The Art Thief

The Art Thief


I often worry (mostly because I worry about everything, as those who know me can attest to) that I write too many positive reviews.  Unlike a professional critic, I purposely pick books that I believe I will like, therefore, my reviews will generally be raves.  But, I can worry less now, because Noah Charney’s The Art Thief was a really bad book.

Three seemingly unrelated art thefts occur, one in Rome, the next in Paris, and the last in London.  Each case is undertaken by a different detective, and slowly it is seen that the robberies are not quite independent after all.  Interesting premise right?  I hoped…

Charney’s characters are pathetic and one-dimensional.  I think he just wants to show us he can talk in French and Italian.  So I spent much of the book frustrated with, what I could only assume was, the author trying to show us how witty he is.  I could just picture him writing this, all smug and laughing to himself about his cleverness.  (Is this too mean?)  I just wanted him to speak in English, and make the characters more memorable.  Often, I found myself looking back and wondering “now who is this again?” and “what city are we in now”?  And often I just kept reading, because I didn’t really care.  If you want to read about thieves, read The Book Thief, not The Art Thief, cause apparently the art isn’t worth stealing.



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