American Spy, by Lauren Wilkinson

Along with My Sister, the Serial Killer, American Spy was the other book I brought with me to Texas thinking it could be a good break, if I wanted one, from The Copenhagen Trilogy. As it turned out, my breaks went the other way: I paused in reading American Spy to read the third book of The Copenhagen Trilogy, then I paused while reading it again to read Affections, and I even paused a third time and started another book that I've not yet finished. It's not that I didn't like American Spy, more that it was not what I was expecting it to be. I think I assumed it would be light reading; something I would pick up and not be able to put down. When I did sit down and read it, I would often read for long stretches, because it is absorbing, but it was darker and more serious than I expected it to be and so I often wasn't in the mood to read it. 

The other thing I struggled with while reading this was that the narrator and protagonist worked for the FBI. It's not just me who struggled with this; she struggles with it herself – trying to explain to the reader (her own young sons, in the frame of the book) why she joined the FBI. That aspect of her character never quite worked for me, on a couple levels. Firstly, because I never quite believed her motivations; and secondly – outside of the narrative itself – I don't really want to read books that are told from the point of view of law enforcement. (I suppose the whole titular American spy should maybe have given me pause to begin with. Why don't I feel this conflicted when reading John le Carré? Is it because they're English?)

Part of me feels that my assessment of this book is unfair. It was not what I expected, and had I read it with different expectations or even just at a different time, I may well have enjoyed it more.