Jeffery Deaver - The Vanished Man (2003)
Whether it is the sleight of hand of Ricky Jay, the elaborate illusions of David Copperfield or the performance art of David Blaine, magic nearly always delights. Prestidigitation proves to be fertile ground for fiction as well in Jeffery Deaver's latest thriller, The Vanished Man. In it, he presents a spellbinding story of a wicked wizard of illusion trying to outwit the brilliant NYPD criminologist Lincoln Rhyme (The Bone Collector).
Malerick was a famous magician until he was nearly killed in a terrible stage accident. Now, scarred and deranged, he is out to get revenge on everyone who has wronged him. A gifted escape artist and master of misdirection, Malerick proves to be one of Rhyme's toughest opponents, vanishing from crime scene after crime scene, leaving death and misery in his wake.
"Malerick's present appearance was very different from his incarnation when he'd escaped from the school earlier that morning. He was now blond and beardless and wearing a jogging outfit ... Had passers-by been looking they might have noticed a few oddities in his physique: leathery scar tissue peeked over the top of his collar and along his neck, and two fingers of his left hand were fused together. But no one was looking. Because his gestures and expressions were natural, and--as all illusionists know--acting naturally makes you invisible."
Along with his partner, the beautiful model-turned-police officer Amelia Sachs, Rhyme sifts through the evidence, painstakingly assessing each clue as he pieces together the puzzle. The forensic details are always the most interesting parts of Deaver's Rhyme books (this is the fifth one), and that is the case again. The tiniest detail can turn out to be the most important--if only you can figure out which one it is.
Although the author has given his villain roguish personality, most of the other characters are flat. Rhyme, a quadriplegic largely confined to his high-tech hospital bed, remains a fascinating personality, but he hardly develops or changes in this book. Too often Deaver has him spouting insults and acting the curmudgeon, shortcuts that serve as an easy way out. Rhyme's growing relationship with Sachs, never the strongest female protagonist to begin with, is hardly mentioned.
Deaver introduces another character who plays an important part in the drama of The Vanished Man. The single-named Kara is an apprentice illusionist and quick-change artist whom Rhyme calls in to consult on the case. She fills the role of guide to the world of magic, explaining Malerick's tricks and what he might be up to. She is actually a more fully realized character than Sachs, who too often seems more caricature than otherwise, a mixed bag of tics and habits masquerading as a woman.
Deaver has a tendency to craft plots that are overly elaborate, with so many twists and turns that suspension of disbelief becomes difficult to maintain. He strays perilously close to that in The Vanished Man, but manages to stay on the side of possibility, if not always believability. Still, sometimes less is more and it would be nice to see Deaver's plots more firmly lodged in plausibility.
Regardless of any absence of character growth and complexity, the story is still an engaging one, the kind of entertaining, suspenseful tale that shows the writer's true strengths. The relentless manner in which Malerick commits his crimes, and the equally unyielding pursuit by Rhyme and Sachs, lend an air of excitement and energy that glosses over the book's weaknesses.
All in all, The Vanished Man is a crackling thriller with a well-sculpted plot and a fascinating villain. Some think it a dismissal to describe a book as a "page-turner," but that is precisely what this is.
Posted by David J. Montgomery in Book Reviews | Permalink
