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I wonder what it must be like for an author to shop in a supermarket, with two strangers commenting on his books.
"Did you read so and so's novel about the murder in the hospital?"
"Oh, he's running out of new ideas. Everything he has written since the second novel is insipid. He must be doing it for the money!"
Must this be the destiny of most series? Let's begin with the genesis of a series. Many such novels begin with one of the following constructs: a journey, someone is after me, or a conspiracy. Throw in some mystery, a puzzle, or some other gimmick, and you've hooked most readers. The great writers are able to follow this recipe and flesh it out with deeply imaginative visions, all evoked with nothing but words. These are the great storytellers of the human race, and it wouldn't matter if they decided to write one book or many on a given subject. Next, there are the popular writers, like Robert Ludlum. The Bourne Identity was a favorite of mine, when it was released. The Bourne Ultimatum was thoroughly enjoyable as well. But, on his passing, why did his estate authorize the continuation of the series? I consider this a travesty. Nearly as sinister as famous authors teaming up with coauthors. Larry Niven is an old guy, but, wazzup with his working with a coauthor on the Ringworld series? (I'm sure one of you knows the answer, so I won't speculate).
If a series is so difficult to sustain at the same level of excellence as the previous works, the author should freeze or jettison the story line. The last great Harry Bosch novel was The Narrows. Many moons ago. Connelly should pursue the Lincoln lawyer character now, and wait for the creative juices to reflow on his first character. You may be able to tap a maple tree for syrup every four seasons, but expecting fictional authors to crank out new works as fast as jounalists is a little too much. Even for a former news reporter. Are you a patient reader? Sure you are.
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