A scribe still sharpening his blade
Hannibal Lecter’s creator is back
A lot can happen in 12 years. You can attend high school three times, finance one-third of a house, catch the Winter Games half a dozen times, or possibly watch Tom Brady lose a Super Bowl or two. In 12 years, the average author will publish 10 or more novels. Any fewer and the risk of running obscure raises its ugly head, licking its lips, or so my agent tells me.
Thomas Harris, the author of “The Silence of the Lambs,” has no such problem. His last novel, “Hannibal Rising,” was released in 2009, and somehow the world he created has only gained in popularity through the years that followed. Much like his iconic monster, Thomas Harris vanished. And much like that iconic monster, his legend grew.
There are few books I’ve revisited more than once. I can count them on one hand. Three of them belong to Harris. He couldn’t possibly be done, right? For many of us, it seemed that way.
No interviews. A website gone stale. The occasional sighting down on South Beach, followed by hushed conversation.
“Is he writing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Maybe he is.”
Although each of his novels has found its way to the big screen, it’s been said he hasn’t seen any of them — afraid a director’s vision might influence his own. He’s this enigma in the writing community. An anomaly. If you create a writer as a character, he’s the model. The solitary genius with a drink in one hand and the ghost of Hemingway smiling down over his shoulder as he pecks away at a keyboard behind closed doors in some musty room.
At 78, hope of a new novel had faded for most. Turns out we were wrong about that. Enter “Cari Mora.”
“Two men talking in the middle of the night.”
This is how the reclusive author rejoins us after 12 years away — nine little words. No apology, no recount of exploits. He just dives right in as if he’d gone out for milk, and that’s what I love about him.
When I mention to friends Thomas Harris wrote a new novel, the first question I’m asked is always the same — is it about Hannibal Lecter? The really excited ones might add, “Is Clarice still with the FBI?” Or “What about Will Graham?”
For the record, Hannibal Lecter doesn’t make an appearance in this book, and frankly, I found that refreshing. Neither does Clarice Starling, Will Graham or any of the familiar cast. He left that door open, and perhaps it’s better that it stay that way. Closure isn’t always for the best. Sometimes it’s better to be left wondering.
Harris introduces us not only to these two men talking but also to a new world far from Quantico, Va., a story set on the shores of Miami Beach.
A very large sum of money — $25 million — has been hidden in a house once belonging to Pablo Escobar, and a number of bad men would like to get it. Standing in their way is a resourceful young woman named Cari Mora, caretaker of that house. Having survived the horrific violence of her home country, she finds herself living in Miami under temporary protected status, a status that can vanish at any time, sending her back to the hell she escaped as a child. She’s no stranger to evil men. She’s no stranger to violence. She’s certainly not about to cave to either.
What follows is a high-stakes game of cat and mouse where the mouse is sometimes the aggressor, and those usually in control find themselves on the wrong end of a gun.
This is not a long novel. Harris was never one to ramble. This is steak trimmed of all fat. A tight little story wrapped with a bow. The perfect length for what it is: pure, unapologetic entertainment. With “Cari Mora,” Harris does what he does best — takes us on a spine-tingling, edge-of-your-seat ride steeped in intrigue and nail-biting suspense.
You will not sleep. You will not eat. This book screams to be devoured in one sitting. Is this Harris’ most ambitious work? Naw, but it’s good. It’s different. It’s one of our best authors checking in after a long time on the bench, and I’m thrilled to report he hasn’t lost that edge with time. He’s been busy sharpening the blade.