
Why didn’t Frederick Forsyth become the biggest name in thriller writing?
This
short-story collection, published toward the end of a great run of commercial
and critical success, posits the idea that while forging an approach to his genre others like Ludlum and Clancy would pursue more diligently (if with
less talent) what Fred really wanted was to be O. Henry.
People who picked up No Comebacks in the spring of 1982 expecting ten quick doses of the sort of top-notch thriller writing Forsyth had been producing since 1971’s The Day Of The Jackal (which continued up through 1984’s The Fourth Protocol, his last great novel) were disappointed. I know I was. A few stories offer suspense of this kind, but the overall body count is low and tension is of a more everyday variety.
People who picked up No Comebacks in the spring of 1982 expecting ten quick doses of the sort of top-notch thriller writing Forsyth had been producing since 1971’s The Day Of The Jackal (which continued up through 1984’s The Fourth Protocol, his last great novel) were disappointed. I know I was. A few stories offer suspense of this kind, but the overall body count is low and tension is of a more everyday variety.