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Stranger on the Shore by Josh Lanyon
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By Josh Lanyon
Four stars
Griffin Hadley has a dream: he wants to write a best-selling book on a long-dead kidnapping and establish himself as an investigative journalist...."
Excellent review, Ulysses!


http://joshlanyon.blogspot.com/2014/1..."
Thanks, Jax!

http://joshlanyon.blogspot.com/2014/1..."
Thanks from me as well. It's given me a nudge to re-read "Stranger on the Shore" now.
By Josh Lanyon
Four stars
Griffin Hadley has a dream: he wants to write a best-selling book on a long-dead kidnapping and establish himself as an investigative journalist.
The Brian Arlington case has fascinated him since he was in school, and when he lands an invitation to spend a week with the Arlington family at their Long Island estate to research the history of the case, he can almost taste his triumph.
Josh Lanyon literally wrote the book on the genre of which he is the reigning master (“Man Oh Man: Writing Quality M/M Fiction”). Having finished this book immediately after watching one of the latest BBC television productions of a Hercule Poirot mystery, I realized that Lanyon is sort of the living gay Agatha Christie of our generation. That is not meant to be dismissive; it is a humbling achievement.
“Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me.” For any of us who loved F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby,” this is a line that is instantly recognizable. Lanyon has his protagonist carry his college copy of this book with him to the Arlington estate as a sort of talisman—a protection against being too dazzled by these hugely wealthy, elegant people and to stay focused on his purpose. Hadley Griffin quotes this line to a new-found friend among the Oyster Bay elite in a moment of sweet awareness about halfway through the story. Fitzgerald’s novel hovers in the background of the narrative—along with Acker Bilk’s haunting clarinet rendition of “Stranger on the Shore,” the book’s title. (Do Google this, because it’s worth having the melody in your mind as you read.)
Lanyon follows his formula, no question. But he does so with great beauty. His writing is among the very best in contemporary literature—better indeed than any number of celebrity writers who are equally formulaic but still get Pulitzer nominations for their work.
I am always leery of writers talking about three things: 1) Museums, 2) curators, 3) the very rich. I am one of these, I work in another, and I know a lot of the third because of 1 and 2. I cringe at stereotypes and casual dismissals.
Lanyon manages to come very close to pushing the third of these buttons without actually offending. Griffin Hadley’s initial appraisal of the Arlingtons and their family mansion is steeped in pop-culture stereotype. But Lanyon brings both his hero and his readers away from that precipice, as Griffin begins his research and spends time dealing not only with the family but with their Cerberus, a young lawyer named Pierce Mather. We begin to see through the shiny surface at the human story beneath. If this doesn’t make us exactly forgiving of their blinkered carelessness about the concerns of the larger world, it at least allows us to see them as human.
Of course, this was what Fitzgerald did with Gatsby, too.
Griffin Hadley begins the story as a young “cub reporter” in the Jimmy Olsen mode, a wide-eyed midwesterner convinced of the rightness of his own mission. He evolves ever so subtly into a thoughtful observer, haunted by the emotional gaps in his own childhood and increasingly compassionate—or at least tolerant—of the foibles of this powerful clan, who are no more immune to pain and regret than he is.
Lanyon lives under the curse that he will possibly never surpass his Adrien English series. But there are worse curses. I was enthralled by this story, I was drawn into all of his characters, major and minor. He paints his people with a Dickensian vividness that leaves each of them burned into your memory. And, of course, the central romantic relationship, the benchmark of this genre we all know and love so well, was among the most beautifully handled in all of his writings.
And, if you’ve never read Gatsby, do that, too.