Not only had my father-in his mid-thirties-discovered that his father had previously been married, but that he had an older sister he’d never met or heard about.
Not only had Lansing been married before grandma, but there’d been a child-a baby girl-from that union. “Dad was married before you?” my father asked, jaw down to his kneecaps. Grandpa Lansing had died decades earlier. “Because of Lansing’s first wife,” grandma blurted after much back and forth. Spoiler alert-when I was a child, as my grandmother neared retirement, my father tried to understand why she was so anxious about her social security benefits. And all families have secrets to some degree or another and we embrace our inner gossip hound whenever these secrets come tumbling out from the shadows and into the light of day. I love family secrets-the deeper the better, the juicier the more delicious. “The past is never dead,” as Faulkner warned. Why, you ask? Well, not only because we have an everyman instead of a lethal weapon as the central character but because. Since Coben, I’ve read everything by Gillian Flynn as well as bestsellers by Paula Hawkins, B.A.
Then our hero’s quest truly begins as he digs into what really occurred that fateful evening and, by doing such, unearths deeply-buried secrets and awakens equally-malignant villains whom he must now confront if he ever hopes to survive. We then learn both his girlfriend and her family disappeared that night as though sucked into a Black Hole, but, fifteen years later, our guy catches a glimpse of his old flame at a shopping mall, but she hustles away after being spotted. As our protagonist chases after them, he makes it outside in time to dodge black SUVs as they race past. You know, the ones where some poor bastard steps out of the john at his high school prom just in time to spot strange men rushing his date out of the auditorium. My adventures in this genre began by reading many of Harlan Coben’s standalone novels.
However, I’ve also found myself developing a deep and growing fondness for Domestic Thrillers. Sure, I love me my Mitch Rapp and John Rain and Lucas Davenport and Jack Reacher and Charlie Parker and Bobby Lee Swagger, and I’ll continue reading each and every one of their books until I’m hauled out feet first.
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