December 11, 2006

Book of the Week: Michael Connelly’s THE LINCOLN LAWYER

Michael Connelly’s THE LINCOLN LAWYER has to be one of the best books I’ve ever read. Connelly, of course, is a great American mystery writer, and his reputation among other writers is gold. In THE LINCOLN LAWYER he’s lined up his plot elements like horses at a starting gate, and they all cross the finish line at the same time, in an amazing conclusion.

Mickey Haller is a Lincoln lawyer because he conducts business while he’s being driven around LA in a Lincoln. He doesn’t need a storefront, because he’s always on the move. Son of a legendary lawyer, Mickey is very nearly the bottom feeder the cops call him. But he has superior intelligence, a streak of goodness, and respect for his ex-wives, both of them. These are the characteristics that help us root for Mickey, who really has done many things that make the reader cringe.

Haller’s luck seems to change when he’s hired by Louis Roulet, a wealthy real estate salesman. Roulet has been charge with rape and assault. From the beginning, the story Roulet is telling doesn’t jibe with the story the victim, a prostitute, is telling. That’s no surprise. The surprise is that Haller almost believes Roulet.

Haller puts his friend, Raul Levin, an investigator, on the job gathering evidence, but what Levin uncovers is unexpected and disturbing. Then Levin, one of Haller’s few friends, is murdered, and Haller is suspected in the crime.

Connelly doesn’t put one foot false in this wonderful book.

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It’s been an up-and-down week for me. There’s the excitement of expecting some family members here for the holidays, the pleasure of sending the copy-edited manuscript of ALL TOGETHER DEAD back to my publisher, the thrill of writing a few good pages on the next Harper Connelly, and then the mind-numbing pain of a rotten root. On one of my teeth. A few days of intermittent agony were followed by an emergency trip into my dentist’s office and a quick root canal. There’s nothing dignified in having dental work done, as all of you know. You’re lying down with stuff crammed in your mouth, turning your head this way and that on the dentist’s cue, having water squirted in your mouth at intervals. This isn’t quite as bad as being up on the gynecologist’s table, but it comes fairly close.

When I’m at my dentist’s, I’m not Famous Bestselling Writer any more. I’m whimpering, cringing, please-make-it-go-away Charlaine, middle-aged pile of pain. Fortunately, my dentist takes this in stride. After the very lengthy deadening shot had been completed, I asked him (I thought quite calmly) if I’d ever told him how much I hated those shots. “Yes,” he said. “Quite a few times.”

I don’t know what it is about trips to the dentist that bring out the childish side of me, but they sure do. My father was the same way. At least I don’t twitch, cry, and struggle; but the urge is there.

Dr. Dentist sent me home with some excellent painkillers, and I am using them in the designated manner, of course. If ever there was an excellent advance in medicine, pain medication is that advance. If I lived in the last century, I would be tempted to run into a tree on purpose to end the nagging ache.

When this episode is over (and this is my fifth root canal, I think) I’ll be an adult again, I swear. I’ll try to make my next blog about something more worthy! To give this week’s some redeeming value, I’ll issue my annual reminder to be generous (within your means, of course) with the charity of your choice during this holiday season. Even if it’s just dropping a couple of dollars in the Salvation Army kettle, giving to others will make you feel better. Maybe that’s what I need to do!

--Charlaine Harris