The final book in “The Lewis Trilogy” and I am feeling quite sad and bereft having got to know the characters and their shared history. Although each book does stand alone in the main, there's no doubt in my mind that the greatest benefit from Peter May's wonderful style is to be gained by reading the books in order. The final chapter of this one would make less impact without the context which can only be appreciated by having read The Lewis Man.
I loved these books but it was the style that really got me hooked. I found myself comparing Peter May to Jeffrey Archer. I can hear May fans crying out with incredibility. But Archer does know how to spin a yarn - even if his telling of it holds not a candle to May's talent in that department. But May's stories can let in the draft at times and this one, with the mysterious disappearing pop star, might be the most crocheted of the three.
Having said that, he cast off well and the trilogy - although left with one hanging thread - did resolve nicely. Thankfully, I was wrong about May's back catalogue - although why the printers chose to list only the Lewis trilogy books in the list of books by the same author I don't know. A friend has promised me a few books from his one of his other series so I'm looking forward to those with a greedy appetite for May's descriptive turn of phrase such as “silence settling like down from a duck fight”. Wonderful stuff. Keep 'em coming, Peter.
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