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A review by kris_mccracken
The Fifth Column by Andrew Gross
2.0
If "The Fifth Column" by Andrew Gross were a symphony, it would be a monotone dirge, where every note is telegraphed, predictable, and lacking any nuance or surprise. From the outset, the novel leans into cliché, with a protagonist so flawed and tiresome it's hard to care whether he stumbles his way to success or languishes in mediocrity.
Charlie Mossman, a man riddled with poor choices, alcoholism, and a general absence of ambition, is supposed to be our hero. His academic credentials are mentioned, but they clash with his clumsy, bumbling persona, leaving one wondering how he ever made it out of his own living room, let alone resolved this complex plot against America.
The book's twists are so painfully predictable that every "surprise" is met with a resigned sigh because, of course, that's what happens. Why wouldn't it? The characters, already woefully one-dimensional, seem to exist solely to move this lifeless chess game forward without any of the depth or realism that could salvage the story. The Nazis are pantomime villains, and Charlie's slapstick incompetence only heightens the absurdity.
The writing is stilted and lumbering, stripping the story of any emotional weight. Gross's prose is as leaden as the plot, marked by sensationalism where substance should be. Dramatic for the sake of being dramatic, the novel is filled with overwrought dialogue and eye-rolling attempts at tension. These repetitive conversations and melodramatic exchanges grind the story to a halt, making an already underwhelming plot almost unbearable.
As for Charlie, it's almost laughable how he's portrayed as the man to save the day. His journey isn't one of redemption or growth, it's a series of clumsy, poorly thought-out decisions that leave you wondering how on earth anyone could put their faith in such a hapless figure. His lack of heroism is only outdone by his sheer luck, which seems to be the only thing keeping him alive as he stumbles from one situation to the next.
⭐ 1/2
Charlie Mossman, a man riddled with poor choices, alcoholism, and a general absence of ambition, is supposed to be our hero. His academic credentials are mentioned, but they clash with his clumsy, bumbling persona, leaving one wondering how he ever made it out of his own living room, let alone resolved this complex plot against America.
The book's twists are so painfully predictable that every "surprise" is met with a resigned sigh because, of course, that's what happens. Why wouldn't it? The characters, already woefully one-dimensional, seem to exist solely to move this lifeless chess game forward without any of the depth or realism that could salvage the story. The Nazis are pantomime villains, and Charlie's slapstick incompetence only heightens the absurdity.
The writing is stilted and lumbering, stripping the story of any emotional weight. Gross's prose is as leaden as the plot, marked by sensationalism where substance should be. Dramatic for the sake of being dramatic, the novel is filled with overwrought dialogue and eye-rolling attempts at tension. These repetitive conversations and melodramatic exchanges grind the story to a halt, making an already underwhelming plot almost unbearable.
As for Charlie, it's almost laughable how he's portrayed as the man to save the day. His journey isn't one of redemption or growth, it's a series of clumsy, poorly thought-out decisions that leave you wondering how on earth anyone could put their faith in such a hapless figure. His lack of heroism is only outdone by his sheer luck, which seems to be the only thing keeping him alive as he stumbles from one situation to the next.
⭐ 1/2