When I was a youngster, my father gave me a choice of careers: "Be a doctor or a lawyer. They help people and make good money, not necessarily in that order." He was stunned and disappointed when I replied that neither interested me. I wanted to teach history.
In the event that I became neither of these, journalism proved to be my calling, I don't know if I've been of any help, it certainly isn't lucrative, but it has provided me with a great deal of satisfaction. And I certainly enjoy reading medical thrillers and courtroom dramas.
There's an ever increasing number of them, some better than others. Few rate the cream of the crop category. Perhaps Patricia Cornwell in the former. Certainly John Grisham in the latter. To be fair, they occasionally aren't in peak form, yet when they are, they're unexcelled.
In Rogue Lawyer Grisham is never better. He makes the point, as he has in previous stories, that there aren't enough jobs for the attorneys pouring out of law schools. All too many become ambulance-chasers. They haven't been around long enough to learn the tricks of the trade.
Though taught that their object is to defend the innocent, Sebastian Rudd, the author's literary creation here, has learned the facts of life the hard way, in the gutters, that his primary responsibility is to provide the best defence to his clients, innocent or guilty.
Rudd deals with low-lifes, drug pushers and takers, criminals who served prison terms and fugitives on the run. The bottom line is he gets paid. Rogue Lawyer is set in the fictional town of Milo, no state mentioned. His wife left him for a gay lover. Neither looks after their son who is in a boarding school.
Two crimes here, a gang abducting runaway girls, turning them into addicts and prostitutes; a prize fighter who kills his opponent whom the referee announced won their match. The local cops have it in for Rudd for pointing out during trials that they planted evidence to ensure guilty verdicts.
He is having an affair with his son's teacher. He accepts paying witnesses to testify, but draws the line at bribing jurors. Two thugs come after Rudd, only to end up dead. The police accuse him of having done it or ordering to have it done, but have no proof.
The finis is satisfactory. A compelling read.
Host by Robin Cook Macmillan 406pp Available at Asia Books and leading bookshops 690 baht
Trust me...
Medical thrillers by doctors-turned-authors are mushrooming, all saying the same things: when falling ill, go to a physician; take the medicines he or she prescribes; have an operation when recommended. In the 21st century, there is little to worry about.
A few doctors disagree, however. To hear Robin Cook, Michael Palmer and Tess Gerritsen tell it and they tell it in novel after novel, physicians are bad news, not least surgeons. To them patients, alive and dead, are grist for their mill.
Big money is paid to companies needing human guinea pigs for their new drugs. Others, biological weapons. Not to mention selling body parts. So widespread is the practice that it has developed into a multinational conspiracy. Bad news, but greed is universal.
Dr Cook treats it with his literary formula. He has a young intern or doctor curious over why there are so many deaths among patients in his or her hospital whose illnesses weren't life threatening when they were admitted. Investigating, the protagonist finds that there's dirty work afoot and exposes it.
Host follows this formula. Fourth-year medical student Lynn Pearce is the heroine. The school is in South Carolina. It has connections with a healthcare branch and a pharmaceutical company. Russians are involved working on incurable infectious diseases.
Learning that one brand of anaesthetic is lethal, Lynn fights off a team of surgeons, nurses and orderlies to prevent operating on a friend of hers. The penultimate battle-royal is completely unbelievable, but results in a happy ending. The reader is unhappy with the end, but can't dispute it.
If you can't trust doctors, who can you trust? Politicians? Lawyers? Salesmen? Stockbrokers? The media? It's sad when you think about it.
