CALL ME HUNTER

A mysterious manuscript sends a young journalist on a collision course with an ancient and deadly secret society.

Buried in Shockey’s thriller is a potentially interesting story about a preternaturally gifted child, a murderous secret society, a race for priceless art, and a young journalist on the verge of bringing a 250-year mystery to light. But getting past the roadblocks Shockey erects in order to find the good stuff is harder than it should be. The story begins when journalist Nyala finds a manuscript left at her door, written by a mysterious author who calls himself Tsau-z. He writes of a boy named Hunter who possesses a unique supernatural talent: He can immediately tell the value of antique objects. Animals defer to him: Dogs “seemed to nod” at him and “birds never flew away” from him. Nyala shares that gift: “Deer didn’t run from her. Neither did rabbits hop away as she walked by.” She’s fascinated and sets out to verify the story. But Shockey seems to have a muddled understanding of how journalism works, and Nyala herself smacks of wishful thinking, the result of the cultural and political agenda of the author rather than an actual person. She’s a beautiful but virginal 20-something with “exotic” looks and “coppery skin.” She disdains other journalists as fake news and thinks guys with man buns are “gender-confused.” She admires Hemingway, John Wayne, and the Guess Who, and loves to watch the hunting channel. This is convenient: The villain using Hunter for nefarious purposes is an animal rights activist who dreams of banning hunting altogether. The plot grows increasingly convoluted, making it frustrating to follow, and Shockey’s inability to flesh out characters in any meaningful way robs the narrative of urgency. Add long search descriptions from Wikipedia and Google, and your interest in Tsau-z’s tale wanes long before his secrets are revealed.

Poor character development and a convoluted plot hurt what might have been an interesting story.