Book 'Im Dano

The old TV cop series, Hawaii Five O, was one of the great escapes of an evening. Dano was the sidekick of the star and at a crucial moment, Dano, the newie, got to read the perp's rights as the hero sauntered off to the tune of the theme. But some fiction authors, including some award winning ones, ought to be booked. There are three kinds of writers: first, the poor ones who have something important to say and are forgiven colourless language or the second kind who haven't much to say but write so beautifully no one cares. Third, are the best writers, often unrecognized as "best sellers" who do both. Language in fiction and even non-fiction, is all important. It should resonate, it should excite thought, it should delight, it should be the music of the brain. If it doesn't do that, it is either a report or a waste of time. A week ago, I found a new book on the shelf in the library, one of the seven-day-loan kind. It had won a prestigious award. I opened the pages and anticipated something I couldn't find. Where was the plot? Where was the delight? Where was the intelligence? The usage was perfect. The theme, contemporary: family secrets out, rape, incest, religious issues, murder - but where was the kick, where was the thing that made me want to say mmmm or even be eager to turn the next page? Blah, blah, on it went until during breakfast coffee on the book's seventh day, I gave up and closed it, reaching, instead, for a button to turn on the TV lastest news. Being a secret book critic has its advantages. You can return your best sellers and no one cares to ask whether you finished it or not. The retribution was that the first two-thirds of the pages had food stains and goodness knows what other kinds, while the last third that I actually got into, were pristine. It made me wonder how many pages the judges of the award read. The tale dragged on and on until all of us potential readers gave up in utter boredom. I wanted to plead with this writer: give me a clue as to where we are heading, check back with me once in a while,  despite the little meanderings keep me on the road to the end, and thrill me once in awhile before bidding me a mutually sad goodbye. As I dropped the "best seller" into the library slot, I yearned for Sheilds and King and Atwood and yes, Poe, all true story-tellers.