Looking forward to the next season of Reacher.
I don’t read many that keep my interest to the end. This one had lots of twists and unexpected turns that kept my attention.
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Audible sampleSamplePersuader (Jack Reacher)Mass Market Paperback – May 19, 2009
by
Lee Child
(Author)
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THE #1NEW YORK TIMESBESTSELLING JACK REACHER SERIES • The inspiration for season three of the hit streaming seriesReacher!
“Gripping and suspenseful... Child ratchets up the suspense to new heights.” —The Denver Post
Jack Reacher lives for the moment. Without a home. Without commitment. And with a burning desire to right wrongs—and rewrite his own agonizing past. DEA Susan Duffy is living for the future, knowing that she has made a terrible mistake by putting one of her own female agents into a death trap within a heavily guarded Maine mansion.
Staging a brilliant ruse, Reacher hurtles into the dark heart of a vast criminal enterprise. Trying to rescue an agent whose time is running out, Reacher enters a crime lord’s waterfront fortress. There he will find a world of secrecy and violence—and confront some unfinished business from his own past.
“Gripping and suspenseful... Child ratchets up the suspense to new heights.” —The Denver Post
Jack Reacher lives for the moment. Without a home. Without commitment. And with a burning desire to right wrongs—and rewrite his own agonizing past. DEA Susan Duffy is living for the future, knowing that she has made a terrible mistake by putting one of her own female agents into a death trap within a heavily guarded Maine mansion.
Staging a brilliant ruse, Reacher hurtles into the dark heart of a vast criminal enterprise. Trying to rescue an agent whose time is running out, Reacher enters a crime lord’s waterfront fortress. There he will find a world of secrecy and violence—and confront some unfinished business from his own past.
- Print length496 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherDell
- Publication dateMay 19, 2009
- Dimensions4.15 x 1.16 x 7.5 inches
- ISBN-100440245982
- ISBN-13978-0440245988
Book recommendations, author interviews, editors' picks, and more. Read it now.
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Running Blind (Jack Reacher)Mass Market Paperback
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Get to know this book
What's it about?
Jack Reacher enters a crime lord's fortress to rescue an agent and confront his own past in a suspenseful thriller.
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In my experience tiredness causes more foul-ups than carelessness or stupidity put together. Probably because tiredness itself creates carelessness and stupidity.824 Kindle readers highlighted thisPopular highlight
Revising objectives is smart because it stops you throwing good money after bad.651 Kindle readers highlighted thisPopular highlight
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Gripping and suspenseful... Child ratchets up the suspense to new heights.”—The Denver Post
“A page-turner... [Lee] Child’s tale drives hard and fast.”—Los Angeles Times Book Review
“Wickedly addictive... so fast-paced it makes the eyeballs spin.”—Orlando Sentinel
“A story that will sweep you along as fast as some of the riptides Reacher survives.”—St. Petersburg Times
Praise for the Jack Reacher series
“The truth about Reacher gets better and better.... This series [is] utterly addictive.”—Janet Maslin,The New York Times
“Jack Reacher is today’s James Bond, a thriller hero we can’t get enough of. I read every one as soon as it appears.”—Ken Follett
“Reacher is the stuff of myth.... One of this century’s most original, tantalizing pop-fiction heroes.”—The Washington Post
“I’m a fan.”—James Patterson
“The Reacher novels are easily the best thriller series going.”—NPR
“Reacher is a man for whom the phrasemoral compasswas invented: His code determines his direction.... You need Jack Reacher.”—The Atlantic
“I pick up Jack Reacher when I’m in the mood for someone big to solve my problems.”—Patricia Cornwell
“[A] feverishly thrilling series... You can always count on furious action.”—Miami Herald
“A page-turner... [Lee] Child’s tale drives hard and fast.”—Los Angeles Times Book Review
“Wickedly addictive... so fast-paced it makes the eyeballs spin.”—Orlando Sentinel
“A story that will sweep you along as fast as some of the riptides Reacher survives.”—St. Petersburg Times
Praise for the Jack Reacher series
“The truth about Reacher gets better and better.... This series [is] utterly addictive.”—Janet Maslin,The New York Times
“Jack Reacher is today’s James Bond, a thriller hero we can’t get enough of. I read every one as soon as it appears.”—Ken Follett
“Reacher is the stuff of myth.... One of this century’s most original, tantalizing pop-fiction heroes.”—The Washington Post
“I’m a fan.”—James Patterson
“The Reacher novels are easily the best thriller series going.”—NPR
“Reacher is a man for whom the phrasemoral compasswas invented: His code determines his direction.... You need Jack Reacher.”—The Atlantic
“I pick up Jack Reacher when I’m in the mood for someone big to solve my problems.”—Patricia Cornwell
“[A] feverishly thrilling series... You can always count on furious action.”—Miami Herald
About the Author
Lee Childis the author of more than two dozenNew York Timesbestselling Jack Reacher thrillers, with most having reached the #1 position, and the #1 bestselling complete Jack Reacher story collection,No Middle Name.Foreign rights in the Reacher series have sold in one hundred territories. A native of England and a former television director, Lee Child lives in New York City and Wyoming.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
The cop climbed out of his car exactly four minutes before he got shot. He moved like he knew his fate in advance. He pushed the door against the resistance of a stiff hinge and swiveled slowly on the worn vinyl seat and planted both feet flat on the road. Then he grasped the door frame with both hands and heaved himself up and out. He stood in the cold clear air for a second and then turned and pushed the door shut again behind him. Held still for a second longer. Then he stepped forward and leaned against the side of the hood up near the headlight.
The car was a seven-year-old Chevy Caprice. It was black and had no police markings. But it had three radio antennas and plain chrome hubs. Most cops you talk to swear the Caprice is the best police vehicle ever built. This guy looked like he agreed with them. He looked like a veteran plain-clothes detective with the whole of the motor pool at his disposal. Like he drove the ancient Chevy because he wanted to. Like he wasn’t interested in the new Fords. I could see that kind of stubborn old-timer personality in the way he held himself. He was wide and bulky in a plain dark suit made from some kind of heavy wool. He was tall but stooped. An old man. He turned his head and looked north and south along the road and then craned his thick neck to glance back over his shoulder at the college gate. He was thirty yards away from me.
The college gate itself was purely a ceremonial thing. Two tall brick pillars just rose up from a long expanse of tended lawn behind the sidewalk. Connecting the pillars was a high double gate made from iron bars bent and folded and twisted into fancy shapes. It was shiny black. It looked like it had just been repainted. It was probably repainted after every winter. It had no security function. Anybody who wanted to avoid it could drive straight across the lawn. It was wide open, anyway. There was a driveway behind it with little knee-high iron posts set eight feet back on either side. They had latches. Each half of the gate was latched into one of them. Wide open. The driveway led on down to a huddle of mellow brick buildings about a hundred yards away. The buildings had steep mossy roofs and were overhung by trees. The driveway was lined with trees. The sidewalk was lined with trees. There were trees everywhere. Their leaves were just about coming in. They were tiny and curled and bright green. Six months from now they would be big and red and golden and photographers would be swarming all over the place taking pictures of them for the college brochure.
Twenty yards beyond the cop and his car and the gate was a pickup truck parked on the other side of the road. It was tight against the curb. It was facing toward me, fifty yards away. It looked a little out of place. It was faded red and had a big bull bar on the front. The bar was dull black and looked like it had been bent and straightened a couple of times. There were two men in the cab. They were young, tall, clean-cut, fair-haired. They were just sitting there, completely still, gazing forward, looking at nothing in particular. They weren’t looking at the cop. They weren’t looking at me.
I was set up to the south. I had an anonymous brown panel van parked outside a music store. The store was the kind of place you find near a college gate. It had used CDs in racks out on the sidewalk and posters in the windows behind them advertising bands people have never heard of. I had the van’s rear doors open. There were boxes stacked inside. I had a sheaf of paperwork in my hands. I was wearing a coat, because it was a cold April morning. I was wearing gloves, because the boxes in the van had loose staples where they had been torn open. I was wearing a gun, because I often do. It was wedged in my pants, at the back, under the coat. It was a Colt Anaconda, which is a huge stainless steel revolver chambered for the.44 Magnum cartridge. It was thirteen and a half inches long and weighed almost four pounds. Not my first choice of weapon. It was hard and heavy and cold and I was aware of it all the time.
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked up from my papers and heard the distant pickup’s engine start. It stayed where it was, just idling. White exhaust pooled around its rear wheels. The air was cold. It was early and the street was deserted. I stepped behind my van and glanced down the side of the music store toward the college buildings. Saw a black Lincoln Town Car waiting outside one of them. There were two guys standing next to it. I was a hundred yards away but neither one of them looked like a limo driver. Limo drivers don’t come in pairs and they don’t look young and heavy and they don’t act tense and wary. These guys looked exactly like bodyguards.
The building the Lincoln was waiting outside of looked like some kind of a small dormitory. It had Greek letters over a big wooden door. I watched and the big wooden door opened up and a young thin guy stepped out. He looked like a student. He had long messy hair and was dressed like a homeless person but carried a bag that looked like shiny expensive leather. One of the bodyguards stood point while the other held the car door and the young thin guy tossed his bag onto the back seat and slid right in after it. He pulled the door shut behind himself. I heard it slam, faint and muffled from a hundred yards away. The bodyguards glanced around for a second and then got in the front together and a short moment later the car moved away. Thirty yards behind it a college security vehicle snuffled slowly in the same direction, not like it was intending to make up a convoy but like it just happened to be there anyway. There were two rent-a-cops in it. They were slumped down low in their seats and they looked aimless and bored.
I took my gloves off and tossed them into the back of my van. Stepped out into the road where my view was better. I saw the Lincoln come up the driveway at a moderate speed. It was black and shiny and immaculate. It had plenty of chrome on it. Plenty of wax. The college cops were way behind it. It paused at the ceremonial gate and turned left and came south toward the black police Caprice. Toward me.
What happened next occupied eight seconds, but it felt like the blink of an eye.
The faded red pickup moved off the curb twenty yards back. It accelerated hard. It caught up with the Lincoln and pulled out and passed it exactly level with the cop’s Caprice. It came within a foot of the cop’s knees. Then it accelerated again and pulled a little ways ahead and its driver swung the wheel hard and the corner of the bull bar smashed square into the Lincoln’s front fender. The pickup driver kept the wheel turned and his foot hard down and forced the Lincoln off the road onto the shoulder. The grass tore up and the Lincoln slowed radically and then hit a tree head-on. There was the boom of metal caving and tearing and headlight glass shattering and there was a big cloud of steam and the tree’s tiny green leaves shook and quivered noisily in the still morning air.
Then the two guys in the pickup came out shooting. They had black machine pistols and were firing them at the Lincoln. The sound was deafening and I could see arcs of spent brass raining down on the blacktop. Then the guys were pulling at the Lincoln’s doors. Hauling them open. One of them leaned into the back and started dragging the thin kid out. The other was still firing his gun into the front. Then he reached into his pocket left-handed and came out with some kind of a grenade. Tossed it inside the Lincoln and slammed the doors and grabbed his buddy and the kid by the shoulders and turned them away and hauled them down into a crouch. There was a loud bright explosion inside the Lincoln. All six windows shattered. I was more than twenty yards away and felt every bit of the concussion. Pebbles of glass blew everywhere. They made rainbows in the sun. Then the guy who had tossed the grenade scrambled up and sprinted for the passenger side of the pickup and the other straight-armed the kid inside the cab and crowded right in after him. The doors slammed shut and I saw the kid trapped in there on the center seat. I saw terror in his face. It was white with shock and right through the dirty windshield I saw his mouth opening in a silent scream. I saw the driver working the gears and heard the engine roaring and the tires squealing and then the truck was coming directly at me.
It was a Toyota. I could see toyota on the grille behind the bull bar. It rode high on its suspension and I could see a big black differential at the front. It was the size of a soccer ball. Four-wheel drive. Big fat tires. Dents and faded paint that hadn’t been washed since it left the factory. It was coming straight at me.
I had less than a second to decide.
I flipped the tail of my coat and pulled out the Colt. Aimed very carefully and fired once at the Toyota’s grille. The big gun flashed and roared and kicked in my hand. The huge.44 slug shattered the radiator. I fired again at the left front tire. Blew it out in a spectacular explosion of black rubber debris. Yards of blown tread whipped through the air. The truck slewed and stopped with the driver’s side facing me. Ten yards away. I ducked behind the back of my van and slammed the rear doors and came out on the sidewalk and fired again at the left rear tire. Same result. Rubber everywhere. The truck crashed down on its left-side rims at a steep angle. The driver opened his door and spilled out on the blacktop and scrambled up on one knee. He had his gun in the wrong hand. He juggled it across and I waited until I was fairly sure he was going to point it at me. Then I used my left hand to cradle my right forearm against the Colt’s four-pound weight and aimed carefully at center mass like I had been taught a long time ago and pulled the trigger. The guy’s chest seemed to explode in a huge cloud of blood.
The cop climbed out of his car exactly four minutes before he got shot. He moved like he knew his fate in advance. He pushed the door against the resistance of a stiff hinge and swiveled slowly on the worn vinyl seat and planted both feet flat on the road. Then he grasped the door frame with both hands and heaved himself up and out. He stood in the cold clear air for a second and then turned and pushed the door shut again behind him. Held still for a second longer. Then he stepped forward and leaned against the side of the hood up near the headlight.
The car was a seven-year-old Chevy Caprice. It was black and had no police markings. But it had three radio antennas and plain chrome hubs. Most cops you talk to swear the Caprice is the best police vehicle ever built. This guy looked like he agreed with them. He looked like a veteran plain-clothes detective with the whole of the motor pool at his disposal. Like he drove the ancient Chevy because he wanted to. Like he wasn’t interested in the new Fords. I could see that kind of stubborn old-timer personality in the way he held himself. He was wide and bulky in a plain dark suit made from some kind of heavy wool. He was tall but stooped. An old man. He turned his head and looked north and south along the road and then craned his thick neck to glance back over his shoulder at the college gate. He was thirty yards away from me.
The college gate itself was purely a ceremonial thing. Two tall brick pillars just rose up from a long expanse of tended lawn behind the sidewalk. Connecting the pillars was a high double gate made from iron bars bent and folded and twisted into fancy shapes. It was shiny black. It looked like it had just been repainted. It was probably repainted after every winter. It had no security function. Anybody who wanted to avoid it could drive straight across the lawn. It was wide open, anyway. There was a driveway behind it with little knee-high iron posts set eight feet back on either side. They had latches. Each half of the gate was latched into one of them. Wide open. The driveway led on down to a huddle of mellow brick buildings about a hundred yards away. The buildings had steep mossy roofs and were overhung by trees. The driveway was lined with trees. The sidewalk was lined with trees. There were trees everywhere. Their leaves were just about coming in. They were tiny and curled and bright green. Six months from now they would be big and red and golden and photographers would be swarming all over the place taking pictures of them for the college brochure.
Twenty yards beyond the cop and his car and the gate was a pickup truck parked on the other side of the road. It was tight against the curb. It was facing toward me, fifty yards away. It looked a little out of place. It was faded red and had a big bull bar on the front. The bar was dull black and looked like it had been bent and straightened a couple of times. There were two men in the cab. They were young, tall, clean-cut, fair-haired. They were just sitting there, completely still, gazing forward, looking at nothing in particular. They weren’t looking at the cop. They weren’t looking at me.
I was set up to the south. I had an anonymous brown panel van parked outside a music store. The store was the kind of place you find near a college gate. It had used CDs in racks out on the sidewalk and posters in the windows behind them advertising bands people have never heard of. I had the van’s rear doors open. There were boxes stacked inside. I had a sheaf of paperwork in my hands. I was wearing a coat, because it was a cold April morning. I was wearing gloves, because the boxes in the van had loose staples where they had been torn open. I was wearing a gun, because I often do. It was wedged in my pants, at the back, under the coat. It was a Colt Anaconda, which is a huge stainless steel revolver chambered for the.44 Magnum cartridge. It was thirteen and a half inches long and weighed almost four pounds. Not my first choice of weapon. It was hard and heavy and cold and I was aware of it all the time.
I paused in the middle of the sidewalk and looked up from my papers and heard the distant pickup’s engine start. It stayed where it was, just idling. White exhaust pooled around its rear wheels. The air was cold. It was early and the street was deserted. I stepped behind my van and glanced down the side of the music store toward the college buildings. Saw a black Lincoln Town Car waiting outside one of them. There were two guys standing next to it. I was a hundred yards away but neither one of them looked like a limo driver. Limo drivers don’t come in pairs and they don’t look young and heavy and they don’t act tense and wary. These guys looked exactly like bodyguards.
The building the Lincoln was waiting outside of looked like some kind of a small dormitory. It had Greek letters over a big wooden door. I watched and the big wooden door opened up and a young thin guy stepped out. He looked like a student. He had long messy hair and was dressed like a homeless person but carried a bag that looked like shiny expensive leather. One of the bodyguards stood point while the other held the car door and the young thin guy tossed his bag onto the back seat and slid right in after it. He pulled the door shut behind himself. I heard it slam, faint and muffled from a hundred yards away. The bodyguards glanced around for a second and then got in the front together and a short moment later the car moved away. Thirty yards behind it a college security vehicle snuffled slowly in the same direction, not like it was intending to make up a convoy but like it just happened to be there anyway. There were two rent-a-cops in it. They were slumped down low in their seats and they looked aimless and bored.
I took my gloves off and tossed them into the back of my van. Stepped out into the road where my view was better. I saw the Lincoln come up the driveway at a moderate speed. It was black and shiny and immaculate. It had plenty of chrome on it. Plenty of wax. The college cops were way behind it. It paused at the ceremonial gate and turned left and came south toward the black police Caprice. Toward me.
What happened next occupied eight seconds, but it felt like the blink of an eye.
The faded red pickup moved off the curb twenty yards back. It accelerated hard. It caught up with the Lincoln and pulled out and passed it exactly level with the cop’s Caprice. It came within a foot of the cop’s knees. Then it accelerated again and pulled a little ways ahead and its driver swung the wheel hard and the corner of the bull bar smashed square into the Lincoln’s front fender. The pickup driver kept the wheel turned and his foot hard down and forced the Lincoln off the road onto the shoulder. The grass tore up and the Lincoln slowed radically and then hit a tree head-on. There was the boom of metal caving and tearing and headlight glass shattering and there was a big cloud of steam and the tree’s tiny green leaves shook and quivered noisily in the still morning air.
Then the two guys in the pickup came out shooting. They had black machine pistols and were firing them at the Lincoln. The sound was deafening and I could see arcs of spent brass raining down on the blacktop. Then the guys were pulling at the Lincoln’s doors. Hauling them open. One of them leaned into the back and started dragging the thin kid out. The other was still firing his gun into the front. Then he reached into his pocket left-handed and came out with some kind of a grenade. Tossed it inside the Lincoln and slammed the doors and grabbed his buddy and the kid by the shoulders and turned them away and hauled them down into a crouch. There was a loud bright explosion inside the Lincoln. All six windows shattered. I was more than twenty yards away and felt every bit of the concussion. Pebbles of glass blew everywhere. They made rainbows in the sun. Then the guy who had tossed the grenade scrambled up and sprinted for the passenger side of the pickup and the other straight-armed the kid inside the cab and crowded right in after him. The doors slammed shut and I saw the kid trapped in there on the center seat. I saw terror in his face. It was white with shock and right through the dirty windshield I saw his mouth opening in a silent scream. I saw the driver working the gears and heard the engine roaring and the tires squealing and then the truck was coming directly at me.
It was a Toyota. I could see toyota on the grille behind the bull bar. It rode high on its suspension and I could see a big black differential at the front. It was the size of a soccer ball. Four-wheel drive. Big fat tires. Dents and faded paint that hadn’t been washed since it left the factory. It was coming straight at me.
I had less than a second to decide.
I flipped the tail of my coat and pulled out the Colt. Aimed very carefully and fired once at the Toyota’s grille. The big gun flashed and roared and kicked in my hand. The huge.44 slug shattered the radiator. I fired again at the left front tire. Blew it out in a spectacular explosion of black rubber debris. Yards of blown tread whipped through the air. The truck slewed and stopped with the driver’s side facing me. Ten yards away. I ducked behind the back of my van and slammed the rear doors and came out on the sidewalk and fired again at the left rear tire. Same result. Rubber everywhere. The truck crashed down on its left-side rims at a steep angle. The driver opened his door and spilled out on the blacktop and scrambled up on one knee. He had his gun in the wrong hand. He juggled it across and I waited until I was fairly sure he was going to point it at me. Then I used my left hand to cradle my right forearm against the Colt’s four-pound weight and aimed carefully at center mass like I had been taught a long time ago and pulled the trigger. The guy’s chest seemed to explode in a huge cloud of blood.
Product details
- Publisher : Dell (May 19, 2009)
- Language : English
- Mass Market Paperback : 496 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0440245982
- ISBN-13 : 978-0440245988
- Item Weight : 9.2 ounces
- Dimensions : 4.15 x 1.16 x 7.5 inches
- Best Sellers Rank:#4,940 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #53 inContemporary Literature & Fiction
- #260 inMurder Thrillers
- #927 inSuspense Thrillers
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations.
Lee Child is one of the world’s leading thriller writers. He was born in Coventry, raised in Birmingham, and now lives in New York. It is said one of his novels featuring his hero Jack Reacher is sold somewhere in the world every nine seconds. His books consistently achieve the number-one slot on bestseller lists around the world and have sold over one hundred million copies. Two blockbusting Jack Reacher movies have been made so far. He is the recipient of many awards, most recently Author of the Year at the 2019 British Book Awards. He was appointed CBE in the 2019 Queen's Birthday Honours.
Photography © Sigrid Estrada
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Reviewed in the United States on May 26, 2024
Reviewed in the United States on August 15, 2013
The beginning of this novel was puzzling. It had Reacher doing very unusual things and reacting extremely uncharacteristic. That merely set the scene though and once the novel was underway it was again the usual Reacher tour de force. The plot was as usual fantastic, unbelievable, original and thoroughly entertaining. I don't believe that Reacher is a true descendant of Phillip Marlowe as a Knight errant fighting injustice and corruption because he lacks pity and sentiment. Though he does seem to be the only one capable of fighting latter day corruption. Who else is as mean and tough and smart as Reacher? Lee Child is a good writer and I enjoyed reading this book. There were no explicit sex scenes although several of the characters had sex but not in the embarrassingly graphic way that Evan Hunter would crank out on occasion in his novels. If you've read Lee Child and enjoyed his work I see no reason why you wouldn't enjoy this work. It has a revenge motive that really does keep the readers interest. I don't want to describe any of the plot. If you haven't read any of the Reacher novels this would be an excellent place to start.
I do want to mention why I will always have a great respect for Lee Child. In his book 'Without Fail' Reacher mentions that he believes that President Kennedy was killed as a result of a conspiracy. While I don't need Mr. Child's approval or confirmation to know that there was a conspiracy it is heartening to know that there are other intelligent people out there like him and Len Deighton and previously Charles DeGaulle and Bertrand Russell among thousands who knew that the Warren Report was fiction and a terrible fraud upon the American people. If only there were a real Reacher to expose the truth.
I do want to mention why I will always have a great respect for Lee Child. In his book 'Without Fail' Reacher mentions that he believes that President Kennedy was killed as a result of a conspiracy. While I don't need Mr. Child's approval or confirmation to know that there was a conspiracy it is heartening to know that there are other intelligent people out there like him and Len Deighton and previously Charles DeGaulle and Bertrand Russell among thousands who knew that the Warren Report was fiction and a terrible fraud upon the American people. If only there were a real Reacher to expose the truth.
Reviewed in the United States on April 26, 2024
He’s just so perfect in this. Bad ass, vulnerable, quick and clever, and totally unstoppable. Great characters all around him. A classic hand to hand battle with monster man Paulie. All good!
Reviewed in the United States on May 9, 2024
In my opinion, one of his best novels. Can’t wait to see it on Prime, probably some time in late summer, or the fall.
Reviewed in the United States on May 31, 2009
First to note: I'm a woman and many action adventures are not written for me. This book is written from the male POV without alienating the female reader. The storyline centers on gun, drugs, and essentially some violence - but it isn't "in your face" or glorified. No excessive swearing (though some, in context). Also: this is my first Lee Child novel and I had not read any of the previous Reacher stories. That being said, I still really enjoyed it.
I read this on my Kindle and found myself slipping it out of my purse and reading a few pages here and there throughout the day, and looking forward to my nightly bedtime reading - a sure sign that I'm enjoying what I'm reading.
I'm a voracious reader and I'm picky, so I notice everything. Usually I'm noticing everything I don't like. But in this novel, I instead was pulled along for the journey in a story that is a page-turner. The plot is interesting and not easy guessable, while at the same time is not so over the top that you finish and go "what? Huh?!" Upon re-reading, you would indeed find the clues dropped along the way.
The action scenes have enough violence to be believable to the story (and there are multiple deaths) without being violence-for-the-sake-of-violence. The characters are multi-faceted and interesting, and not your stereotypical folks. The son, in particular, was very interesting to me - and while not a master character or central to the story, the author gave him substance and made him interesting.
If this were a movie, you'd see a lot of faces you'd recognize - all those great character actors out there would identify with most of the cast in this book with interesting roles to play. The location - the house on the beach - even plays a "character" and is easily conjurable in the mind.
The only downside for me was excessive description in some areas. I can tell when the author is giving too much description when I find myself flipping pages and scanning them without really "reading" them. I'm someone who thinks that if the text doesn't have a purpose in the book, then it should be cut. So there were SOME areas where I flipped to get to the "guts" of the story - it wasn't THAT much, but enough to keep me from giving it 5 stars.
From a woman's POV, this is a great action adventure that still includes the male aspects of the genre without alienating me, and I was sad to see it come to an end. I recommend this book - and for women in particular who have trouble finding good reads in this genre.
I read this on my Kindle and found myself slipping it out of my purse and reading a few pages here and there throughout the day, and looking forward to my nightly bedtime reading - a sure sign that I'm enjoying what I'm reading.
I'm a voracious reader and I'm picky, so I notice everything. Usually I'm noticing everything I don't like. But in this novel, I instead was pulled along for the journey in a story that is a page-turner. The plot is interesting and not easy guessable, while at the same time is not so over the top that you finish and go "what? Huh?!" Upon re-reading, you would indeed find the clues dropped along the way.
The action scenes have enough violence to be believable to the story (and there are multiple deaths) without being violence-for-the-sake-of-violence. The characters are multi-faceted and interesting, and not your stereotypical folks. The son, in particular, was very interesting to me - and while not a master character or central to the story, the author gave him substance and made him interesting.
If this were a movie, you'd see a lot of faces you'd recognize - all those great character actors out there would identify with most of the cast in this book with interesting roles to play. The location - the house on the beach - even plays a "character" and is easily conjurable in the mind.
The only downside for me was excessive description in some areas. I can tell when the author is giving too much description when I find myself flipping pages and scanning them without really "reading" them. I'm someone who thinks that if the text doesn't have a purpose in the book, then it should be cut. So there were SOME areas where I flipped to get to the "guts" of the story - it wasn't THAT much, but enough to keep me from giving it 5 stars.
From a woman's POV, this is a great action adventure that still includes the male aspects of the genre without alienating me, and I was sad to see it come to an end. I recommend this book - and for women in particular who have trouble finding good reads in this genre.
Reviewed in the United States on June 28, 2024
Lee Child has a great series going with Jack Reacher! Good story telling. Engaging all the way through.
Top reviews from other countries
Sylvia
5.0 out of 5 stars
Apparently season 3 of Reacher will be based on this book
Reviewed in Canada on May 27, 2024
Excellent story! A great read.
Ziet er goed uit.
5.0 out of 5 stars
Vlotte bestelling en levering.
Reviewed in Belgium on June 9, 2024
Stevige en verzorgde, onbeschadigde verpakking.
PK Kunkalikar
5.0 out of 5 stars
Book not received
Reviewed in India on November 12, 2023
I believe the book is good, but that's only a belief. Since the book is not received yet, I can't give you an opinion.... Oh hum....
CAH
5.0 out of 5 stars
Teacher in seinem Element
Reviewed in Germany on July 31, 2023
Spannend wie immer, und interessante Facts über Reacher bzw seine Motivation.
Dennoch eher für Fans zu empfehlen, nicht als Anfangsbuch.
Dennoch eher für Fans zu empfehlen, nicht als Anfangsbuch.
fergus
5.0 out of 5 stars
good read
Reviewed in France on July 21, 2023
A light good holiday read
