Red October down

Tom Clancy has died at age 66, which means that the shelves of “military thrillers” that he pretty well pioneered is going to be left to lesser writers, of the testosterone-infused cookie-cutter variety. Clancy had a style and a verisimilitude to his writing that I expect will not be easy to replace.

I read his debut novel, The Hunt for Red October, when it was in galley proofs and being shopped around Hollywood. Pretty heady stuff for a first effort, and for something coming out of the Naval Institute Press. It’s not really my cup of tequila, but Clancy completely grabbed me with the pace. Seriously—it was indeed a page turner.

I have to say that the film eventually made (not by my employer) was a disappointment; for one thing, it never really was a hunt at all, the way it was in the book. The suspense factor was considerably lower. Plus—well, I like Connery fine, but his Scottish accent as Captain Ramius was just distracting. (Well—maybe that was just their way of showing that he was a Lithuanian amongst Russians? No, probably not.)

Clancy kind of disappeared up his own stealth propulsion system as his career progressed, but—fair dues—he was a storyteller of style and verve.