This is a book review of a book that’s actually worth buying — barely. The novel has its flaws, which I’ll get to in a moment, and its style of writing may be offputting to some, but in general it’s a better-than-average book that satisfies on a deeper level. Let’s begin.

American Blood was, amazingly, written by a New Zealander. I only caught one Britishism in his writing, where he writes amongst instead of among. Almost as amazingly, it was written by a guy in his twenties who looks like a teenager in his jacket photo.

The style of writing which may be offputting to some is this:

The dildo was on her table, red light pouring in through the window, a moment of peace. The dildo vibrating ever-so-slightly. Her hand on the armrest of the chair, watching it all.

Like that. Sentence fragments, designed to fulfill a film noir vibe. For, make no mistake, American Blood is a crime thriller in the classic bent. A lone man on the go against the forces of evil who are holding the fair maiden. Nothing unique about that.

What is unique is the lone man character, whose name is Marshall.

Marshall is in the WITSEC or witness protection program. He was a former cop who betrayed a mob kingpin to help bring him down.

Marshall is a stoic, interesting character. His dialogue paints him as a semi-autistic man who calls his uncle’s death “a by-product” of a life lived dangerously, an almost normal thing. The FBI agent who hears this is surprised by the way Marshall puts it. He thinks it is basically abnormal — and it is. But Marshall isn’t a deviant. He’s just a man very closed in on himself.

One of the novel’s weaker points is its dialogue. Sentence fragments work fine in the narrative flow, painting descriptions, but they don’t do so well within the confines of “” question marks.

You get the impression that Sanders, the author, is trying unsuccessfully to mimic Elmore Leonard, who did this sort of thing much better.

I think Sanders’ relative youth also works against him when riffing on the motivations of older characters. An older man can write younger, without too much difficulty, but it is almost impossible for a kid to fathom what 40 or 50 means. Things like family, mid-life crises, soul-searching episodes elude you when you’ve got energy and life is good.

The end of the novel is an exciting conclusion, well worth the price of admission. (Although I got my copy of Blood at the Central library downtown.) It also has a surprising twist in who the crime boss really is. There is an irony in the reason Marshall helps the missing girl, Alyce Ray, whom he sees on TV and vows to help because she reminds him of a girl he “mistreated.” You’ll see what I mean if you read American Blood.

If I had to give the novel a rating, I would give it 7.5 stars out of 10. It is memorable enough to linger a while in the memory, while not being too gross-out to jar one’s mood.

A fine performance by a rising star.