I eagerly plucked this book off the shelf for two reasons. First, Jeffrey Archer was one of my grandmother’s favorite authors and I was excited to see why. Second, I was interested to read a book focusing on famous works of art. I could not have been more disappointed with absolutely everything about the book.
Because the characters are underdeveloped and the plot moves too effortlessly, the reader is left without a firm grasp on the events taking place. The phrasing and descriptions are not in line with American jargon, driving a wedge between the reader and the work. But it was Archer’s emotionless inclusion of 9/11 events that prompted me to stop reading. I was absolutely horrified when Archer used the tragic events of 9/11 as a convenient mechanism for one of his main characters to fake her death. Only an English author would take an event that holds so much meaning for Americans and cheapen it in this way.
I shut the book, and have given up on Archer completely.