Perhaps with a little embarrassment, author Harlan Coben prefaces this new edition of his first novel with “A Note From the Author.” He begins the note, “Okay, if this is the first book of mine you’re going to try, stop now. Return it. Grab another. It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

Words in season. I like Coben’s books very much, but Play Dead is a classic example of that deadly subgenre, the badly overwritten first novel. One of the many temptations to which unproven authors fall prey is the one to tell the reader too much, to put everything into the book. Clearly, on the evidence of his later work, Coben has learned a lot in the intervening years. But Play Dead (he says in his Note that he left it as it stands because he considers it dishonest to re-write an earlier book) is too long, too verbose, and awkward. It’s like a teenager who’s outgrown his muscles, impressive in his height, but bad in his coordination.

The story centers on a couple who are celebrating their honeymoon at the start of the story. They are people with enviable lives. David Baskin is a champion NBA basketball player. His wife Laura was formerly the world’s most famous fashion model, and is now the CEO of a successful fashion design house.

But one day, David walks out of their hotel suite to take a swim. He never returns. On the identification and autopsy of his body, the death is ruled either accidental or suicide.

Yet there are anomalies in the official story. Laura discovers that a sum of money was withdrawn from David’s bank account and transferred to a Swiss bank the day of his death. She begins to suspect foul play, and soon learns that some of the people she trusts most in the world have been lying to her.

This is the central plot of the story. But there are plenty of others—indeed, too many. It’s a good thing to make your secondary characters three-dimensional, and to give them back-stories. But it’s not necessary to tell the reader everything you’ve invented about these characters, particularly if their stories threaten to bleed attention away from the primary characters.

Which, alas, is what happens here.

Another problem is pacing. I’ll always remember the director I worked with most when I was doing community theater. He used to snap his fingers quickly—one—two—three. That was his signal for “pacing!” Those long pauses where your character considers what he’ll say next—throw them out. Start your line the second the previous actor has finished his line. Step on his line a little, even. Keep things moving! Keep the audience engaged!

Play Dead does not keep things moving. Hundreds of words are expended without the story advancing a step. This book could have been cut by at least 25% with no loss (indeed, with profit). I was tempted to drop the book repeatedly as I traversed its long length. Only my determination to write this review kept me with it.

And here’s a writing tip—once you’ve established characters and locations, trust the reader’s memory. You don’t need to go over the same material again and again. The further you go into the novel, the sparer your exposition and description should be. This improves pacing. This is not done in Play Dead.

It would also have benefited from a beginning in medias res (starting in the middle, then filling with flashbacks), in my opinion.

Finally, the grammar was sloppy in places. Sometimes the wrong word (not an inferior word choice, but an actual definition mistake) found its way in. This is a problem I haven’t noticed in Coben’s mature novels.

In summary, I can’t recommend Play Dead, except for one purpose. If you’re an author, looking for an example of how professional writing differs from amateurish writing, read Play Dead, and then read one of Coben’s recent novels. Compare and contrast. It will be instructive.