Skip to main content

Deadline by Gerry Boyle: A review

Deadline (Jack McMorrow Mystery #1)Deadline by Gerry Boyle
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

When I met my soon-to-be husband many years ago, he was the owner of a small weekly newspaper in East Texas. He was also the publisher/editor/writer/photographer/advertising manager and probably a few other jobs that I'm leaving out. It was hard work, with a lot of pressure and little financial reward, and, as we started our family, he sold the paper and opted for jobs with daily newspapers, from the Lufkin Daily News to the Houston Post, that offered a little more security and a little bit more money.

Nostalgia for those years with the weekly led me to pick out this book from among several that were recommended to me for reading, for it features the editor/writer at a weekly newspaper in rural Maine as its main character.

Jack McMorrow had been an investigative journalist with The New York Times before feeling that he was being outclassed by the competition, the up-and-coming young journalists who competed to work for the Times. Rather than waiting to be pushed out, he moved on to work for other daily newspapers along the East Coast, finally ending up at the weekly newspaper in little Androscoggin, Maine.

Androscoggin was a paper mill town. The local economy was utterly dependent on the stinking mill, and everybody in town was expected to fall in line and support anything that the mill owners wanted to do. When McMorrow wrote some stories about the mill that were not fawning in their assessment, he became quite unpopular.

Then, the body of the mild-mannered but weird man who worked part time as a photographer for the paper is found floating in one of the ice-clogged canals that flows by the mill. The medical examiner finds that the cause of death was drowning with a secondary cause of hypothermia. He finds no signs of foul play. And yet, questions remain. Most importantly, why would this man, who was not the outdoorsy type, have been near enough to the canal to fall in at night in freezing weather in winter?

No one except Jack McMorrow seems troubled by these questions, however. The local police are perfectly content to take the medical examiner's conclusions at face value and do not investigate any further. McMorrow instigates an investigation on his own. He goes to the dead man's home/studio where he finds some incriminating photographs that he believes might have given someone a motive for murder. Still, it appears that the local authorities are not interested.

McMorrow keeps running into nasty characters and getting beat up, but it isn't clear if the animosity toward him is due to his criticism of the paper mill or his investigation of what he considers a suspicious death. Maybe it's both...

I was prepared to really like this series, but I found this first book disappointing. Mostly, I was disappointed with the character of Jack McMorrow, who, it seemed, every time he had a decision to make, he picked the most boneheaded choice. Maybe that was necessary to move the plot along, but in my experience, newspaper men are a bit smarter than that, so color me unimpressed.

I did enjoy Boyle's descriptions of winter in Maine. I could feel the cold which helped a bit to alleviate the heat of summer in Texas. And I felt he had a good understanding of the insularity of a small town and the close-mindedness that can come from the town's dependence on one industry, even if that industry is harming the health of its citizens. There is the kernel of a good story here, but the main character needs to have his I.Q. increased by a few points.



View all my reviews

Comments

  1. I love reading books where it is cold when it is hot here. Too bad the story didn't do it for you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ouch! Sorry this didn't work out, Dorothy.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Not very well. It's a shame really. It is an interesting concept.

      Delete
  3. Have you read The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman? It's about a dying newspaper. I think you would enjoy it if you haven't read it yet.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...