These days the U.S. adult genre fiction market perhaps breaks down into about 2/5 romance, 1/3 crime/mystery/thrillers, and 1/4 science fiction/fantasy. Within the second genre group, I’m much more interested in mysteries than modern thrillers.
Years ago I did enjoy a few of Thomas Harris‘s crackling thrillers, which translated easily into theatrical films. Occasionally a cozier classic mystery author like Agatha Christie or Edith Pargeter (writing as Ellis Peters) would bring thriller elements into their stories, and recently I’ve enjoyed the decades-old suspense romance books of Mary Stewart.
Having read so many mysteries from the 1890s to the 1960s, a recent thriller from 2019 was a jolt. Needing a break from my Kindle, I had sauntered into my office and opened the glass doors to the retirement reading bookcase. For some time I’ve collected in it various physical books to be read when my pace of life slowed. Many were purchased over the years at Barnes and Noble, while others are more obscure out-of-print works, unavailable as typical e-books, which I ordered from used booksellers. My plan had long been to start whittling away at that woodpile in my retirement. Now I was a few weeks into that new phase of my life, with the miserable heat and humidity of July in Joklahoma restricting my walking to early mornings, leaving afternoons free for reading.

On one shelf I spied Never Tell by Lisa Gardner. I had never heard of her, and the trade paperback had been published in 2019. I figured it was something I spotted at Barnes and Noble that got lost in the COVID-19 pandemonium that disrupted my life for several years.
It turned out to be #11 in Gardner’s series with Boston detective D.D. Warren, consisting of a dozen novels and four shorter e-books from 2004 to 2020. Since then, Gardner has reportedly shifted to focus on a new thriller series featuring an amateur investigator.
Never Tell consists of chapters that continually shift between first person narratives of three women: Detective Warren, past crime victim Flora Dane, and a pregnant woman who may have killed her father and then, years later, her husband. The changing perspectives helped make the set-up more interesting, and I was grateful to not be stuck for an extended period in the damaged minds of Dane and the apparent killer. The pace eventually began to drag, with too many unresolved mysteries piling up, but then Gardner hit the gas with some breakthroughs and action.
I haven’t really been interested in solving whodunits since I was a kid, instead enjoying the ride with the characters. In this case, my suspicions proved accurate, but were sufficiently delayed to prevent me from skimming. However, I didn’t think some episodes were believable, especially the climax, which featured a long-winded and overly composed confrontation in extreme circumstances that reminded me of some of the unrealistic TV thrillers of my youth.
It was nice to read a tale with modern technology, and the female characters dominated this tale, being far more active and commanding than those in the older genre works. I deemed this extraction from the retirement case a success, but I certainly wouldn’t want to follow it with another thriller.
So instead I picked up a Kindle science fiction novel from 2018 by Alan Dean Foster. He has written dozens of novelizations of science fiction television shows and movies, and as a kid, I devoured his Star Trek Log adaptations of that franchise’s animated series from 1973-1974. Now I was finally reading one of his dozens of books that weren’t media tie-ins.
Relic started quite strong, with elegiac chapters about a man believed to be the last surviving human on a distant colony world. His tale of survival and becoming a research subject for conservation-minded aliens was fascinating, and Foster drew from his extensive world travels to help him flesh out alien environments.
However, eventually other humans entered the picture, and the book ended with an unsatisfying deus ex machina that relied upon advanced technologies that miraculously survive long periods of neglect, rather reminiscent of the unrealities of Tim Huntley’s One on Me I encountered last autumn.
After cleansing my palate with the penultimate finished Blandings Castle book, 1965’s Galahad at Blandings, I read an Ellis Peters/Edith Pargeter novella and then took up the Kindle version of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, a tearjerker about an aged British pensioner who embarks on a long walk across that immense island to see a woman in a hospice. Longlisted for the Booker Prize in 2012, the book had several moving chapters, with poignant vignettes of lost souls. However, once the protagonist gained various repulsive hangers-on, I was far less enthused. Thankfully they were eventually shed, but the bleak end of his journey was shattering. Various mysteries, the solutions to which I had already guessed at, were finally resolved, but the renewal of his fraught relationship with his wife was perhaps a bit too realistic. It was an existential read with few guideposts.
I guess my primary objection to The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry was how its manipulations did not feel organic to the story. The characters knew vital truths not shared with the reader for most of the walk, merely hinted at. I prefer characters who are as much in the dark as I am, lighting matches which they thrust into the surrounding gloom.
























































