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A review by jessferg
The Death Artist by Jonathan Santlofer
2.0
Another premise with super possibilities and poor execution.
I will admit that the first thing that turned me off was not the gruesomeness of the murders but the fact that this book was clearly written in the 1990s, and takes place then, with no set-up that it is a "period piece." I kept going back to check the copyright date (2002) to try and figure out if I was missing something. It's full of VCRs and people saying things like "we could check the Internet..."
I made it to page 120 before my commenting pencil came out, and by page 121 we already have the line "Some uptown dame with all the answers." Dame? Really?
I feel badly for whoever had to spend all their time vetting the name-brand dropping in this book. It's my understanding that name brands are trademarked and must be approved for use, even in literature (I use that term loosely.) So that means someone had to contact Xerox, Polaroid, Glock, Kodacolor, Monday Night Football, Merit, Marlboro, BMW, Pinto (yes, someone drives a Pinto in this oh-so-modern murder mystery) Tampax, Ziploc, Hallmark, Pucci, Doc Martens, Walkman (ye-up, I said Walkman. So I guess Sony.) Lipton, Sweet n Low....you get the picture. That doesn't even BEGIN to cover the TV and music personalities (Sally Jesse Raphael among them) and/or shows/songs. All of it totally distracting and unnecessary to the story.
Okay, technicalities aside, I couldn't hate this character more if I tried. She's a rich bitch with a tough edge. She knows how to dress, but there's a gun under that sexy dress. It's so tiresome I can't even...
The murders are gruesome and gross. While the idea that these were replicating art pieces might have been clever, Santolofer has to get high brow and pick pieces no layperson has ever heard of so picturing the actual scene is impossible without a reference.
I could go on but then I'd be as extraneous as this book. Let me know if you'd like my copy - snarky comments included!
I will admit that the first thing that turned me off was not the gruesomeness of the murders but the fact that this book was clearly written in the 1990s, and takes place then, with no set-up that it is a "period piece." I kept going back to check the copyright date (2002) to try and figure out if I was missing something. It's full of VCRs and people saying things like "we could check the Internet..."
I made it to page 120 before my commenting pencil came out, and by page 121 we already have the line "Some uptown dame with all the answers." Dame? Really?
I feel badly for whoever had to spend all their time vetting the name-brand dropping in this book. It's my understanding that name brands are trademarked and must be approved for use, even in literature (I use that term loosely.) So that means someone had to contact Xerox, Polaroid, Glock, Kodacolor, Monday Night Football, Merit, Marlboro, BMW, Pinto (yes, someone drives a Pinto in this oh-so-modern murder mystery) Tampax, Ziploc, Hallmark, Pucci, Doc Martens, Walkman (ye-up, I said Walkman. So I guess Sony.) Lipton, Sweet n Low....you get the picture. That doesn't even BEGIN to cover the TV and music personalities (Sally Jesse Raphael among them) and/or shows/songs. All of it totally distracting and unnecessary to the story.
Okay, technicalities aside, I couldn't hate this character more if I tried. She's a rich bitch with a tough edge. She knows how to dress, but there's a gun under that sexy dress. It's so tiresome I can't even...
The murders are gruesome and gross. While the idea that these were replicating art pieces might have been clever, Santolofer has to get high brow and pick pieces no layperson has ever heard of so picturing the actual scene is impossible without a reference.
I could go on but then I'd be as extraneous as this book. Let me know if you'd like my copy - snarky comments included!