(Editor), Thomas G. Paterson:
Explaining the History of American Foreign Relations - Taschenbuch
2009, ISBN: 9780521407366
Gebundene Ausgabe
CENTURY. Very Good. 6.38 x 1.38 x 9.45 inches. Hardcover. 2009. 384 pages. <br>It's a deadly game of blackmail. And they're makin g him play. Kyle McAvoy is one of the outst… Mehr…
CENTURY. Very Good. 6.38 x 1.38 x 9.45 inches. Hardcover. 2009. 384 pages. <br>It's a deadly game of blackmail. And they're makin g him play. Kyle McAvoy is one of the outstanding legal students of his generation: he's good looking, has a brilliant mind and a glittering future ahead of him. But he has a secret from his past , a secret that threatens to destroy his entire life. One night t hat secret catches up with him in the form of a deeply compromisi ng video of the incident that haunts him. Kyle realises that he n o longer owns his own future - that he must do as his blackmailer s tell him, or the video will be made public, with all the unplea sant consequences. What price do they demand for Kyle's secret? I t is for Kyle to take a job in New York as an associate at the la rgest law firm in the world. Kyle won't be working for this compa ny, but against it - passing on the secrets of it's biggest trial to date, a dispute worth billions of dollars to the victor. Full of twists and turns and reminiscent of The Firm, The Associate i s vintage John Grisham. Editorial Reviews From Publishers Weekl y Bestseller Grisham's contemporary legal thriller offers an acti on-and-suspense plot reminiscent of that of his breakout book, 19 91's The Firm, in contrast to 2008's didactic The Appeal, which s erved as a platform for his concerns about the corrupting effects of judicial elections. Kyle McAvoy, a callow Yale Law School stu dent, dreams of a public service gig on graduation, until shadowy figures blackmail him with a videotape that could revive a five- year-old rape accusation. Instead of helping those in need, McAvo y accepts a position at a huge Wall Street firm, Scully & Pershin g, whose clients include a military contractor enmeshed in a $800 billion lawsuit concerning a newly-designed aircraft. McAvoy can avoid exposure of his past if he feeds his new masters inside in formation on the case. Readers should be prepared for some predic table twists, an ending with some unwarranted ambiguity and some unconvincing details (the idea that a secret file room in a high stakes litigation case would be closed from 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a. m. every night stretches credulity to the breaking point). Still, Grisham devotees should be satisfied, even if this is one of his lesser works. Copyright ® Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the paperback edition. Review It's a damned good read. This is Grisham returning to what he knows best. * Scotland on Sunday * G risham paints a fascinating picture. Vintage Grisham, with a real ly believable ending * The Guardian * Tense and exciting * Evenin g Standard * Easily his most recognisably 'back to form' novel si nce The Firm. Grisham has returned with a vengeance to his tradem ark territory: the grim world of corporate law and the sinister m achinations of the men on its fringes. * The Times * In typical G risham fashion it does hurtle along at a decent clip * London Lit e * --This text refers to the paperback edition. From Booklist E ditor of the Yale Law Journal, recipient of job offers from the b est Wall Street firms, a wonderful (but not too serious) girl by his side--Kyle McAvoy is ready to take on the world. Until, that is, Bennie Wright, an unsavory private investigator, walks into h is life and announces that Kyle will be doing Bennie's bidding fo r the foreseeable future. Why would Kyle put his fate into the ha nds of Bennie and his unsavory crew? Because they know a secret a bout Kyle--an incident involving a fraternity party gone bad--tha t Kyle thought was buried and forgotten. If the story gets out, K yle's career could be ruined, so he does as Bennie demands and ac cepts a position with one of Wall Street's two largest firms. Kyl e's assignment is to spy on his new employer on behalf of Bennie' s client, the other premier Wall Street firm, as the two legal gi ants face off in the largest case involving defense contracts in U.S. history. Kyle must play along if he wants to get out alive. Just like Mitch McDeere in Grisham's break-out novel, The Firm (1 991), Kyle is at once too naive and too cocky, daring to try to o utwit forces much more powerful than he. Grisham knows how to pro duce a page-turner, that's for sure, and while his plot this time stretches believability a bit, he'll hook readers with the David -against-Goliath angle. --This text refers to the paperback editi on. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. 1 The rules of the New Haven Youth League required that each kid pl ay at least ten minutes in each game. Exceptions were allowed for players who had upset their coaches by skipping practice or viol ating other rules. In such cases, a coach could file a report bef ore the game and inform the scorekeeper that so-and-so wouldn't p lay much, if at all, because of some infraction. This was frowned on by the league; it was, after all, much more recreational than competitive. With four minutes left in the game, Coach Kyle lo oked down the bench, nodded at a somber and pouting little boy na med Marquis, and said, Do you want to play? Without responding, M arquis walked to the scorers' table and waited for a whistle. His violations were numerous-skipping practice, skipping school, bad grades, losing his uniform, foul language. In fact, after ten we eks and fifteen games, Marquis had broken every one of the few ru les his coach tried to enforce. Coach Kyle had long since realize d that any new rule would be immediately violated by his star, an d for that reason he trimmed his list and fought the temptation t o add new regulations. It wasn't working. Trying to control ten i nner- city kids with a soft touch had put the Red Knights in last place in the 12 and Under division of the winter league. Marqu is was only eleven, but clearly the best player on the court. He preferred shooting and scoring over passing and defending, and wi thin two minutes he'd slashed through the lane, around and throug h and over much larger players, and scored six points. His averag e was fourteen, and if allowed to play more than half a game, he could probably score thirty. In his own young opinion, he really didn't need to practice. In spite of the one-man show, the game was out of reach. Kyle McAvoy sat quietly on the bench, watching the game and waiting for the clock to wind down. One game to go and the season would be over, his last as a basketball coach. In two years he'd won a dozen, lost two dozen, and asked himself how any person in his right mind would willingly coach at any level. He was doing it for the kids, he'd said to himself a thousand ti mes, kids with no fathers, kids from bad homes, kids in need of a positive male influence. And he still believed it, but after two years of babysitting, and arguing with parents when they bothere d to show up, and hassling with other coaches who were not above cheating, and trying to ignore teenage referees who didn't know a block from a charge, he was fed up. He'd done his community serv ice, in this town anyway. He watched the game and waited, yelli ng occasionally because that's what coaches are supposed to do. H e looked around the empty gym, an old brick building in downtown New Haven, home to the youth league for fifty years. A handful of parents were scattered through the bleachers, all waiting for th e final horn. Marquis scored again. No one applauded. The Red Kni ghts were down by twelve with two minutes to go. At the far end of the court, just under the ancient scoreboard, a man in a dark suit walked through the door and leaned against the retractable bleachers. He was noticeable because he was white. There were no white players on either team. He stood out because he wore a suit that was either black or navy, with a white shirt and a burgundy tie, all under a trench coat that announced the presence of an a gent or a cop of some variety. Coach Kyle happened to see the m an when he entered the gym, and he thought to himself that the gu y was out of place. Probably a detective of some sort, maybe a na rc looking for a dealer. It would not be the first arrest in or a round the gym. After the agent/cop leaned against the bleachers , he cast a long suspicious look at the Red Knights' bench, and h is eyes seemed to settle on Coach Kyle, who returned the stare fo r a second before it became uncomfortable. Marquis let one fly fr om near mid- court, air ball, and Coach Kyle jumped to his feet, spread his hands wide, shook his head as if to ask, Why? Marquis ignored him as he loafed back on defense. A dumb foul stopped the clock and prolonged the misery. While looking at the free-throw shooter, Kyle glanced beyond him, and in the background was the a gent/cop, still staring, not at the action but at the coach. Fo r a twenty-five-year-old law student with no criminal record and no illegal habits or proclivities, the presence and the attention of a man who gave all indications of being employed by some bran ch of law enforcement should have caused no concern whatsoever. B ut it never worked that way with Kyle McAvoy. Street cops and sta te troopers didn't particularly bother him. They were paid to sim ply react. But the guys in dark suits, the investigators and agen ts, the ones trained to dig deep and discover secrets-those types still unnerved him. Thirty seconds to go and Marquis was argui ng with a referee. He'd thrown an F-bomb at a ref two weeks earli er and was suspended for a game. Coach Kyle yelled at his star, w ho never listened. He quickly scanned the gym to see if agent/cop No. 1 was alone or was now accompanied by agent/cop No. 2. No, h e was not. Another dumb foul, and Kyle yelled at the referee to just let it slide. He sat down and ran his finger over the side of his neck, then flicked off the perspiration. It was early Febr uary, and the gym was, as always, quite chilly. Why was he swea ting? The agent/cop hadn't moved an inch; in fact he seemed to enjoy staring at Kyle. The decrepit old horn finally squawked. The game was mercifully over. One team cheered, and one team real ly didn't care. Both lined up for the obligatory high fives and G ood game, good game, as meaningless to twelve- year- olds as it i s to college players. As Kyle congratulated the opposing coach, h e glanced down the court. The white man was gone. What were the odds he was waiting outside? Of course it was paranoia, but para noia had settled into Kyle's life so long ago that he now simply acknowledged it, coped with it, and moved on. The Red Knights r egrouped in the visitors' locker room, a cramped little space und er the sagging and permanent stands on the home side. There Coach Kyle said all the right things-nice effort, good hustle, our gam e is improving in certain areas, let's finish on a high note this Saturday. The boys were changing clothes and hardly listening. T hey were tired of basketball because they were tired of losing, a nd of course all blame was heaped upon the coach. He was too youn g, too white, too much of an Ivy Leaguer. The few parents who w ere there waited outside the locker room, and it was those tense moments when the team came out that Kyle hated most about his com munity service. There would be the usual complaints about playing time. Marquis had an uncle, a twenty-two year-old former all-sta te player with a big mouth and a fondness for bitching about Coac h Kyle's unfair treatment of the best player in the league. Fro m the locker room, there was another door that led to a dark narr ow hallway that ran behind the home stands and finally gave way t o an outside door that opened into an alley. Kyle was not the fir st coach to discover this escape route, and on this night he want ed to avoid not only the families and their complaints but also t he agent/ cop. He said a quick goodbye to his boys, and as they f led the locker room, he made his escape. In a matter of seconds h e was outside, in the alley, then walking quickly along a frozen sidewalk. Heavy snow had been plowed, and the sidewalk was icy an d barely passable. The temperature was somewhere far below freezi ng. It was 8:30 on a Wednesday, and he was headed for the law jou rnal offices at the Yale Law School, where he would work until mi dnight at least. He didn't make it. The agent was leaning aga inst the fender of a red Jeep Cherokee that was parked parallel o n the street. The vehicle was titled to one John McAvoy of York, Pennsylvania, but for the past six years it had been the reliable companion of his son, Kyle, the true owner. Though his feet su ddenly felt like bricks and his knees were weak, Kyle managed to trudge on as if nothing were wrong. Not only did they find me, he said to himself as he tried to think clearly, but they've done t heir homework and found my Jeep. Not exactly high-level research. I have done nothing wrong, he said again and again. Tough game , Coach, the agent said when Kyle was ten feet away and slowing d own. Kyle stopped and took in the thick young man with red chee ks and red bangs who'd been watching him in the gym. Can I help y ou? he said, and immediately saw the shadow of No. 2 dart across the street. They always worked in pairs. No. 1 reached into a p ocket, and as he said That's exactly what you can do, he pulled o ut a leather wallet and flipped it open. Bob Plant, FBI. A real pleasure, Kyle said as all the blood left his brain and he could n't help but flinch. No. 2 wedged himself into the frame. He wa s much thinner and ten years older with gray around the temples. He, too, had a pocketful, and he performed the well- rehearsed ba dge presentation with ease. Nelson Ginyard, FBI, he said. Bob a nd Nelson. Both Irish. Both northeastern. Anybody else? Kyle as ked. No. Got a minute to talk? Not really. You might want t o, Ginyard said. It could be very productive. I doubt that. I f you leave, we'll just follow, Plant said as he stood from his s louch position and took a step closer. You don't want us on campu s, do you? Are you threatening me? Kyle asked. The sweat was ba ck, now in the pits of his arms, and despite the arctic air a bea d or two ran down his ribs. Not yet, Plant said with a smirk. Look, let's spend ten minutes together, over coffee, Ginyard was saying. There's a sandwich shop just around the corner. I'm sure it's warmer there. Do I need a lawyer? No. That's what you always say. My father is a lawyer and I grew up in his office. I know your tricks. No tricks, Kyle, I swear, Ginyard said, and he at least sounded genui, CENTURY, 2009, 3, US: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Paperback. Good. This collection of essays presents many of the newer, innovative, and stimu lating analytical approaches and methods used to study the history of Ameri can foreign relations. The essays highlight a variety of conceptual categor ies, including bureaucratic, dependency, and world-systems theories, corpor atist and national security models, culture, gender, and ideology. The book seeks to define the study of American relations, stimulate research in fre sh directions, and encourage cross-disciplinary thinking, especially betwee n historians and political scientists., Cambridge University Press, 1991, 2.5<
