Not So Joyous Ride: Joyride Review

I wish I could say I liked this book. There are a few things it did well, but the shadow of the mundane was strong. I nearly gave up after chapter 6. I did enjoy the writing itself. At first. He focused too much on the finer details of the characters and that slowed down the whole novel. One thing that was hard to get through the lack of “brain candy”: I was given the answers instead of having to think about the text.

Wayne was too much of a sketch and an archetype. True, several of his characteristics were terrifying: his apathy, his willingness to give himself to his anger, and his darker fantasies. He also displays sociopath tendencies. He read more like a profile than an actual person.

Rule on almost the same hand, was just as lackluster as Wayne. Both were willing participants of their anger, but Rule fantasized about punching people out. His machismo just made me want to throw may hands up when he was first introduced. I needed more, so much more. Rule is the character who is more interested in his own image than being an actual human being and doing his damned job. He was just “one of the guys”.

The female character in this novel were just as flat. I detested the way Ketchum had this archetypal damsel in distress framework. It was like they were just there to fill space. There isn’t much I can say for or against their characterization. There may not have been any. I wanted to feel for them, but there wasn’t much to attach to.

When first reading this, I got chills. But they were short lived. The change in tone is what took me out of this novel. My expectations were a bit too high, it seems. I am loathing to say this: this novel was one of those things that seems like a generic version of something.

Introduction of new character could have been handled far better. They all bled together after chapter 4 or 5. With so many other insignificant details floating and flying around, it was difficult to distinguish characters. They didn’t hold that spark writers like King or Murakami give their characters. They felt like stage props: there for a small purpose, but not much else. In another sense, they were those extra’s in a film. Filler.

If there is anything to take away from this novel, it should be this: its function was to entertain. It did that. However, with the lack of characterization, that entertainment value decreases, and a reader just goes along for a kiddie ride of sorts, where the track is before them to see. There are few novels that didn’t give a feeling of exasperation after reading them. This is one such novel. Perhaps I am not the target reader.