Hermit of Paradise
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15
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A Fight for Lost Innocence Detective Auby Midnight is retired. Or so he imagines. Jaded and transformed by a long career of witnessing degeneracy, tragedy, and true evil, he reflects on the place that first nurtured him: Paradise Cove, Lake Texoma, and the rich, endearing memories of mischief, adventure, and friendship that shaped his childhood. That is, until the day a violent feud brought irrevocable trauma for his best friend, Sunny. Now Sunny implores the wearied Auby to right the wrongs of the past and return to the case that has haunted him and his childhood friends for years. Older, wiser, and far more experienced, they set out to defeat the evil that stole their innocence and restore the magic of Paradise Cove. Inspired by the author's own life events as a sixth-generation Texan and a former member of the Dallas Police Department with decades of experience under his belt, Hermit of Paradise explores meaning, morality, and the fight to stay human in the face of a grim and complicated world.
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This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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This starts with an old friend, Sunny, asking Aubey to find her some justice for an old crime.
Then we flashback a little bit to watch Aubey’s last days on the Dallas Police as a detective before his retirement.
Then we flashback to Aubey’s childhood days, living in his family’s home on a lake where he spends summers reading, fishing, and getting into antics with some older men and some children the same age. Free-range parenting at its best, and despite hanging out with criminals, Aubey seems like a well-adjusted kid in love with nature. The fateful summer in consideration, however, brings him into contact with a couple of peers who will change his life—including the aforementioned Sunny.
Something traumatic happens at the end of a beautiful summer—something that will haunt Aubey and his friends for the rest of their lives.
We then flash-forward to his retirement, Sunny asking for justice (with more context), and Aubey’s efforts to get that for her.
That’s the barebones of the plot, anyway. I gave a richer (and provided by the author/publisher) description on my Spotlight yesterday.
(I’m always honest when it comes to my opinion on books, as far as I know, but occasionally I’ll pull a punch)
Under any other circumstances, this would’ve been a DNF for me. The pacing was off; the book spent far, far, far too long in the childhood section compared to the retired adult section; given what Aubey knew about the crime, too much of what we know about the people/area/history comes from inelegant info-dumping; what he did in the retirement section to investigate it made no sense—other than to make more opportunities for info-dumping….and I don’t want to beat up on things.
I could go on for paragraphs on how bad the dialogue was—I really want to rant about it (actually, ask anyone who lives in my house and they’ll tell you what I think of it). But let me just tell you this much: there are several conversations between two people where each part of the exchange contains the other persons name in the first sentence.
Allow me to illustrate from a well-known scene (with apologies to Mr. Tarantino):
Vincent asks, “And, Jules, you know what they call a… a… a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?”
“Vincent, they don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?” Jules asks, surprised.
“No man, they got the metric system. Jules, they wouldn’t know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.” Vincent laughs and shakes his head.
“Then, Vincent, what do they call it?” Jules raises his voice.
“Jules, they call it a Royale with cheese.” Vincent replies, stretching out “Royale.”
“A Royale with cheese. Vincent, what do they call a Big Mac?” Jules wonders, chuckling.
Vincent shrugs a little, “Well, Jules, a Big Mac’s a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.”
“Le Big-Mac, Vincent.” He practices “Ha ha ha ha. Vincent, what do they call a Whopper?”
“I dunno, Jules, I didn’t go into Burger King.”
Except every sentence should be longer—if not a small paragraph—overflowing with exposition and nowhere near as interesting. If I had a hard copy, I’d have thrown it across the room the second time I encountered this (I could let it go once). But I wasn’t about to throw my phone or e-Reader, as nice as it would’ve felt.
The childhood flashbacks made me think of someone trying to go for a Scout, Jem, and Dill feel. Or something out of a William Kent Krueger novel. It even kind of reminded me of A Snake in the Raspberry Patch by Joanne Jackson or something of a Tiffany McDaniel-talks-about-young-people feel. But Sanders isn’t in their league (yet?).
Sanders swung for the fences in every chapter—more than once in every chapter. I think there’s a decent (not necessarily good, but at least decent) novel hidden here. But Sanders needs a few more drafts and a skilled editor to bring that out.
If I was talking about intentions, desires, and aims here—I’d have a lot of good to say. But I’m not—I’m talking about the characters, writing, and novel—so I can’t say a lot of good.
I do think the characters (most of them, anyway) were promising—too many of the minor characters were interchangeable enough that we didn’t need them all. Again, a little more refining and editing would’ve helped a lot there.
Originally posted at irresponsiblereader.com.
