
But sadly it goes in completely opposite
way. From being hard-boiled whodunit/revenge crime story it turns into drama
about lost young man in search of himself and his father. I do exaggerate a bit
and there is a good twist of the story that gives glimmer of tension and
suspense, but still second part was major disappointment.
It has qualities. Donald Westlake is a
master and his writing has just the right amount of slang, darkish mood (lots
of boozing in hotel rooms!), good descriptions and interesting enough characters.
Unfortunately I find the plot very weak and novel feels like it was written by
half and then author just wasn’t quite sure how to take it further.
And there’s one thing in 361 that’s totally
amazing and probably unique in the world of crime fiction, at least as far as I
know - there are no women characters. I repeat: no women!?!? No femme fatales,
mysterious blonde dames, ex-girlfriends, voluptuous secretaries, unhappily
married horny beauties, greedy widows, hookers with golden hearts, no provincial
girls wanting to become actresses/models, no nothing. Really unusual,
especially considering it begins with a guy being discharged from the
military!? So I think I’m going to remember 361 by this little peculiarity
rather than its plot.
3.5/5
Facts
Hero:3.5/5
Facts
Ray Kelly, ex-marine
Body count:
2 immediately, 5 or so later
2 immediately, 5 or so later
Locations:
New York, 200 hundred miles upstate and back to the big apple for final conclusion
New York, 200 hundred miles upstate and back to the big apple for final conclusion
Cool lines:
“You won’t get away with this”, he said. But he was gabbling. It was just a sentence you say when people push you around and get away with it.
I looked pale and young and unready. The gun barrel was cold against my hairless belly. I was a son of a bitch and a bad son.
“You won’t get away with this”, he said. But he was gabbling. It was just a sentence you say when people push you around and get away with it.
I looked pale and young and unready. The gun barrel was cold against my hairless belly. I was a son of a bitch and a bad son.
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