Bookquote.net Bookquote.net – Books Review and Quote site
Related Articles
| Categories | Thrillers & Suspense |
| Author | John Grisham |
| Publisher | Anchor; Reprint edition (March 6, 2018) |
| Language | English |
| Paperback | 336 pages |
| Item Weight | 8 ounces |
| Dimensions |
5.3 x 0.7 x 8 inches |
I. Book introduction
Camino Island is a crime fiction thriller novel written by John Grisham and released on June 6, 2017, by Doubleday. The book is a departure from Grisham’s main subject of legal thrillers and focuses on stolen rare books. Grisham made his first extensive book tour in 25 years to publicize the book.
#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • “A delightfully lighthearted caper . . . [a] fast-moving, entertaining tale.”—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
A gang of thieves stage a daring heist from a vault deep below Princeton University’s Firestone Library. Their loot is priceless, impossible to resist.
Bruce Cable owns a popular bookstore in the sleepy resort town of Santa Rosa on Camino Island in Florida. He makes his real money, though, as a prominent dealer in rare books. Very few people know that he occasionally dabbles in unsavory ventures.
Mercer Mann is a young novelist with a severe case of writer’s block who has recently been laid off from her teaching position. She is approached by an elegant, mysterious woman working for an even more mysterious company. A generous monetary offer convinces Mercer to go undercover and infiltrate Cable’s circle of literary friends, to get close to the ringleader, to discover his secrets.
But soon Mercer learns far too much, and there’s trouble in paradise—as only John Grisham can deliver it.
Plot
The book begins with the theft of five rare F. Scott Fitzgerald manuscripts from the Firestone Library at Princeton University and then embarks on a journey to a resort town on a Florida island in search of clues about the heist. Although the Federal Bureau of Investigation and an “underground agency” of investigators working for Princeton’s insurance company pursue the perpetrators in the black market, the story focuses on a novelist who becomes involved in the search and pursues an investigation of the heist.
Editorial Reviews
“A delightfully lighthearted caper . . . [a] fast-moving, entertaining tale.”—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
“A happy lark [that] provides the pleasure of a leisurely jaunt periodically jolted into high gear, just for the fun and speed of it.”—The New York Times Book Review
“Sheer catnip . . . [Grisham] reveals an amiable, sardonic edge here that makes Camino Island a most agreeable summer destination.”—USA Today
“Fans will thrill with the classic chase and satisfying ending; and book lovers will wallow in ecstasy.”—The Florida Times-Union
About John Grisham
John Grisham (born February 8, 1955 in Jonesboro, Arkansas) is an American novelist, lawyer and former member of the 7th district of the Mississippi House of Representatives, known for his popular legal thrillers. According to the American Academy of Achievement, Grisham has written 28 consecutive number-one fiction bestsellers, and his books have sold 300 million copies worldwide. Along with Tom Clancy and J. K. Rowling, Grisham is one of only three authors to have sold two million copies on a first printing.
Grisham graduated from Mississippi State University and earned a Juris Doctor from the University of Mississippi School of Law in 1981. He practised criminal law for about a decade and served in the Mississippi House of Representatives from 1983 to 1990.
Grisham’s first novel, A Time to Kill, was published in June 1989, four years after he began writing it. Grisham’s first bestseller, The Firm, sold more than seven million copies. The book was adapted into a 1993 feature film of the same name, starring Tom Cruise, and a 2012 TV series which continues the story ten years after the events of the film and novel. Seven of his other novels have also been adapted into films: The Chamber, The Client, A Painted House, The Pelican Brief, The Rainmaker, The Runaway Jury, and Skipping Christmas.
Grisham is a two-time winner of the Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction and was honored with the Library of Congress Creative Achievement Award for Fiction.
When he’s not writing, Grisham serves on the board of directors of the Innocence Project and of Centurion Ministries, two national organizations dedicated to exonerating those who have been wrongfully convicted. Much of his fiction explores deep-seated problems in our criminal justice system.
John Girsham lives on a farm in central Virginia.
II. Reviewer: Camino Island
| Here is a summary of the book Review “Camino Island by John Grisham”. Helps you have the most overview of the book without searching through time. Please access “BookQuote.Net” regularly or save it to keep track and update the latest information. |
1. LINDA reviews for Camino Island
“Your secrets are safe. I can’t think of a soul I would want to tell.”
And these secrets are within a crime. A jumbo, over-the-top, kick in the door of modern literature, and pull down the shades type of heist. Dollar signs that even have dollar signs.
When a group of well-rehearsed thieves make their way into the tombs of Princeton’s lower vaulted depths, they come away with a golden grail in the form of original hand-written manuscripts of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Miraculously, they stage enough diversions that they escape the university grounds and burrow into their hideouts. But the coast is not always clear just because time passes. A flubadub occurs and two of the members are caught. Each of them utter not a word. Clear sailing for the others? Maybe yes and maybe no.
Advice to oneself ala Grisham: Write what you know.
So Grisham parachutes this story into the waiting arms of a bookstore owner in a small town on Camino Island in Florida. Bruce Cable (interesting name in regard to ol’ Bruce’s widely growing circuit in the book world) doesn’t always ring his daily sales on his cash register. Bruce dabbles, on occasion, in the darker side of intellectual exchange. A first print version in impeccable condition sends his heart racing…..almost as much as a shapely woman swinging her hips and opening the bookstore door at the same time.
Enter Mercer Mann who grew up on Camino Island and is a fledgling writer with a brief kiss of fame. She’s now broke, unemployed, and somewhat bewildered when she’s approached by a mysterious woman. A deal is struck in which Mercer will go undercover and try to get the goods on the elusive Bruce Cable. Mercer doesn’t realize that someone else may be trying to get a foothold into Cable’s backdoor operations as well.
John Grisham presents quite a different read this time. We are immersed in the world of books and the intricate mechanisms of publishing. Dinner conversations abound with the chatter of authors bantering on about their books. It almost has the flavor of Hemingway and his feasts in Paris in the 1920’s with his jaunty friends. And the drinks flow just as hard and fast.
I enjoyed this one despite the fact that there is not a courtroom in sight as in Grisham’s golden days. The heist itself seems to provide background noise. There wasn’t the usual high tension as in times past. In addition, you may feel somewhat of a nudge that his character choices and dialogue have a bit of a different flavor for him this go-round. And different can be good.
Now the ending……a swift kick in the pants and a wry smile.
2. MATTHEW reviews for Camino Island
I enjoyed this more than some other recent John Grisham novels I have read. Many parts of it were 3 stars and many parts were 4 stars. I will compromise at 3.5 stars (but round up to 4 on the official scale – since I have been so harsh on Grisham lately!)
The main appeal of this book is that books are central to the theme. Hardcore readers – which most of you probably are – will appreciate the discussion of bookstore business/politics, book values, first edition collecting, and book heists. All of that was what kept me in this right up to the very end.
The story was just okay – some of the plot points convenient and convoluted. It is fiction, so of course the author is making it up, but I want there to be at least some sense that the events are plausible. In this case, it seemed like any time Grisham wanted something to fit he would be like, “Well, it just so happens that over here is the exact thing we were discussing!” It’s a bit silly, but only mildly distracting.
One thing I liked a lot compared to Grisham’s recent efforts is that it felt fresh and unique. Normally, it feels like he is using the same formula and it is getting stale. But, in this case the mystery was different than anything I have seen in one of his books before.
Finally, I go back to one of the things that amuses me about Grisham the most. I feel like he plans his plot and scenes around food. I dare you to try and find a Grisham where he doesn’t mention what people are eating every few pages, characters are not planning a get together based around food, or the main character doesn’t stop of somewhere for beer and burgers to contemplate what just happened. It makes me laugh every time
3. DIANE reviews for Camino Island
What a fun summer read!
I haven’t read a John Grisham book since the 90s, but I picked up Camino Island after seeing a positive review. I was intrigued because the story is a departure from Grisham’s usual legal thrillers. The plot is that priceless manuscripts by F. Scott Fitzgerald were stolen from a Princeton library, and the hunt is on to catch the thieves and save the papers.
The novel starts off with a thrill as we watch the gang of thieves go about the heist. (As a librarian and also as someone who wants literary archives to be protected, I liked that Grisham completely made up the details of the theft and didn’t base it on the real library layout, because he didn’t want anyone trying to imitate the crime in real life.) After the Fitzgerald manuscripts are stolen, we watch the police and FBI work the case, but when the trail goes cold, investigators decide to send in someone undercover.
Enter Mercer, an aspiring novelist who is tasked with infiltrating the social world of Bruce Cable, a bookseller in Camino Island, Florida, who is suspected of purchasing the stolen manuscripts. Mercer meets Bruce and some other writers in the area, and I really enjoyed the literary discussions they had. I won’t spoil the ending of the mystery, but I was satisfied with how the plot was resolved.
I enjoy reading books about books, so it was fitting that I liked this literary mystery so much. The dialogue is a bit on the nose at times, but I enjoyed this novel so much that it seems silly to quibble. Recommend for those who like bookish thrillers.
4. SCOTT reviews for Camino Island
Every time I read a book by John Grisham, I am consistently reminded of what a great storyteller he is. His style is compact, direct and to the point, and pulls you in immediately. I wasn’t 10 pages into his new book “Camino Island” and I knew that I would be spending most of the day focused on reading it. The good news is that it was worth it.
Rather than focusing on lawyers, it takes aim at the world of bookstores, publishing, and writers. It begins with a skillful heist of five John F. Fitzgerald manuscripts from a secure vault below Princeton’s Firestone Library. The manuscripts end up in a secondary black market and a young female writer, Mercer Mann, is hired to go undercover an investigate a popular independent bookstore owner and prominent dealer in rare books that is thought to have or know who is in possession of the manuscripts.
Using a background that is second nature to Grisham works well and provides interesting tidbits and name dropping throughout the book. As usual, Mercer is in over her head and the reader is right there with her. The plot develops fast and flows well. His prose is easy to read and take in as the pages meld together in a character driven adventure that captures your attention. Even though this book is one of his shorter ones (just under 300 pages), it is well worth the time.
Overall, Grisham knows how to tell a story that readers enjoy. I especially appreciated his respectful name dropping of Stephen King, support for independent bookstores, a nice small shot at Amazon. The question to ask myself is whether I ever really read a bad Grisham book? Although some are better than others, the answer is no. All of them have been good, better, or best. If you’re honest, you are probably nodding your head right now. “Camino Island” is one of the better ones. Just try it.
5. M D TUCH reviews for Camino Island
‘Camino Island’ is my first Grisham novel and I must say that I found it very entertaining. It left me hungry to read more. In a wonderful first chapter, priceless manuscripts from F Scott Fitzgerald’s books are stolen from the Princeton Firestone Library by five well prepared and well-equipped thieves. The pace is quick with short staccato sentences and plenty of suspense and action. I was hooked. In the second chapter things slowed considerably while Grisham supplies backstory for Mercer Mann and Bruce Cable, among others. It may be slower but it is necessary to a good book for the reader to feel a connection with the characters. Bruce is shrewd, calculating and very charismatic. Mercer comes across as the typical midwestern woman that finds herself bogged down in her quest to be a writer. Elaine Shelby is a powerful woman in a private organization that is trying to discover what happened to the stolen manuscripts. She suspects Bruce (an affluent bookstore owner and trader) as having a part in it and maybe even in possession of the stolen artifacts. She employs Mercer (at a very generous price) to infiltrate the close-knit group in Bruce’s corner and spy on the suspect.
Several dilemmas predictably come to the surface for Mercer and she has to do some soul-searching to decide if she wants to betray Bruce and his friends, people she has grown to like. Whatever she decides will surely have far reaching consequences for everyone concerned. Grisham certainly knows how to weave a tale full of suspense. I am a new fan and am anxious to read more from this wordsmith.
6. RONALD H.CLARK reviews for Camino Island
I have read and reviewed on Amazon virtually every legal thriller that Grisham has written. I was especially looking forward to this novel because, guess what, no lawyers as central characters. And it surely it will be no surprise to Grisham fans to say candidly he does not need them to write a gripping story. In my opinion, Grisham has moved from being a solid writer of legal thrillers to becoming just a fine novelist. He has learned how to set a scene and develop interesting characters among other talents.
But the standard Grisham talents are also evident in this story focused on the theft of incredibly valuable F. Scott Fitzgerald original manuscripts from Princeton’s Firestone library. There really is no one that can grab the reader from the first page the way Grisham can. I had knocked out 100 pages one evening with hardly a notice (and I am not as fast a reader as I was in my younger days). This is only to say that the first chapter devoted to “the heist” is riveting. In his recent legal thrillers, Grisham has used the story to not only entertain but to educate about some aspect of the legal world (e.g., mass torts; public interest law firms; the deficiencies of the death penalty, etc.). Here he is at it again because without realizing it, the reader learns a good deal about the stolen book industry as well as how small independent book stores survive in the age of Amazon. There are also a few words about various famous books which are very interesting. But the story always predominates.
After the racing first chapter, things slow down. A couple of chapters are devoted to the two main protagonists and the Florida beach town setting which is apparently similar to where Grisham has a beach cottage. Having lived at the beach a couple of years, I can attest that Grisham has captured that pleasant environment most accurately. We next learn about “facilitators” who take over stolen books from the thieves and either sell them secretly to collectors or, as here, try to sell them back to their owners. At one point, surveillance gizmos play a role so we learn a bit about these amazing technological wonders–at least enough to give me the willies. Grisham also includes brief “how to write fiction” guidelines (pp.238-9), which considering he is a master practitioner of this art are valuable and interesting.
The final chapters pick up the pace again and the pages begin to turn rapidly. I did find the epilogue ending quite unsatisfactory–it seemed like something an author might attach if he were running short on deadline and needed to wrap up a novel. It is also entirely unrealistic. The book runs 290 pages, but readers will be able to whip through it fairly quickly. Grisham fans will adore this book; and so will general readers who previously stayed away from Grisham and his lawyers. So now we can just refer to Grisham as a most worthy novelist, not just a writer of legal thrillers–though of course there is nothing wrong with that.
7. ETHAN reviews for Camino Island
John Grisham holds a special place on my bookshelf. I remember really getting into his books during high school, a time when I was finding my own way as a reader. His ability to provide terse legal thrillers that had a great pace but also featured relatable characters proved to be an irresistible combination. In more recent years, I’ve made a concerted effort to read a wider variety of genres and authors, but I still come back to Grisham’s writing on occasion. His novel Camino Island, a book about a literary heist, has been on my TBR list forever. This week I had some extra time in between publisher-provided books, so I took advantage and finally cracked it open.
The novel opens with a daring group of thieves about to make a meticulous heist from the vaults of the Princeton Library. Their target is the original, hand-written manuscripts of F. Scott Fitzgerald. The American literary icon’s work is estimated to be worth millions, something the thieves are prepared to stop at nothing to steal. As luck would have it, their well-prepared heist goes off without a hitch. The group makes off with the manuscripts, leaving the university and authorities desperate to get them back.
Enter our unlikely hero Mercer Mann. She was once the author of a novel that became a critical darling but never found true financial success. In the years following, Mercer struggled to write a follow-up, and any chance at building a career as a published author seems to have gone by the wayside. When we meet her, she has lost her job, has no prospects for the future, and is financially crippled by student loans. Mercer is shocked then when she is approached by a mysterious woman. She’s even more rattled by the woman’s request. The woman is part of a small unit within law enforcement, and she wants Mercer to go undercover to help them find the lost Fitzgerald manuscripts.
The more recent output from John Grisham has been pretty hit or miss, but I was happy to discover that Camino Island is a hit. I mean let’s be honest for a minute, a book about books is always a win! The setting in a small tropical town means that everyone knows everyone else, a fact that helps deepen the secrecy behind the mystery. There are whispers amongst the townspeople, but it is up to our main character to plant herself among them, build their trust, and uncover the truth behind all of the rumors. Grisham is at his best when he combines a compelling plot with great characters. Camino Island sees the author in peak form. This is everything I want from a summer read. There’s a sequel to the book that was published a few years ago, so it is already going on my list of books to read next summer.
8. CALISTA reviews for Camino Island
This book went down smooth and easy. I almost gave this 5 stars. I had a blast reading this story about reading and bookselling. It took 2 days to get through this.
It’s been awhile since I’ve read anything by John Grisham. I think his Painted House was the last I read of his. I started out reading his novels in high school and read each one until the late 90s or into the aughts. I got tired of the law stories. I listened, during the COVID quarantine, to a Stephen King Podcast he and John did together and John was talking about this book. It wasn’t about lawyers, but a bookseller and about the love of books. Well, that sounded amazing. I got this from the online library.
We start out seeing a team steal the F. Scott Fitzgerald manuscripts from Princeton worth millions. Then we see a struggling writer being contacted by an insurance claims recoverer to get close to a big bookseller on Camino Island.
Honestly, I just enjoyed hearing all the writers on the island discuss the pub biz and different books. Stephen King even gets a shout out here. I love that kind of shop talk.
This is a great beach read, or quarantine read, or just something for the joy of it. I recommend it.
9. MONNIE reviews for Camino Island
If I could change the title, I think I’d rename it Anatomy of a Heist. The writing is very matter-of-fact – nothing very thrilling or exciting – that begins with the theft of five one-of-a-kind F. Scott Fitzgerald manuscripts from the bowels of the Princeton University Firestone Library. From there, it follows the day-to-day (often minute-by-minute) lives of the thieves and those who want to find them and bring the manuscripts back to their rightful home. It’s divided into sections, each of which details the relevant characters and events pretty much on a minute-by-minute basis.
“The Heist,” the opening section, brings readers an up-close-and-personal look at the robbers and how they planned the job and carried off the loot. “The Dealer” focuses on Bruce Cable, owner of a popular bookstore on Florida’s Camino Island who collects rare books and, despite having a gorgeous French wife who deals in antiques, is quite the ladies’ man. That’s followed by “The Recruit,” which introduces Mercer Mann, a semi-successful novelist and current teacher at the University of North Carolina. She’s desperately trying to get out of a writing slump, hoping to get published and sell enough books to pay off her massive student loans and live the life of a successful writer.
In earlier days, Mercer was a frequent visitor to Camino Island and thus is familiar with its small tourist town of Santa Rosa, where Bruce’s bookstore is located. When powers-that-be suspect that Bruce somehow may be involved in the theft of the manuscripts, which are insured for a whopping $25 million, she’s considered the perfect “spy” and is offered the job of getting close enough to Bruce to learn his secrets. What they’re willing to pay for her services is mind-boggling; but she wonders if its worth selling her soul as a snitch. Even if she can get over that hump, does she have what it takes to convince Bruce that she’s just a curious, temporary island resident who has an interest in old books? And what if it turns out that Bruce has no secrets at all?
From there, the story unfolds bit by bit, section by section – always in a mostly narrative, little dialogue fashion. For readers, that means no nail-biting or edge-of-seat balancing, which may not sit all that well with those who demand knock-’em-dead action (nor will, perhaps, the lack of courtroom drama). But as with any writer worth his or her salt, the devil is in the details – and in that respect, Grisham is as good as it gets. It was fascinating to see how deftly he weaves together all the bits and pieces into the whole story that builds to the ending – which, as might be expected, is understated as well. Good job!
10. MICHAEL SLAVIN reviews for Camino Island
Book starts off great with a robbery of the Fitzgerald original manuscripts from Princeton, a very good action sequence. Then to me the story slowed down for a short while when it was setting up the rest of the book. But then it got very comfortable with a cozy pace in an environment of a group of authors in small seaside community and their local bookstore with the colorful owners who love authors.
I so enjoyed their meetings, their suppers, and their conversation, I couldn’t wait to get back and see what happened next.
And as a backdrop, you are put into the world of the illegal trading of valuable first editions of books.
This was book was different. I really enjoyed it.
III. Camino Island Quotes
The best book quotes from Camino Island by John Grisham
“Joel Ribikoff, fifty-two years old and a convicted felon, busted twice for dealing in stolen valuables.”
“In real life his name was Mark and his occupation, if one could call it that, was professional thievery.
“Writers are generally split into two camps: those who carefully outline their stories and know the ending before they begin, and those who refuse to do so upon the theory that once a character is created he or she will do something interesting.”
“I’ve never understood people who grind through a book they don’t really like, determined to finish it for some unknown reason.”
“Do you read them? Faulkner, Hemingway, Fitzgerald?”
“Only if I have to. I try to avoid old dead white men.”
“If you’re gonna be stupid you gotta be tough.”
“Maybe you should be a lawyer.” “I can’t think of anything worse.”
“She was a good swimmer but we never used life jackets.” “It wouldn’t matter in that storm.”
“her mind was wonderfully uncluttered with the nagging irritations of everyday life.”
“And you’ve never been married, right?” “Correct.” “Well, I’ve tried it twice and I’m not sure I can recommend it.”
“banks and student loan companies had convinced Congress that such debts should be given special protection and not exempted. She remembered him saying, “Hell, even gamblers can go bankrupt and walk away.”
“Plans—nothing ever goes as planned, and the survivors are the ones who can adapt on the fly.”
“Too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash.”
“Jerry had in fact, and because of this experience he knew that his pal McGregor here had a copy of his rap sheet. “Yes,” he said. “How many times?” “Look, Mr. Agent. You just told me I have the right to remain silent. I ain’t saying a word and I want a lawyer right now. Got it?” McGregor said, “Sure,” and left the room. Around the corner, Mark was being situated in another room. McGregor walked in and went through the same ritual. They sipped coffee for a while and talked about the Miranda rights. With a warrant, they had searched Mark’s bag and found all sorts of interesting items. McGregor opened a large”
“A Spool of Blue Thread”
“I figured you were missing me.”
“John D. MacDonald is a favorite of mine, especially his Travis McGee series,”
“Some writers are seasoned raconteurs with an endless supply of stories and quips and one-liners. Others are reclusive and introverted souls who labor in their solitary worlds and struggle to mix and mingle.”
“Drop her a note, make the introduction, tell her what you’re doing here, the usual routine.”
“Spool of Blue Thread by Anne Tyler, one of my favorites, and LaRose by Louise Erdrich.”
“Myra said, “Right, right. We had the best idea ever for a semi-serious novel, but we were not about to give it to our jackass publisher. We had to get out of his lousy contract so we could snag a better house, one that would appreciate the genius behind our great idea. That part of it worked. Two years later, the three awful books were still selling like crazy while the great novel flopped. Go figure.”
“First and most important is to decide whether you want to write literary fiction, stuff you can’t give away, hell, Bruce can’t even sell it, or do you want to write something more popular.”
“Thanks. So will you finish that?” “I doubt it. I’ll give any book a hundred pages, and if by then the writer can’t hold my attention I’ll put it away. There are too many good books I want to read to waste time with a bad one.” “Same here, but my limit is fifty pages. I’ve never understood people who grind through a book they don’t really like, determined to finish it for some unknown reason. Tessa was like that. She would toss a book after the first chapter, then pick it up and grumble and growl for four hundred pages until the bitter end. Never understood that.”
“In his thirty-four years at the same desk, Ed had processed all of them.”
“Sally herself: early forties, recovering alcoholic, divorced with no kids, quick and witty, savvy and tough, and, of course, quite attractive. She published once a year and toured extensively, always stopping at Bay Books and usually when Noelle was out of town.”
“Once she was settled and rested, she would plunge into her work and average at least a thousand words a day.”
“Good. There will be a box delivered to your cottage in the morning at ten. It’s a pile of books, all four of Noelle’s and the three by Serena.” “Homework?”
“Too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash.’ That’s the perfect description of Tessa’s family.”
“Two blocks away, Denny was in a hotel bar eating pizza when his cell phone rattled. It”
“I sold them to a dealer named Bruce Cable, owns a nice bookstore on Camino Island, Florida.”
“Denny and Rooker were watching too. They had traced the North Carolina license plates on Mercer’s car and done the background. They knew her name, recent employment history, current lodging at the Lighthouse Inn, publishing résumé, and partial ownership of the beach”
“There should be a rule in publishing that debut novels are limited to three hundred pages, don’t you think?”
Excerpted from Camino Island by John Grisham
Chapter 1 – Camino Island
The Heist
1.
The imposter borrowed the name of Neville Manchin, an actual professor of American literature at Portland State and soon-to-be doctoral student at Stanford. In his letter, on perfectly forged college stationery, “Professor Manchin” claimed to be a budding scholar of F. Scott Fitzgerald and was keen to see the great writer’s “manuscripts and papers” during a forthcoming trip to the East Coast. The letter was addressed to Dr. Jeffrey Brown, Director of Manuscripts Division, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Firestone Library, Princeton University. It arrived with a few others, was duly sorted and passed along, and eventually landed on the desk of Ed Folk, a career junior librarian whose task, among several other monotonous ones, was to verify the credentials of the person who wrote the letter.
Ed received several of these letters each week, all in many ways the same, all from self-proclaimed Fitzgerald buffs and experts, and even from the occasional true scholar. In the previous calendar year, Ed had cleared and logged in 190 of these people through the library. They came from all over the world and arrived wide-eyed and humbled, like pilgrims before a shrine. In his thirty-four years at the same desk, Ed had processed all of them. And, they were not going away. F. Scott Fitzgerald continued to fascinate. The traffic was as heavy now as it had been three decades earlier. These days, though, Ed was wondering what could possibly be left of the great writer’s life that had not been pored over, studied at great length, and written about. Not long ago, a true scholar told Ed that there were now at least a hundred books and over ten thousand published academic articles on Fitzgerald the man, the writer, his works, and his crazy wife.
And he drank himself to death at forty-four! What if he’d lived into old age and kept writing? Ed would need an assistant, maybe two, perhaps even an entire staff. But then Ed knew that an early death was often the key to later acclaim (not to mention greater royalties).
After a few days, Ed finally got around to dealing with Professor Manchin. A quick review of the library’s register revealed that this was a new person, a new request. Some of the veterans had been to Princeton so many times they simply called his number and said, “Hey, Ed, I’ll be there next Tuesday.” Which was fine with Ed. Not so with Manchin. Ed went through the Portland State website and found his man. Undergraduate degree in American lit from the University of Oregon; master’s from UCLA; adjunct gig now for three years. His photo revealed a rather plain-looking young man of perhaps thirty-five, the makings of a beard that was probably temporary, and narrow frameless eyeglasses.
In his letter, Professor Manchin asked whoever responded to do so by e-mail, and gave a private Gmail address. He said he rarely checked his university address. Ed thought, “That’s because you’re just a lowly adjunct professor and probably don’t even have a real office.” He often had these thoughts, but, of course, was too professional to utter them to anyone else. Out of caution, the next day he sent a response through the Portland State server. He thanked Professor Manchin for his letter and invited him to the Princeton campus. He asked for a general idea of when he might arrive and laid out a few of the basic rules regarding the Fitzgerald collection. There were many, and he suggested that Professor Manchin study them on the library’s website.
The reply was automatic and informed Ed that Manchin was out of pocket for a few days. One of Manchin’s partners had hacked into the Portland State directory just deep enough to tamper with the English department’s e-mail server; easy work for a sophisticated hacker. He and the imposter knew immediately that Ed had responded.
Ho hum, thought Ed. The next day he sent the same message to Professor Manchin’s private Gmail address. Within an hour, Manchin replied with an enthusiastic thank-you, said he couldn’t wait to get there, and so on. He gushed on about how he had studied the library’s website, had spent hours with the Fitzgerald digital archives, had owned for years the multivolume series containing facsimile editions of the great author’s handwritten first drafts, and had a particular interest in the critical reviews of the first novel, This Side of Paradise.
Great, said Ed. He’d seen it all before. The guy was trying to impress him before he even got there, which was not at all unusual.
2.
F. Scott Fitzgerald enrolled in Princeton in the fall of 1913. At the age of sixteen, he was dreaming of writing the great American novel, and had indeed begun working on an early version of This Side of Paradise. He dropped out four years later to join the Army and go to war, but it ended before he was deployed. His classic, The Great Gatsby, was published in 1925 but did not become popular until after his death. He struggled financially throughout his career, and by 1940 was working in Hollywood, cranking out bad screenplays, failing physically and creatively. On December 21, he died of a heart attack, brought on by years of severe alcoholism.
In 1950, Scottie, his daughter and only child, gave his original manuscripts, notes, and letters—his “papers”—to the Firestone Library at Princeton. His five novels were handwritten on inexpensive paper that did not age well. The library quickly realized that it would be unwise to allow researchers to physically handle them. High-quality copies were made, and the originals were locked away in a secured basement vault where the air, light, and temperature were carefully controlled. Over the years, they had been removed only a handful of times.
3.
The man posing as Professor Neville Manchin arrived at Princeton on a beautiful fall day in early October. He was directed to Rare Books and Special Collections, where he met Ed Folk, who then passed him along to another assistant librarian who examined and copied his Oregon driver’s license. It was, of course, a forgery, but a perfect one. The forger, who was also the hacker, had been trained by the CIA and had a long history in the murky world of private espionage. Breaching a bit of campus security was hardly a challenge.
Professor Manchin was then photographed and given a security badge that had to be displayed at all times. He followed the assistant librarian to the second floor, to a large room with two long tables and walls lined with retractable steel drawers, each of which was locked. Manchin noticed at least four surveillance cameras high in the corners, cameras that were supposed to be seen. He suspected others were well hidden. He attempted to chat up the assistant librarian but got little in return. He jokingly asked if he could see the original manuscript for This Side of Paradise. The assistant librarian offered a smug grin and said that would not be possible.
“Have you ever seen the originals?” Manchin asked.
“Only once.”
A pause as Manchin waited for more, then he asked, “And what was the occasion?”
“Well, a certain famous scholar wished to see them. We accompanied him down to the vault and gave him a look. He didn’t touch the papers, though. Only our head librarian is allowed to do so, and only with special gloves.”
“Of course. Oh well, let’s get to work.”
The assistant opened two of the large drawers, both labeled “This Side of Paradise,” and withdrew thick, oversized notebooks. He said, “These contain the reviews of the book when it was first published. We have many other samples of later reviews.”
“Perfect,” Manchin said with a grin. He opened his briefcase, took out a notepad, and seemed ready to pounce on everything laid on the table. Half an hour later, with Manchin deep in his work, the assistant librarian excused himself and disappeared. For the benefit of the cameras, Manchin never looked up. Eventually, he needed to find the men’s room and wandered away. He took a wrong turn here and another one there, got himself lost, and eased through Collections, avoiding contact with anyone. There were surveillance cameras everywhere. He doubted that anyone at that moment was watching the footage, but it could certainly be retrieved if needed. He found an elevator, avoided it, and took the nearby stairs. The first level below was similar to the ground floor. Below it, the stairs stopped at B2 (Basement 2), where a large thick door waited with “Emergencies Only” painted in bold letters. A keypad was next to the door, and another sign warned that an alarm would sound the instant the door was opened without “proper authorization.” Two security cameras watched the door and the area around it.
Manchin backed away and retraced his steps. When he returned to his workroom, the assistant was waiting. “Is everything okay, Professor Manchin?” he asked.
“Oh yes. Just a bit of a stomach bug, I’m afraid. Hope it’s not contagious.” The assistant librarian left immediately, and Manchin hung around all day, digging through materials from the steel drawers and reading old reviews he cared nothing about. Several times he wandered off, poking around, looking, measuring, and memorizing.
4.
Manchin returned three weeks later and he was no longer pretending to be a professor. He was clean shaven, his hair was colored a sandy blond, he wore fake eyeglasses with red frames, and he carried a bogus student card with a photo. If someone asked, which he certainly didn’t expect, his story was that he was a grad student from Iowa. In real life his name was Mark and his occupation, if one could call it that, was professional thievery. High-dollar, world-class, elaborately planned smash-and-grab jobs that specialized in art and rare artifacts that could be sold back to the desperate victims for ransom. His was a gang of five, led by Denny, a former Army Ranger who had turned to crime after being kicked out of the military. So far, Denny had not been caught and had no record; nor did Mark. However, two of the others did. Trey had two convictions and two escapes, his last the year before from a federal prison in Ohio. It was there he’d met Jerry, a petty art thief now on parole. Another art thief, a onetime cellmate serving a long sentence, had first mentioned the Fitzgerald manuscripts to Jerry.
The setup was perfect. There were only five manuscripts, all handwritten, all in one place. And to Princeton they were priceless.
The fifth member of the team preferred to work at home. Ahmed was the hacker, the forger, the creator of all illusions, but he didn’t have the nerve to carry guns and such. He worked from his basement in Buffalo and had never been caught or arrested. He left no trails. His 5 percent would come off the top. The other four would take the rest in equal shares.
By nine o’clock on a Tuesday night, Denny, Mark, and Jerry were inside the Firestone Library posing as grad students and watching the clock. Their fake student IDs had worked perfectly; not a single eyebrow had been raised. Denny found his hiding place in a third-floor women’s restroom. He lifted a panel in the ceiling above the toilet, tossed up his student backpack, and settled in for a few hours of hot and cramped waiting. Mark picked the lock of the main mechanical room on the first level of the basement and waited for alarms. He heard none, nor did Ahmed, who had easily hacked into the university’s security systems. Mark proceeded to dismantle the fuel injectors of the library’s backup electrical generator. Jerry found a spot in a study carrel hidden among rows of stacked tiers holding books that had not been touched in decades.
Trey was drifting around the campus, dressed like a student, lugging his backpack, scoping out places for his bombs.
The library closed at midnight. The four team members, as well as Ahmed in his basement in Buffalo, were in radio contact. Denny, the leader, announced at 12:15 that all was proceeding as planned. At 12:20, Trey, dressed like a student and hauling a bulky backpack, entered the McCarren Residential College in the heart of the campus. He saw the same surveillance cameras he had seen the previous week. He took the unwatched stairs to the second floor, ducked into a coed restroom, and locked himself in a stall. At 12:40, he reached into his backpack and removed a tin can about the size of a twenty-ounce bottle of soda. He set a delayed starter and hid it behind the toilet. He left the restroom, went to the third floor, and set another bomb in an empty shower stall. At 12:45, he found a semi-dark hallway on the second floor of a dormitory and nonchalantly tossed a string of ten jumbo Black Cat firecrackers down the hall. As he scrambled down the stairwell, the explosions boomed through the air. Seconds later, both smoke bombs erupted, sending thick clouds of rancid fog into the hallways. As Trey left the building he heard the first wave of panicked voices. He stepped behind some shrubs near the dorm, pulled a disposable phone out of his pocket, called Princeton’s 911 service, and delivered the horrifying news: “There’s a guy with a gun on the second floor of McCarren. He’s firing shots.”
Smoke was drifting from a second-floor window. Jerry, sitting in the dark study carrel in the library, made a similar call from his prepaid cell phone. Soon, calls were pouring in as panic gripped the campus.
Every American college has elaborate plans to handle a situation involving an “active gunman,” but no one wants to implement them. It took a few dumbstruck seconds for the officer in charge to push the right buttons, but when she did, sirens began wailing. Every Princeton student, professor, administrator, and employee received a text and e-mail alert. All doors were to be closed and locked. All buildings were to be secured.
Jerry made another call to 911 and reported that two students had been shot. Smoke boiled out of McCarren Hall. Trey dropped three more smoke bombs into trash cans. A few students ran through the smoke as they went from building to building, not sure where exactly the safe places were. Campus security and the City of Princeton police raced onto the scene, followed closely by half a dozen fire trucks. Then ambulances. The first of many patrol cars from the New Jersey State Police arrived.
Trey left his backpack at the door of an office building, then called 911 to report how suspicious it looked. The timer on the last smoke bomb inside the backpack was set to go off in ten minutes, just as the demolition experts would be staring at it from a distance.
At 1:05, Trey radioed the gang: “A perfect panic out here. Smoke everywhere. Tons of cops. Go for it.”
Denny replied, “Cut the lights.”
Ahmed, sipping strong tea in Buffalo and sitting on go, quickly routed through the school’s security panel, entered the electrical grid, and cut the electricity not only to the Firestone Library but to half a dozen nearby buildings as well. For good measure, Mark, now wearing night vision goggles, pulled the main cutoff switch in the mechanical room. He waited and held his breath, then breathed easier when the backup generator did not engage.
The power outage triggered alarms at the central monitoring station inside the campus security complex, but no one was paying attention. There was an active gunman on the loose. There was no time to worry about other alarms.
Jerry had spent two nights inside the Firestone Library in the past week and was confident there were no guards stationed within the building while it was closed. During the night, a uniformed officer walked around the building once or twice, shined his flashlight at the doors, and kept walking. A marked patrol car made its rounds too, but it was primarily concerned with drunk students. Generally, the campus was like any other—dead between the hours of 1:00 and 8:00 a.m.
On this night, however, Princeton was in the midst of a frantic emergency as America’s finest were being shot. Trey reported to his gang that the scene was total chaos with cops scrambling about, SWAT boys throwing on their gear, sirens screaming, radios squawking, and a million red and blue emergency lights flashing. Smoke hung by the trees like a fog. A helicopter could be heard hovering somewhere close. Total chaos.
Denny, Jerry, and Mark hustled through the dark and took the stairs down to the basement under Special Collections. Each wore night vision goggles and a miner’s lamp strapped to his forehead. Each carried a heavy backpack, and Jerry hauled a small Army duffel he’d hidden in the library two nights earlier. At the third and final level down, they stopped at a thick metal door, blacked out the surveillance cameras, and waited for Ahmed and his magic. Calmly, he worked his way through the library’s alarm system and deactivated the door’s four sensors. There was a loud clicking noise. Denny pressed down on the handle and pulled the door open. Inside they found a narrow square of space with two more metal doors. Using a flashlight, Mark scanned the ceiling and spotted a surveillance camera. “There,” he said. “Only one.” Jerry, the tallest at six feet three inches, took a small can of black paint and sprayed the lens of the camera.
Denny looked at the two doors and said, “Wanna flip a coin?”
“What do you see?” Ahmed asked from Buffalo.
“Two metal doors, identical,” Denny replied.
“I got nothing here, fellas,” Ahmed replied. “There’s nothing in the system beyond the first door. Start cutting.”
From his duffel Jerry removed two eighteen-inch canisters, one filled with oxygen, the other with acetylene. Denny situated himself before the door on the left, lit a cutting torch with a sparker, and began heating a spot six inches above the keyhole and latch. Within seconds, sparks were flying.
Meanwhile, Trey had drifted away from the chaos around McCarren and was hiding in the blackness across the street from the library. Sirens were screaming as more emergency vehicles responded. Helicopters were thumping the air loudly above the campus, though Trey could not see them. Around him, even the streetlights were out. There was not another soul near the library. All hands were needed elsewhere.
“All’s quiet outside the library,” he reported. “Any progress?”
“We’re cutting now,” came the terse reply from Mark. All five members knew that chatter should be limited. Denny slowly and skillfully cut through the metal with the torch tip that emitted eight hundred degrees of oxygenated heat. Minutes passed as molten metal dripped to the floor and red and yellow sparks flew from the door. At one point Denny said, “It’s an inch thick.” He finished the top edge of the square and began cutting straight down. The work was slow, the minutes dragged on, and the tension mounted but they kept their cool. Jerry and Mark crouched behind Denny, watching his every move. When the bottom cut line was finished, Denny rattled the latch and it came loose, though something hung. “It’s a bolt,” he said. “I’ll cut it.”
Five minutes later, the door swung open. Ahmed, staring at his laptop, noticed nothing unusual from the library’s security system. “Nothing here,” he said. Denny, Mark, and Jerry entered the room and immediately filled it. A narrow table, two feet wide at most, ran the length, about ten feet. Four large wooden drawers covered one side; four on the other. Mark, the lock picker, flipped up his goggles, adjusted his headlight, and inspected one of the locks. He shook his head and said, “No surprise. Combination locks, probably with computerized codes that change every day. There’s no way to pick it. We gotta drill.”
“Go for it,” Denny said. “Start drilling and I’ll cut the other door.”
Jerry produced a three-quarter drive battery-powered drill with bracing bars on both sides. He zeroed in on the lock and he and Mark applied as much pressure as possible. The drill whined and slid off the brass, which at first seemed impenetrable. But a shaving spun off, then another, and as the men shoved the bracing bars the drill bit ground deeper into the lock. When it gave way the drawer still would not open. Mark managed to slide a thin pry bar into the gap above the lock and yanked down violently. The wood frame split and the drawer opened. Inside was an archival storage box with black metal edges, seventeen inches by twenty-two and three inches deep.
“Careful,” Jerry said as Mark opened the box and gently lifted a thin hardback volume. Mark read slowly, “The collected poems of Dolph McKenzie. Just what I always wanted.”
“Who the hell?”
“Don’t know but we ain’t here for poetry.”
Denny entered behind them and said, “Okay, get on with it. Seven more drawers in here. I’m almost inside the other room.”
They returned to their labors as Trey casually smoked a cigarette on a park bench across the street and glanced repeatedly at his watch. The frenzy across the campus showed no signs of dying down, but it wouldn’t last forever.
The second and third drawers in the first room revealed more rare books by authors unknown to the gang. When Denny finished cutting his way into the second room, he told Jerry and Mark to bring the drill. This room, too, had eight large drawers, seemingly identical to the first room. At 2:15, Trey checked in with a report that the campus was still in lockdown, but curious students were beginning to gather on the lawn in front of McCarren to watch the show. Police with bullhorns had ordered them back to their rooms, but there were too many to handle. At least two news helicopters were hovering and complicating things. He was watching CNN on his smart phone and the Princeton story was the story at the moment. A frantic reporter “on the scene” continually referred to “unconfirmed casualties,” and managed to convey the impression that numerous students had been shot “by at least one gunman.”
“At least one gunman?” Trey mumbled. Doesn’t every shooting require at least one gunman?
Denny, Mark, and Jerry discussed the idea of cutting into the drawers with the blowtorch, but decided against it, for the moment anyway. The risk of fire would be high, and what good would the manuscripts be if they were damaged. Instead, Denny pulled out a smaller one-quarter drive drill and began drilling. Mark and Jerry bored away with the larger one. The first drawer in the second room produced stacks of delicate papers handwritten by another long-forgotten poet, one they’d never heard of but hated nonetheless.
At 2:30, CNN confirmed that two students were dead and at least two more were injured. The word “carnage” was introduced.
5.
When the second floor of McCarren was secured, the police noticed the remnants of what appeared to be firecrackers. The empty smoke bomb canisters were found in the restroom and the shower. Trey’s abandoned backpack was opened by a demolition crew and the spent smoke bomb was removed. At 3:10, the commander first mentioned the word “prank,” but the adrenaline was still pumping so fast no one thought of the word “diversion.”
The rest of McCarren was quickly secured and all students were accounted for. The campus was still locked down and would remain so for hours as the nearby buildings were searched.
6.
At 3:30, Trey reported, “Things seem to be settling down out here. Three hours in, fellas, how’s the drilling?”
“Slow,” came the one-word response from Denny.
Inside the vault, the work was indeed slow, but determined. The first four opened drawers revealed more old manuscripts, some handwritten, some typed, all by important writers who didn’t matter at the moment. They finally struck gold in the fifth drawer when Denny removed an archival storage box identical to the others. He carefully opened it. A reference page inserted by the library read, “Original Handwritten Manuscript of The Beautiful and Damned—F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“Bingo,” Denny said calmly. He removed two identical boxes from the fifth drawer, delicately placed them on the narrow table, and opened them. Inside were original manuscripts of Tender Is the Night and The Last Tycoon.
Ahmed, still glued to his laptop and now drinking a highly caffeinated energy drink, heard the beautiful words: “Okay, boys, we have three out of five. Gatsby’s here somewhere, along with Paradise.”
Trey asked, “How much longer?”
“Twenty minutes,” Denny said. “Get the van.”
Trey casually strode across the campus, mixed in with a crowd of the curious, and watched for a moment as the small army of policemen milled about. They were no longer ducking, covering, running, and dashing behind cars with loaded weapons. The danger had clearly passed, though the area was still ablaze with flashing lights. Trey eased away, walked half a mile, left the campus, and stopped at John Street, where he got into a white cargo van with the words “Princeton University Printing” stenciled on both front doors. It was number 12, whatever that meant, and it was very similar to a van Trey had photographed a week earlier. He drove it back onto campus, avoided the commotion around McCarren, and parked it by a loading ramp at the rear of the library. “Van in place,” he reported.
“We’re just opening the sixth drawer,” Denny replied.
As Jerry and Mark flipped up their goggles and moved their lights closer to the table, Denny gently opened the archival storage box. Its reference sheet read, “Original Handwritten Manuscript of The Great Gatsby—F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“Bingo,” he said calmly. “We got Gatsby, that old son of a bitch.”
“Whoopee,” Mark said, though their excitement was thoroughly contained. Jerry lifted out the only other box in the drawer. It was the manuscript for This Side of Paradise, Fitzgerald’s first novel, published in 1920.
“We have all five,” Denny said calmly. “Let’s get outta here.”
Jerry repacked the drills, the cutting torch, the canisters of oxygen and acetylene, and the pry bars. As he bent to lift the duffel, a piece of the splintered wood from the third drawer nicked him above his left wrist. In the excitement, he barely noticed and just rubbed it for a split second as he removed his backpack. Denny and Mark carefully placed the five priceless manuscripts into their three student backpacks. The thieves hustled from the vault, laden with their loot and tools, and scampered up the stairs to the main floor. They left the library through a service entrance near a delivery ramp, one hidden from view by a thick, long hedge. They jumped through the rear doors of the van and Trey pulled away from the ramp. As he did so, he passed two campus security guards in a patrol car. He flicked a casual wave; they did not respond.
Trey noted the time: 3:42 a.m. He reported, “All clear, leaving the campus now with Mr. Gatsby and friends.” –This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
….
Note: Above are quotes and excerpts from the book “Camino Island by John Grisham”. If you find it interesting and useful, don’t forget to buy paper books to support the Author and Publisher!
| The above content has been collected from various sources on the internet. Click the Share button to recommend the book to your friends! |
BookQuote.Net Sincerely Introduced!
