This second novel by Robert Reuland was quite good.
Not great, but good enough to keep me absorbed and reading.
It’s excellent at taking you into the mind of a trial attorney, in this case the protagonist, modeled on Reuland’s real-life job until recently, as a prosecuting attorney in the Brooklyn district attorney’s office – Homicide Bureau.
Reuland, by the way, was fired after his writing career became known.
I guess he cut a little too close to the bone.
The story – of a murder trial and the crooked shit that goes on behind the scenes in order to pin the crime on someone, and the way a young attorney’s idealism is inexorably destroyed by reality – is the same story as in any profession where idealism is the initial driving force.
In most cases, for most people, real life is not compatible with idealism.
Sad but true.
The street talk is what I liked, the insider’s look at what goes down when attorneys “approach,” and suchlike.
Reuland’s website – with an absolutely sensational homepage – is worth a visit.
After finishing his book, I was so excited by all the courtspeak and whatnot that for a second, I entertained thoughts about finally writing the medical-legal thriller I’ve mused about for years.
I’ve got the title: “The Expert.”
It’s about an expert witness in anesthesiology in a case that snaps back into her own past.
It’s based on my own work in both the operating room and courtroom.
But then I’d have to stop bookofjoe, which is just too much fun.
Besides, writing a book is really hard.
Having done it twice so far, I think I know whereof I speak.
And at heart, I’m really a lazy POS (piece of stool, or shit, or whatever you choose).
When I was reading William Gibson’s blog last night, I saw where he said his blog was simply something to do between books.
He said it was impossible to enter the “waking dream” required for a book while blogging.
So I’ll just let the novel percolate a while longer.
It’ll still be there when I’m ready.
I’ve even got the protagonist’s name, which came to me in a dream years ago.
No, I’m not gonna tell you.
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