3rd Degree

"We hate capitalism," muse the terrorists. "Who shall we target next? (Hey, how about that author whose publishing machine makes millions of dollars every year? Patterson something, isnt he called?") A brief moment later, the members of the Weepy Ladies Club begin to cry on one anothers shoulders as another body is found horribly murdered. "Oh my God", they wail in unison, "these are innocent people theyre killing! Innocent! Hey, Jill what are those bruises on your arm?" they ask, concerned. She makes some excuse about falling in the shower. They sense the approach of an improbable, sensationalist sub-plot. Suddenly, a message is discovered! The evil terrorists are declaring war on greed and corruption, and calling themselves the "August Spies". "Oh my God," exclaims Lindsay Boxer, "this is terrible!"

"By the way," interjects Patterson (or is it Andrew Gross?), shouting all the way from the cover of the book, "One of my best-loved heroines..."

"Eh?" interrupts Lindsay incredulously, "Best-loved? Us?"

"Yup, apparently. As I was saying...in 3rd Degree one of my best-loved heroines is going to die. Which one will it be?" He leaves in a blood-red puff of smoke, failing laughably to create any atmosphere of suspense.

Sorry about all that...I think Im drowning in the lack of respect I have for this book; although how anyone could drown in the absence of anything is neither here nor there. Normally, I can at least appreciate these books for what they are: cheap thrills packaged for an undemanding mass audience. Not any longer, I dont think. 3rd Degree is Pattersons shortest book so far, yet weighs in at a ridiculous 111 paragraphs (there is no way they could classify as "chapters") which make the experience of reading it feel distinctly like skimming even though I read every single word, and it positively reeks of the greed which bore it. Sensationalism is piled upon further sensationalism. Here we have not only domestic abuse (wholly improbable, badly dealt with) but terrorism as well! Hows that for topical, eh?

James Patterson novels have finally become parodies of themselves. Im not sure how anyone on earth could read this book in any kind of serious way. The characters are laughable; not even cardboard, theyre just shadow puppets all of the same vague shape. As Ive said before, no one can reduce a character to mere proper-nouns and pronouns with more ease than James Patterson. Once again, his use of the exclamation mark - the literary equivalent of gasping at your own bombshell, or laughing at your own joke - had me in titters, creating entirely the wrong effect. If a scene is dramatic, we will know it, Mr Patterson. Provided that the book is well-written enough, of course. Oh, irony of ironies. The use of the exclamation mark only emphasises our awareness of the fact that this is pseudo-dramatic trash desperate for attention, for some kind of effect. While the first two books in this series were good enough by his standards, this is possibly a step too far. And the sheer hypocrisy of this book, which seems to have some sense of an anti-capitalism message, just made me angry when the existence and purpose of this book is considered in its context. Although it has its moments and is thrilling enough at times, I wouldnt recommend this to anyone (well, if truth be told, I wouldnt really recommend any Patterson to anyone.) At least we have something to be thankful for, though: its not as bad as The Lake House.