One of the most enjoyable things about reading Tana French’s novels is her wonderful language. I’ve been thinking a little though about whether or not the vivid, sensory voice always fits with her characters.
Take, for example, Broken Harbor‘s narrator Scorcher Kennedy. A driven and compulsive murder detective, he has (no big surprise in a Tana French book) a terrible childhood secret that, when revealed, does a lot to explain his manic-defense-mode working style and his need to alphabetize his bookshelves. OK, he reads, but check out this description of early-morning drive back into Dublin from a mostly-abandoned housing development thirty minutes outside of town:
The haunted blackness of the estate, scaffolding bones looming up out of nowhere, stark against the stars; then the smooth speed of the motorway, cat’s-eyes flicking in and out of existence and the moon keeping pace off to one side, huge and watchful; then, gradually, the colors and movement of town building up around us, drunks and fast-food joints, the world coming back to life outside our sealed windows. (p. 169)