The Lost Highway

This is probably the saddest and most broody book that I have read in some time. It does start out slow and we delve deep into Alex Chapman's mind and his motives, but about halfway through it picks up quite a bit. By that time Mr. Adams has set the stage for a great psychological suspense book that shows depravity at its very worst. Richards' plot is set in and around an unclaimed winning lottery ticket, and he shows how the thought of a large amount of money can change people's personalities entirely and how it can cause some people to step way over the line. I love the setting in around New Brunswick. It is the perfect place near this lost highway for all kinds of dark and terrible things to happen. I know there are lots of places in Canada that are in decline like this place that Richards has chosen for his setting. Rural Canada has many roads to nowhere and many people that society has forgotten that still live there. This book is a tragedy, but one that I could not put down once I got into it.

People always use terms like "moral" and "fierce" to describe this writer, but I'd forgotten how long winded and repetitive he could be. A couple of sections were terribly preachy; his own moral theories badly woven into the story. Worst of all, the main character Alex was portrayed as a small town ethics lecturer, but his thoughts and prejudices were akin to those of a person with half his IQ. In short, an unbelievable character in a sometimes unbelievable story. Other people and sequences worked a lot better; the incorrigible Leo Bourque, the uncommonly insightful native Canadian police inspector Markus Paul and the breathtaking scene near the end when a 15 year old girl is pursued by two men who wish to drown her. Particularly in the second half, the book gathered momentum and was really compelling, but at half the size it would have been every bit as effective. It's not that often I spend so much time wondering how clumsily chapters are put together, or why the same points are repeated again and again and the obvious re-stated. I have been spoiled by the sparse writing of Galgut and Coetzee for sure.