Rex Dalton is the hero of a series of action thrillers by J. C. Ryan, The Fulcrum being its first volume. Here is another example of that trope I’ve been noticing lately – thrillers about super-secret, completely deniable government assassins who take lethal care of those special cases normal diplomacy, espionage, and warfare can’t handle. It seems to me this trend must express some public hunger for more robust, aggressive action to be taken against a rising tide of terrorism and crime in the world.

Our hero, Rex Dalton, lost his family to a terrorist event years ago. After that he cast off all his human ties, enlisted in the Marines (later Delta Force and then something even more hush-hush), and began turning himself into a living weapon, a sort of warrior monk committed to killing terrorists to the exclusion of all else. At one point he meets a woman he finds attractive, but his focus is elsewhere.

The prose in The Fulcrum wasn’t the worst I’ve seen, and the occasional political comment usually suited my prejudices. But the problem with this book was that it wasn’t really a story. There was no narrative arc. All we had was a sequence of accounts of various actions Rex carries out – invariably with perfect efficiency. He never makes a mistake. He never meets an enemy he can’t overcome. His plans of action always survive contact with the enemy. This author knows nothing about building dramatic tension.

Which is not to say the book was dull. It was interesting to watch our hero at work. But it just wasn’t a story.

I can’t say you shouldn’t read The Fulcrum. There’s entertainment value here. But I can only deplore the absence of narrative craftsmanship.