Book Report: Triptych

31. Karin Slaughter, Triptych (2005) (11/15/18)

The other day a voracious reader I know on Facebook mentioned the newest Karin Slaughter book, how she was really looking forward to diving in. I looked up Karin Slaughter on amazon, and she got consistently high ratings—with many people saying they especially liked her Will Trent series.

That's all I knew when I ordered Triptych, the first of the Trent books (4.4 stars on amazon, and a solid 4 on Goodreads).

I wish I'd read a little further. Because in truth, this book left me feeling dirty: not only is the subject matter harsh, even sadistic, but the storytelling is sloppy. Suspension of disbelief? Not so much. Motivation? Who needs it.

I imagine Slaughter daydreaming: let's get three guys who sort of mirror each other in various ways, whether by childhood neglect, or relationship to crime, or simple relationship—let's make a couple of them cousins, yeah. Let's have them all be variously emotionally unavailable. Let's have one of them get framed for murder, and twenty years later when he gets out of prison, he discovers that someone has stolen his identity. Let's have hookers who get bloodily killed, and teenagers who lose their tongues (literally). Let's sprinkle a few lawyers in.

And let's conceptually frame it all around a painting—a triptych, "three canvases hinged together to make one image when it was open, another image when it was closed. He had always assumed she liked the duplicity of the piece . . . one thing inside, another out." Yeah, that makes it art.

I did finish, because I kept hoping for some sort of good twist, or redemption, or something. It did not come. All that came was violent acting-out, and continued emotional bereftness. Though the chihuahua Betty did find a home.

I will not be reading any more Karin Slaughter.

And now, I need to find a book that fills my soul with light.