Those in Peril - oh dear

Those in Peril (Macmillan: 2011) An African adventure from the world’s biggest selling writer of African adventures. Somali pirates play the bad guy role as they kidnap the daughter of Hazel Bannock, the heir to an oil magnate’s millions and a feisty businesswoman in her own right. Cue the rescue attempt, led by Hector Cross, every inch the hard nosed/soft hearted American hero you expect him to be.

A few weeks ago, I accused Chad Harbach’s novel of being like a soap opera.

I take it all back. Those words of mine, I take them back. I scurry after them and claw them and scrape them and squeeze them back into the toothpaste tube from which they spurted.

It take it back because I have found something more soap opera-y. And I hate to say it, but it was a Wilbur Smith.

Which is a shame. Because I enjoyed hearing him speak at Edinburgh. I picked up his latest with hope and expectation. I read some Wilbur Smith when I was young and I enjoyed them. All adventure, buckles being swashed left and right.

But one of three things has happened. Either I’m looking at those books through rose tinted glasses. Or my tastes have changed from when I was ten (which is very possible). Or Wilbur Smith has got worse at writing. Because this was bad. This was trip-towards-the-end-skipping-a-few-pages-where-possible bad.

I need to show some restraint here. I know some of you like this guy. I like this guy. But this was bad. And I should at least tell you why.

Worst was the relationships between the characters - they were sickening. Every few pages had a “I hate you. Kiss me” moment, straight out of the worst Spanish soap opera. I can get on board with people not getting on and then slowly falling for each other. But this had zero subtelty. None. Not an ounce. It just screamed at you, over and over again. I wanted to scream back.

There was also spades of gut wrenchingly awkward humour, only allowable amongst the deepest, most sympathetic of characters. Which none of these people were. They were either very two dimensional, or oscillated confusingly between extremes - one minute brave the next cowardly, one minute strong the next weak, one minute focussed the next having it off in the back of an aeroplane.

Then there’s the good v evil bit. This is a book with well defined good guys and bad guys. Which would be alright, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was trying to relate a real world environment. There were clumsy (very clumsy) attempts at explaining that not all Arabs are bad. That not all Americans are good. But these attempts drown. They stick out as consciously inserted disclaimers before the narrative goes off and does what it wants, human complexity be damned.

The only redeeming factor I can think of comes with an inbuilt failure. The plot was detailed, with a hurried pace maintained throughout. There was adventure, no doubt. It was the only thing stopping me giving up entirely - the action was relentless and it was difficult to find a break to stop in. But it was fatally flawed. The simplicity of the characters, the black and white nature of the story - it added up to a pretty obvious conclusion. I knew what the end game was from about page ten. Heck, you could read the dust jacket and construct the rest of the story yourself. Wind through the scenes as the plot did, there were very few surprises. And where a twist was attempted, it was usually telegraphed about fifty pages beforehand.

I’m not being a snob. I know it can sound like it, but I am 100% Scout’s Honour not being a snob. I guarantee your eyes would roll out of their sockets if you read this as well. The subtle-as-a-sledgehammer love story. The painfully awkward character interplay. The nails-on-a-blackboard dialogue. It was just no fun at all. Not one bit.

Gah. In two years of doing this, I’m not sure I’ve read a book less worthy of diplomacy. I usually try and find an upside. Even Chad Harbach got 4 GBR. I try to at least give credit for an author’s intentions. But I can’t here. Intention and execution were both terrible.

I hate to do this, but…

0 GBR

I’m so sorry. It’s not fun saying bad things. I rarely do it. But there’s an entire world of things to read. Good things. So I’d feel bad if you picked this up because of something I said. Don’t. Don’t pick it up.

Next week, something more positive. I promise.

Wilbur Smith at the Edinburgh Book Fest - "Don't tell anyone, but I've got a Kindle"

Me and Will (as I assume his buddies call him)

It was raining. There was a long queue. It was 10am on a Saturday morning. But the crowd was large and buzzed. I’d found myself somewhere I never expected to be – in the middle of a Wilbur Smith obsessed mob.

Wilbur Smith. You know the guy. His book sales could fill Wembley twice over. He's been called "the best historical novelist ever." He's been translated into 26 languages. He owns part of a small island in the Seychelles.

This guy has been around. But he (like me) is at the Edinburgh Book Festival for the first time. So at least we have that in common.

First time or not, he gave a good talk, hand held expertly and entertainingly by journalist Jackie McGlone (who will, apparently, never forget page number 289 of his new offering, Those in Peril).

Most impressive was the amount of surprises he sprung. I was shown up, made to feel silly for expecting a talk by a man stuck in the past, still a product of his colonial Africa upbringing, still pining for boys’ own adventures. I was wrong. 79 year-old Wilbur Smith is (stay with me here) a modern man.

For starts, there’s his energy and his interest and his clear enjoyment of life. He stuck around for over an hour after his talk to sign books, chatting to everyone up to the last man. He’s been writing for more decades than you can shake a stick at, but he’s still in his element. He talked of how he kept things fresh for himself; keeps himself interested. He has a hunger for creating new characters and trying out new writing styles. He’s been doing this forever, and he still loves it - that’s got to give the rest of us hope.

The Wilbur Smith mob

The “creating new characters” point seemed particularly pertinent. He’s been criticised in the past for being sexist. But if he ever was, it was because he lived in a sexist age. Today, he’s a different man entirely. I promise you. This is a man who has adapted and learned and continuously changed the way he sees the world. He spoke of how his female characters have moved from being mere window dressing to being central protagonists who drive the plots of his latest efforts. From pretty decoration to courageous personalities. He describes himself nowadays as a “ferocious feminist”.

He also spoke of his conversion to conservation. A big game hunter in his youth, Smith is now on the other side of the fence, heavily involved in wildlife charities.

And to top it off (and he said not to tell anyone, but what the hey,) he’s even got a Kindle. Honest to goodness a Kindle. I haven’t even got a Kindle. They scare me. But Wilbur Smith has. Modern man, I’m telling you.

He gave a few lovely details about his life as well. Like how his dad never read any of his books but always carried one around in case he got a chance to show them off to his friends. About how his mum was a talented artist whose works dominate the walls of Smith’s Swiss chalet. About how his boarding school days were made just about bearable by escaping into the world of Biggles whenever he could.

This was fun. It was a bunch of stuff I wasn’t expecting. Lively. Revealing. Interesting. I was already a luke-warm Wilbur Smith fan, but now I feel I understand him a little better as he is today, understand the adventure his writing life has taken him on.

Wilbur Smith, unwittingly endorsing GBR...

His new book, Those in Peril, is out now and due to come out as a film in 2014. There’s also a sequel planned to come out in Spring 2013.

But (most excitingly), it’ll get a review on GBR soon. Keep your eyes open for it!.

Now, back to the festival!