One of the most irritating things about the launch of a Jeffrey Archer book is the high pitched whine of indignation and scorn from that small, bitchy and endangered species, the literary community.
Well, after God knows how many years and the sale of 350 million books, they have been remarkably reserved about his latest, Only Time Will Tell. In fact, the old rascal has had some favourable reviews from some unexpected sources, The Guardian and The Independent. And well deserved too.
No doubt they will be punished by having to read every Booker prize winner’s offerings for the last 20 years. How cruel is that?
This is a cracker of a read. And quite unputdownable. The whole thing about Jeffrey is that he has always had the knack of producing page-turners.
When I told some well-read friends last week that I was about to review an Archer, there was a sharp intake of breath and a look of collective horror. ‘But they are simply ghastly,’ they cried, almost in unison. ‘Oh. So which ones have you read?’ said I. And, with a look of pride, the response was, ‘Well, none, of course!’
I think that rather says it all.
There are so many twists in Only Time Will Tell that it is difficult to review without giving any of the surprises away. But in a nutshell, it is the saga of two families, one privileged and one impoverished. Fate has decreed that they become intertwined.
Our hero, Harry Clifton, academically gifted, but without a penny to his name, becomes best friends with Giles Barrington of a landed shipping family in Bristol. His father Hugo, is a s**t to end all s**ts and had some part in the mysterious death of Harry’s father, Arthur. This is tale about love treachery, deceit, decency and good triumphing over evil. It is quite captivating.
Normally, I have a horror of flashbacks and the chopping and changing of narratives through different voices. It can be very annoying and distracting. Trying to remember who is doing what and when often leads me to consider reaching for the whisky bottle, a razor blade and run a warm bath. More often than not I just give up.
Archer’s gift is simplicity of writing. He doesn’t waste the reader’s time with unnecessary detail and colour. He just launches into a gripping and sometimes moving storyline. Alright, the baddie tends to get a good kicking, and hard work and decency tend to triumph, but that is as predictable as this book gets. Because you never know when, nor how.
And just as you sit on the end of your seat expecting all the loose ends to be tied into a neat little bow, Archer drops a bombshell in the last paragraph of the last chapter.
I can see at least two more books coming out of this storyline. And if was head of drama at the BBC I’d start planning the first season now.
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