Review: "The Ending Writes Itself," Evelyn Clarke

Arthur Fletch, the famed, prolific writer (think James Patterson) has died. He’s left an unfinished manuscript behind,

The only people who know this are his agent, his editor and the six authors they have summonsed to Fletch’s magnificent home on the island of Skelbrae, off the coast of Scotland.

There, Fletch’s agent throws down a gauntlet. Who among them can finish the great author’s last novel and claim a $2 million prize—$1 million for the completion and $1 million to relaunch his or her career?

They’re all midlist writers. Their careers are in the doldrums, or worse. This is a life-changing opportunity.

And they don’t know each other. No one in the group has much name recognition. Remember that. It’s important.

Do Sienna and Malcolm have the best chance? They’re thriller writers, but their marriage is about to break up. So maybe not.

Jaxon is a self-assured sci-fi scribe, but he seems to spend most of his time staying ripped. Millie, who pens YA, is cute and bouncy, yet shrewd. Perhaps not shrewd enough. Cate, the youngest and most “literary” of the bunch, portrays a “poor me” persona. But what’s the real story underneath that baggy cardigan?

Priscilla, the romance writer, is pretty in pink—but has a curiously flat affect. Finally there’s Kenzo, an acerbic author of horror novels who might be the most level-headed of them all.

At first, the writers spend more time bickering and snooping on each other (and boozing) than they do writing. But as the 72-hour deadline bears down on them, they get to work. Unfortunately, so does a murderer.

The Ending Writes Itself has received glowing reviews and a blurb from Stephen King. It’s cleverly plotted and a witty, sarcastic take on both writers and the publishing world they inhabit. It evokes Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None. The killer, once revealed, is ripped from the headlines, as we used to say. The resolution is wryly satisfying, especially for those readers who are also writers.

I enjoyed the book, but was annoyed by the excessive use of italics. As in “She knew she shouldn’t be surprised,” when a character, in a flashback, remembers an experience of mild sexual harassment. Why is this helpful? Plus, it was just one in a long line of useless italics. Authors should be limited to no more than five italicized words or phrases per book.

I realize that the technique was probably meant to be part of the satirical style, but I have to say out of dozens of italicized words I only found one that was truly worthwhile, and that was when the murderer appears “holding what looks like a mother-f#$%^ crossbow.”

Overall, It was a book that I could appreciate for its construction and humor and insightful take on the publishing world, but one that I couldn’t sink into it emotionally. Shall I call it a page-turner without much heart?