The remainder of the novel actually is three connected stories. Ellen and Frank act out a serial killer suspense story, while Eric’s tale becomes a courtroom drama. Connecting these two stories are the efforts of Cheryl, Ellen's sister, Ralph Bartlett, a private investigator and David Dreizler, one of Eric's attorneys to track down Ellen's whereabouts. Ellen finds herself trapped in the wilderness with a man who is never more than seconds from fearsome violence. Eric, confronted with a hostile legal system finds he is standing trial for his life. Mallory has left only the scantiest of clues, and Ellen has little luck in her efforts to get help.

Despite the unusual plot, The Family Man left me somewhat unsatisfied. One of the reasons is an excessive number of context shifts. There are 88 chapters in a 341 page book, and many of these chapters switch from one narrative to another. I believe this is a narrative style that is intended to give the impression of a flurry of action, but I found it distracting. It took much longer than usual for me to get the plot straight in my mind and begin to be absorbed into the story. This style also leaves little time for the niceties of narrative description that help to make a book believable.

Characterization also suffers. I felt very little connection with either of the protagonists. Indeed, the most vivid characters are Cheryl and the sheriff of the Canadian town nearest to Mallory's cabin - Roger Peck. One could argue that the minor characters in the book received too much attention and the main characters too little. It is half way through the book before what lies behind Frank's fantasy of family life is revealed. Even knowing that, Frank is monochromatic and predictable, lacking the depth that could have made him a compelling character.

Eventually, the plot begins to gel and pique the reader's interest. The last half of the novel moves with some pace, and gradually picks up as the end approaches. So The Family Man is not a bad novel, just one that fails to meet its ambitions. It is almost as if an editor decided to cut what was once a 700 page novel down to just a minimalist plot. This would be a perfect book for readers who are often interrupted. For those who prefer long silences filled with imagination, Michael Patterson would need to add more flesh to its bare bones.

--Marc Ruby