I enjoyed this one better than Mr. Mercedes, which I thought was (more than) a bit contrived.
I found the whole concept of the murdered author, his lost masterpiece(s) and how deeply we can get into stories and writers and how it actually shapes our identity to be fascinating. Would a person be different if he had read different books while growing up? Do we all remember that moment when we were hooked…when fiction became “important” to us? When a new novel by a famous writer became a big event—even requiring us to move commitments so that we would have time to read the new book. Nonstop. Until we were done? When we first became genuinely angry at a fictional character? Or felt betrayed by one?
That’s what Finders Keepers is all about and for me it really struck a nerve.
It also ends with a preview of what the third and final novel in the series will be like—and that one seems to be another straight out horror novel from the master. Can’t wait.