If you come to Cast Iron without having read the previous five novels with Enzo Macleod as protagonist, you may feel a little confounded, like I did. How and why does a man in his mid fifties, with a ponytail, appeal to so many women, some of them much younger than he is? He has one, possibly two, possibly three biological kids with different women. His youngest is about the same age as his daughter’s child, while his present love is about the same age as his daughter. It’s all very French. And also set in France, although Macleod is half Italian, half Scottish. Enzo seems to spend a lot of time running around from place to place, doing stupid things like entering a deserted castle (“he found himself unaccountably drawn towards it”) where an anonymous person has suggested a meeting, and guess what guess what- he nearly gets murdered! Merde!
Having said that, May writes very well and the book is occasionally thrilling, especially in connection to the abduction of two characters and their seperate escapes. And you’ll never guess who the culprit is. Mon Dieu! Ok – enough with the French. It’s a pretty good read but not excellent.
