DEAD SIMPLE
by Peter James
I wish I’d written this ...
... because it's a tale filled with very effective contrasts.
Fairly sedate in pace but utterly engrossing, DEAD SIMPLE has—at least for British readers like me—all the cozy familiarity of a comfortable pair of slippers ... until you slide in your feet and get stung by deadly scorpions. Peter James’s ability to pander to expectations—the novel is set in and around Brighton, so we get warm pints, take away food, persistent drizzle, and relentless "banter"—makes the well-timed shocks all the more effective. I literally gasped out loud more than once while reading this. At one point, I even exclaimed, “WHAT THE F—?” I was on a train at the time. People stared. I had to hold up the book in a "this is the cause of my outburst" manner. I hope all those witnesses went out and purchased a copy. You’re welcome, Mr. James.
A have three reservations. The first concerns the aforementioned pacing, which caused the story to drag a little here and there. Some tightening up wouldn’t have gone amiss. The second involves a wandering POV (point of view). I don’t mind when chapters jump between character POVs, but when it occurs from one paragraph to the next, it weakens reader engagement. Finally, nothing ages a novel more than the use of slang English and cultural references. DEAD SIMPLE was written in 2005, and already parts of it feel outdated. Eventually, this won’t matter, the same way it doesn’t matter when you read, for example, a novel from the 1920s. However, when the references are to technologies and verbal expressions that are still in the process of being superseded, then it feels rather clunky. A temporary problem! James had to choose between "timelessness" and "authenticity." He went for the latter. I don’t blame him.
All in all, then, this was excellent, and I’ve already placed the next in the series near the top of my "to read" pile.
From the publisher
Michael Harrison had it all: good looks, charm, natural leadership, a wicked sense of humour, and now, Ashley, his fiancée. While out celebrating with a group of friends a few nights before the wedding, Michael suddenly and unexpectedly finds himself enclosed in a coffin equipped only with a flashlight, a dirty magazine, a walkie-talkie, and a tiny breathing tube. It's all in good fun—payback for the grief his mates suffered due to his own penchant for tomfoolery—that is until the four are killed in a drunk driving accident just moments after leaving Michael completely alone and buried alive.
Detective Superintendent Grace—himself dealing with the pain of losing his wife—is brought on to the case when Ashley reports Michael missing. Suspicions are raised when Michael's only friend not at the bachelor party refuses to cooperate, and Ashley's faithfulness—not to mention her increasingly mysterious past—are suddenly thrown in to question. As Superintendent Grace soon discovers, one man's disaster is another man's fortune.
