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Joseph Finder is wholly responsible for my latest bout of literary-induced insomnia. KILLER INSTINCT, his newest (and to date, his best) novel, is one of those books that for multiple reasons turns the act of reading into an all-encompassing obsession.
Jason Steadman, the focal point of KILLER INSTINCT, is in some ways the 21st century version of the man in the gray flannel suit. He is a successful sales manager for Entronics, selling plasma televisions, flat-screen monitors and all sorts of wonderful and indispensable toys. Steadman, however, has hit the ceiling as far as promotion and salary are concerned, which bothers his wife. Let's stop for just a minute here and note that Finder is a master of subtlety. He shows us the cracks in the foundation of Steadman's life, through Steadman's point of view, even as Steadman himself remains blissfully unaware of them.
All of that changes, however, when Steadman's driver's multitasking results in a car accident. Steadman is unhurt, but his automobile becomes undrivable. The responding tow truck driver is a somewhat taciturn gentleman who turns out to be Kurt Semko, an ex-Special Forces guy who seems underemployed and adrift. Semko and Steadman appear to have nothing in common --- Steadman is button-down though relaxed, while Semko is one rough edge --- but Steadman, salesman that he is, finds common ground with the man: they're both baseball fans. Steadman is a member of the perennially-losing Entronics softball team and invites Semko to play as a ringer.
Semko offers to do Steadman a favor that ultimately saves one of Steadman's potential sales from going south. Impressed with Semko's abilities, Steadman assists him in getting a job with Entronics in corporate security. Steadman begins having a run of good luck while things keep happening to his competitors, both inside and outside the office. He is horrified though to learn that Semko is doing more than occasionally gathering information for him; he's actually running interference, taking the competition out, and incidentally worming his way into every facet of Steadman's professional and personal life. Steadman wants him to stop, but it's not that easy to jump off the tiger, since the tiger --- more often than not --- will turn on you. And turn he does, with cataclysmic results.
Finder is nothing less than a marvel. Besides being a thriller that will keep you up all night, KILLER INSTINCT has all you need to know about plasma television screens and LCD monitors so that the next time you wander into Circuit City looking to upgrade your home entertainment center, you'll know exactly what your salesperson is talking about and appreciate how the model you're looking at got into the store to begin with. You'll also notice all the television screens that are sprouting up at supermarkets, airports, sports arenas, etc. I could go on and on. But notwithstanding the foregoing, the great joy of this novel is in Finder's telling, which defines and sharpens the edges that so many other writers tend to leave blurred and undefined.
At a little over the halfway mark Finder, through Steadman, distinguishes between a film and a movie, distilling a perfect description of the latter into a short sentence. Then there's a vignette that takes place in one of those baby product superstores, wherein Steadman describes the after-product of one of those diaper disposal units in terms that alone are worth the price of the novel. It's touches like those that make the characters you meet believable. And it's those interludes that make the story's quiet and gradual but inevitable downturn all the starker. It's like walking into a china shop and seeing that all the display tables are slightly but not precariously tilted, and then noticing a giant bull in the corner quietly pawing the floor.
KILLER INSTINCT is a killer book, the great white of this summer's thrillers. You'll never see a video screen or a tow truck without thinking of it.
--- Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub
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