal of her money in trying to rebuild a Greek temple. Her family spoke no Greek but lived for months amid the ruins, performing dances and wearing togas while getting cheated by the local villagers. She also formed a chorus of Greek urchins to perform ancient music and was later disappointed when during a tour, the urchins begin growing up and staying out late and coming home drunk.
A more human writer would have managed a bit of irony, a touch of sympathy for these common, simple people caught up in the mad American artist's vision, but Isadora never quite manages it. Sadly, it is precisely this sort of self-centered and humourless viewpoint that makes this book so stodgy.
On the positive side, however, one DOES get a really good idea of what Isadora Duncan was like and how she saw her art and one can't really ask for more from an autobiography.