The Atlantic headline of the book review for the Hunter was "Tana French has broken the murder mystery...can she put it back together?"

I didn't read their review, but the answer is no, she can't. Look, I get her point: glorification of police is causing political problems in real life and it feels dirty to keep writing police books. But then just...stop. Don't do this, it's sad and it's more sad because we all know how talented Tana French can be.

Since there is literally no plot for the first 179 pages, I spent a lot of time thinking about where Tana French went wrong with the non Dublin Murder Squad books. Yes, it's rural, which is usually not of high interest to me, but the Witch Elm was urban and not much better. I think it's that I really don't care very much about Cal Hooper and Trey Reddy and Lena Dunne and Mart. They have no real interiority except a desire for peace, a shared reticence for speaking and a loose allegiance to the truth.

The plot starts on page 179, which you'd think would improve things, but it weirdly feels the need to close the loop at all times, so first Cal tells the narrator which lie he'll tell, then he tells it, then he tells Lena he told it, then he thinks about how Trey will feel about him telling it, then we hear about how Trey feels about him telling it and then Mart comes around and summarizes how the town feels. Over, and over and over again.

One could be forgiven for not realizing that this is supposed to be a murder mystery, even a post-modern one, since no one dies until page 275. It's not very mysterious, though, the murder and the motive were obvious to me less than a third of the way in the 100 pages between then and the reveal, simply because the book is so sparse that there was literally only one choice.

I never would have picked up a book about a retiree living on the countryside and navigativing his relationship with the townsfolk if it hadn't been written by Tana French, and I think, sadly after a third dud in a row, I'm done with Tana French.