I got increasingly irritated while reading this book and almost didn't finish it, but pursued it in order to find out exactly how the author was going to wrap up the story he had started. Not sure why I bothered. Too clever for its own good it culminates in an orgiastic apocalypse and redemption finale that left me feeling cheated. I'd lingered with these stuffy, privileged unsympathetic characters for what? Loaded with obvious Peter Pan references in both characters and locations, it is an attempt to bring Barrie's ideas into a modern setting but does so with such a knowing air that it upsets the pace of the book - the reader is forced to slow with the glacial progress of the characters' thinking whilst the obvious signposts indicate the way things are heading. As the central characters muse on the events portrayed they seem to wilfully ignore the evidence that is in front of them. For example, we are expected to believe that none of them has read Peter Pan, for why else would his name never be mentioned? A child such as Timothy would surely explore the connection when confronted by a boy in green sitting in a tree outside his window (doh! who could that be?).
Topical? - well, throw disaffected youth, computer gaming, fundamentalism, oil, and a Middle Eastern back story into the pot, finishing with a fist full of sex and violence and yes there is a topicality there but again it seems very arch and knowing. Not rocket science to find interest in those areas but in the end to me it smacked of sensationalism and a way to add colour to aid the colourless characters. There is something very male-centric about this book too, despite the mother/carer/lover roles played by the females. Maybe that is to be expected in a book called Lost Boys but there is something fetishistic about the detailing of weapons or vehicles which smacks of badge-collecting and male obsessiveness. If that is the point then for me it often becomes tedious and gratuitous.
Some good writing is not enough compensation for the weariness I felt when putting this book down, an enervated feeling of having ridden on a disappointing fairground ride and thinking, is that it?