My family and I are big fans of the television series Bones (although my daughter recently
abandoned watching). Accordingly,
I jumped at the opportunity to meet the inspiration behind the show, authoress
and real life forensic anthropologist Kathy Reichs, at a lecture and
book-signing event sponsored by Rainy Day Books in Kansas City. I purchased an autographed copy of the
10th Anniversary Edition of Deja
Dead for fifteen dollar and immediately noted that in real life Reichs
looks more like the mother of the sexy young lady pictured on the back of her
411-page book. The irony of this
observation will become apparent at the conclusion of this review.
If you watch Bones
because you enjoy the interplay between the savant, Spock-like Temperance
Brennan and the manly yet emotional Sealy Booth, as well as the side stories
about the unique and interesting supporting characters, you may be disappointed
with Deja Dead. The story takes place in Montreal where
forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan, here a recovering alcoholic and single
mother of an adult daughter, works alone out of a small, smelly post mortem
laboratory room located in a large government building. There are no vast, open spaces of a
Jeffersonian Institute, nor are there any interesting major characters who
assist Brennan in her scientific sleuthing, although there are two minor
characters who assist a little bit.
The first one hundred pages or so are pretty boring--I
almost stopped reading at that point.
After that, the plot slowly but relentlessly accelerates to a nail
biting wow climax. The plot
centers around Brennan who is convinced that there are links between several
gruesome murders and must resort to investigating on her own and out of her
depth in the bad parts of Montreal in order to convince the skeptical all-male
police that there is a serial killer on the loose in the city.
The book is as much about a woman trying to hold her own
and to be recognized as competent in a world dominated by men as it is a murder
mystery--and boy does the authoress of the book make sure the reader knows it! The policemen are either depicted as
macho stereotypes, sex objects, or both.
There are frequent scenes of Brennan having to assert herself among the
men to the point of being melodramatically and annoyingly aggressive. And in case that is not enough cliche
feminist claptrap for you, at one point Brennan laments that she needs a
certain thing “about as much as a yeast infection” as if we needed reminding
that the lead character, and presumably the authoress, have vaginas. Blech!
I will be so bold as to speak on behalf of the average
red-blooded American male and say that the overt, in your face feminism in Deja Dead is enough to ruin an otherwise
enjoyable reading experience for you; probably the same would be true of most
female readers, who probably would not mind a little more femininity and a lot
less feminism. So, if you are an
annoying feminist, you will enjoy Deja
Dead. If you can get through
the first one hundred pages and hold your nose through the feminist parts, you
may still enjoy Deja Dead. However, for the general readership, I
will recommend watching Bones and
giving the book a miss.
