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Lashner has a florid, hard-boiled, wiseguy style: In contrast to Grisham, who uses words solely to advance his plots, Lashner's love of wordplay and interesting turns of phrase makes his prose a pleasure to read.
The main characters have surprising depth and moral shading. Victor Carl, the defending attorney, has developed impressively (as a character, not necessarily as a human being) since Lashner introduce him in "Hostile Witness." From that novel and its successor, "Veritas", we came to know Victor as the polar opposite of a high-powered attorney: seedy, cynical, and resourceful - very much like Humphrey Bogart in "The Maltese Falcon," but with a Jewish patina.
In "Fatal Flaw," Lashner pushes his hero over the edge of decency and professional ethics. As the novel opens, Victor arrives at the scene of the crime to find his client, Guy Forrest, sitting naked on his doorstep, while the body of Guy's fiancée -- an Appalachia-bred beauty named Hailey Prouix - is still warm upstairs. Without any hesitation, Victor begins rearranging and removing evidence.
How Lashner manages to make this ethically challenged hack likeable - indeed, even heroic - is one of the novel's giddy accomplishments. Equally skillful is the way he uses flashback, clues, and reminiscences to turn Hailey into one of the most intriguing femme fatales in recent memory. (Ashley Judd, call your agent!)
On a higher level, "Fatal Flaw" functions as a kind of meta-mystery, an insinuating parody of the detective novel-slash-legal thriller. Lashner seems to have thrown in every convention, stereotype and affectation he could think of, drawing on influences ranging from Chandler and Cain to Grisham and Turow. The plot twists, while not predictable in themselves, occur at predictable intervals; the racy language is deliberately overheated by just a couple of degrees; and the eccentric supporting characters are rendered (and named) with almost Dickensian flair. It's hard to resist a creation like Phil Skink, the skanky investigator who seems to ooze rancid foreboding from every pore.
As you read each sentence, you can almost hear Lashner chuckling with his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. Yet while this sort of mocking detachment can kill a good thriller, Lashner's approach only enhances it. In "Fatal Flaw," Lashner assembles all the usual suspects of the genre and emerges with something unusually startling and pleasurable.
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Wm. Lashner is a great writer. He creates an exciting story and also caused me to think about how I would react in the same situation.
I am looking forward to his future books!