This book caused me pain. Intense boredom, odd moments of indignation, and pain. It's poorly-paced. The prose is a clunky, redundant, pointlessly vague affront to all that is good in the English language. The dialogue is stilted and horrid. The characters are so robotic I begin to question whether Ludlum ever met a human being, and the "romance" is not only horribly oversold BUT PREDICATED ON BOURNE USING HIS LOVE INTEREST AS A HUMAN SHIELD. I don't care how many rapists a man rescues you from; if he introduces himself by slapping, shaking, and threatening to shoot you, HE IS NOT BOYFRIEND MATERIAL and that relationship SHOULD NOT BE SHOWN AS LOVING AND WONDERFUL.

And seriously, the prose is awful. Get Carlos! Trap Carlos! False! Cain is for Charlie and Delta is for Cain! Find a man! Some nonsense about traps! Maybe if I repeat the same meaningless statements over and over and italicize everything and sprinkle liberally with exclamation marks, people will - - people will what? I can't even begin to think of a rationale for that.

And I want my afternoon back.

A HEARTBREAK HIPSTER REVIEW

The Bourne Identity? More like the Bored Identity. Am I right?



Anybody?

Oh, well that’s just fine then. Don’t all fucking laugh at once. But I’ll stand my ground. This shit was unbelievably boring.
Let’s go back to 2002. The cool kids in school dressed like Simple Plan – long shorts and high, black socks; a perpetual look of middleclass melancholy haunting their feminine faces. Who the hell ever heard of Facebook? You wanna chat, damn it, you call me mate. The going trend was jeans that looked like you had tussled with a dog. Long sleeves under short sleeves. Burnt CD’s with the band’s name written in texter. Running with a discman in your pocket. Your deepest secret was that you had a crush on Hermione Granger. Flip-screen mobiles. Weekly television guides. Jacking off over Jessica Simpson. Playing Eminem in the family car, desperately convinced your mother would eventually get him because of those cringey songs about his daughter. That poor, poor child. Working school holidays was just a myth – a fucked up one. Instead of fantasising blowjobs, you went to Games Wizard and and fantasised playing PS2 games you would one day find for $3.00 in C.E.X.
Childhood did not evoke a sense of loss and yearning, but instead was present and beautiful.

Am I done reminiscing? Well, shit, I guess I have to be.

I just want to stress how great the early 2000’s were for me. I’m sure I view that period of my life with saturated nostalgia glasses though. There was also the fear and shock of High School. Old friends fade, new friends replace them ... but you’re never sure you’ll ever want to be much like them. Atheism is the new black. Teachers swear in class. Being polite and nice to people warrants suspicion you’re a “fag”.

But to get to the point already.

I remember seeing The Bourne Identity the first time. My dad showed me the trailer – “oh look, it Ryan from Saving Private Ryan".
Damn, it blew me away. Especially after Die Another Day - the absolute worst of the James Bond films - The Bourne Identity, with its realistic action, vulnerable though efficient hero and intriguingly believable villains was ground-breakingly refreshing. And, despite many saying Paul Greengrass carried the trilogy to its critical peak, I disagree and say the first one remains the best. It just gets everything right. And among other things it was one of the earlier inspirations I had for going to Europe. I loved the film right from the start. And though I read nothing other than Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket back then …



Well, umm … those and Ron/Hermione fan-fiction …

I was well aware there existed a novel. My younger brother tried to read it after the film came out. He was like ten. I think he made it to about the fourth page before giving up. So, yeah, since I actually got into reading I always thought I would try this book eventually.

But what a total disappointment it is.



You see, I just couldn’t help but find this so incredibly boring. Nothing close to what I expected. Firstly, the film is nearly completely different. A moot statement by necessity, I hasten to add. The film not being a perfect adaptation of the novel isn’t the novel’s fault. Judging from a good many reviewers here on Shitreads, I take it the novel is appreciated. But man, I would say without hesitation I preferred the film. Matt Damon brought charisma to Jason Bourne. He and the actress who played Marie had such good chemistry. Every action sequence mounted the tension flawlessly.
I will not say I hated this book because it wasn’t the film. But I will point out .... if I can lift my brain above the choking cloud of Kiwi polish fumes ... how I was led to expect more having seen the film.

The film has Jason climbing from the top window of an embassy, guards hot on his tail. Jason leading the cops on a high-speed chase through gridlocked Paris. Evading a deadly assassin outside a farmhouse. Riding a dead body down a stairwell, shooting his attackers at he falls towards the ground. Meanwhile, the book mostly revolves around this highly trained assassin making withdrawals at the bank, phoning people, catching taxis, sitting in restaurants and talking, shopping for clothes and shit. Damned thing should have been called The Bourne Transaction. I won’t lie: I was on the edge of my seat when Jason forgot the pin-number for his MasterCard and he was already holding up the line at the Aldi checkout.

I have included an excerpt from another spellbinding moment ...

"Jason enters a high-end clothes store. He picks his clothes discreetly; a trained consumer, cold and ruthless. Heading to the counter he smiles at the cashier. An attractive girl, name badge: Cynthia.
“Guten morgen, I would like to purchase this criminally overpriced shirt, if you please”.

“Certainly,” says Cynthia. “Do you have a membership card, Mr? –

“The name doesn’t matter,” says Jason, waiting patiently. And it doesn’t. Not at all. However -

“I’m sorry,” the girl apologises. “But the system seems to be rejecting your card. It says you don’t have a cheque account. Maybe you would like to use pay-pass instead?”

“Is there a surcharge with that?” Jason asks, habitually tapping his card.

The girl’s face drops. She dreads to give the answer.

“Um. Yes, sir. The surcharge is ten percent of the total transaction”.

On the window to Jason’s heart there now hangs a sign: "Gone to the stomach. Be back in ten”.

His skin breaks out in goosebumps. His lips tremble.

“But I tapped my card as you were telling me. By God," he groaned, "it’s already going through. Whatever, oh whatever - Oh, sweet Jesus!!! - shall I do?”



No wonder Goodreads idiots gobbled this shit up.

Cain is for Charlie and Delta is for Cain. Find Carloss - trap Carloss. Kill Carloss. Bastard. Get used to me saying things like that for no damned reason. Get used to it so it won’t be so irritating when you finally read this novel. Don’t nobody take my word that it’s shit.

So the book actually starts off good. Two thumbs up and all that. I was surprised when I learned it was written in 1980. I had just assumed it came out nearer the film. I also didn’t know my foreskin could be pulled back until I lost my virginity. Cain is for Charlie and Delta is for Cain. Stop it. ANIMAL!!! Find Carloss. I don’t know … there was just something I enjoyed about the start. It had a … classic kind of feel to it. I’m not sure what I mean by that. It just did. Like how Harry’s name appeared in the Goblet of Fire. "It just did, Ron. Stop being such a moping git".

So this stranger wakes up on a small coastal town on the Mediterranean. For months he works at rebuilding himself with the help of a curious alcoholic doctor. Dr Washburn sends this unnamed man on a fishing trip for a jolly good time. Turns out somewhat differently. And what a name for a doctor, by the way. I was waiting for him to say to Jason: “Your symptoms are most confounding to me. I will refer you to an old colleague of mine - Dr Healcut. We go back a long way. He’s an old friend. And if Dr Healcut isn’t taking calls, then perhaps Dr Bonemend".

Everything that happens in the first fifty pages could well have taken place between the scenes in the movie. It was good. But then Jason goes to Zurich, and EVERYTHING falls apart ... kind of like my life did after I graduated high school and had to actually do something with my life. I liked how Jason sent the doctor a million bucks in gratitude for his help. But as soon as Jason Caine is for Charlie and Delta is for Cain goes into the bank, gets held up in the lift, then starts a shootout in the lobby, the writing gets way too messy and ugly to read.

Generally I’m not into action novels for this very reason. I find it boring, wading through detailed descriptions of physical combat. That shit pulls me out of the story. When something that lasts five seconds on film takes up an entire paragraph on paper, I can’t help getting bored. In this kind of book there's a ton of that stuff. And yet there are similar writers to Ludlum, guys Lee Child and Dan Brown, that manage to be entertaining with their action, simply because they exercise a certain, umm …
Fuck it: they exercise a certain exercise in simplicity. Whereas Brown and Child write swift, choppy action, Ludlum has a tendency to become garrulous, and since my brain-cells were destroyed by an excess inhalation of chemical substances …



… fucking I struggle to visualise anything more vividly coherent than two guys tussling; grunts and punching sound-effects layered over the top. Please save me from myself. Please, if anyone reads this. So yeah, I guess that gets the writing out of the way. That was not the worst thing about the book, but it certainly didn’t help much either.

Ludlum’s craft is by no means awful. It’s just rarely noticeable. The only time I re-read sentences was to make better goddamned sense of them. But enough on the writing. It was the story and the characters that really ruined things for me.

At first, when Jason took Marie hostage, I genuinely felt sorry for her. I mean, Jesus, our supposed hero is a real asshole to her. Pressing his pistol to her face and even punching her, for God’s sake. The protagonist suddenly turns into a fucking monster. Ludlum wanted to evoke anger and suspense when Marie gets away and leads the police to Jason. But screw that. I remember actually thinking to myself: “Good!! I hope they shoot the prick”.

But then shit gets even worse. Marie ends up in the hands of gangsters - or assassins, I don’t know - and they take her away, likely to kill her. Jason fucking Bonehead decides then to act the hero, so away he goes to save this woman he hadn’t given a shit about before. He saves her from being raped.

And guess who falls in love?



Maybe I’m just a miserable asshole cause I ain’t never had a girlfriend. But my teeth were clenched as I forced myself through their grating conversations. In between every supposedly exciting scene, there’s the respite of Jason and Marie talking like 1950s newlyweds on their honeymoon. Shit that makes your toes curl. The sweet-talk … my God. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the word “darling” so overused, nor so out of place. Fucking, jeez, call each other babe or something once in a while at least. And I’m not nit-picking here. I’m not saying I just didn’t like the way he wrote his dialogue cause it didn’t suit me. You try reading this shit in a hard-nosed thriller fifty fucking times and tell me it isn’t insufferable. Oh my darling, oh sweetness, oh the key to mine heart, could you close the toilet lid when you're done? What the hell did you eat last night, anyway?

And I’m sorry, but I just thought the entire situation leading to their romance was ridiculous.

So he saves her from being raped by that “Animal … that monstrous brute man!! Oh, my darling, I have never been so frightened. Oh, I feel so violated, my beautiful darling. Kiss me, darling. Make the shame go away, my darling. Oh, my lover, my darling, my truest and most kindred spirit!!" ...

I shit you not, their romantic dialogues are that cringey.



And in case you didn’t gather from my picture and my name, I am not female. I'm not even that new twenty-first century in-between phenomenon the mainstream media thinks J.K. Rowling wants to round up and put into death camps.
Despite my endless charms and prepossessing countenance, I have not a good track record with the opposite sex. Doctor, I haven’t been close with any girl since my ex-girlfriend tore my heart out, microwaved it, mashed it up, forced me eat it, throw it up then eat it all over again. But I’m pretty sure there is something sexist in the fact that Jason forces this woman into her terrifying situation and then has to come back rescue her because she's so useless. I mean, talk about a damsel in distress.

And she was having a good day until Jason came along. But now, just because Mr Troubled Conscience plays the saviour, sweeping the girl away from those big scary men, she acts like she owes her life to him.

Delta is for Cain and Cain is for fuck you. So that's pretty much this book. Jason goes around making phone calls and using variations of “my darling” to his girlfriend. Asshole might as well come dancing through the door with a bouquet of flowers singing: “Honey, I’m home!!”

Of course I am exaggerating a little. There is some action as well ... occasionally. But, like I said, these irregular instances are clunky and awkward. Ultimately unsatisfying. While the film is full of awesome suspense moments, the third act of this book literally has Jason walking around Paris, following the employees from a clothing store - telling them to spread rumours, pretending to be an informant from a rival company. Just being a petty shit-stirrer. I cannot stress what a comedown this is for anyone who first saw the film.

How would you feel if, in the next Bond film, James finally deals with his arch-nemesis ... not by infiltrating his top-secret lair and overthrowing his plans of world domination, but instead waiting until he gets a parking fine on his car, then snatching it so he cops a heftier one for not paying the first? You'd be like, "James Bond used to shoot people and sleep with hot women. Now he's just a meddlesome little prick who does things like take the bad guy's coffee when the Starbucks girl calls their name out".

In a nutshell then, The Bourne Identity, while likely to entertain those who enjoy slower-paced thrillers or watching documentaries on corporate fiscal policy, is weighed down by unsympathetic characters, an uneven plot and a lack of authorial flair. Regrettably, it all culminates into one ponderous, confusing, mostly mediocre trudge that overstays its welcome.

هفت از ده
تریلر نویس‌ها هم مثل تمام صاحبان فنون دیگر خوب و بد دارند. بد مثل بالداچی و خوب مثل رابرت گودارد و یا رابرت لادلوم.
رابرت لادلوم در هویت بورن به مخاطبش احترام می گذارد و فکر نمی‌کند که آنها یک سری خواننده کند‌ذهن هستند که هر چه انفجار و اکشن و کارها و افکار احمقانه را در داستان پُر کنند، آنها خوششان خواهد آمد و کتابش را بابت آن می خرند. او برای داستانش پیرنگ دقیقی می‌ریزد و آرام آرام شخصیت‌هایش را پرورش می‌دهد.
باید توجه کرد که هویت بورنِ کتاب با هویت بورنِ فیلم فرق می‌کند و این فرق به نظرم قابل توجه است. هر چند من اول فیلم را دیدم و البته که فیلم خیلی خوبی هم بود، اما داستان کتاب بسیار درونی‌تر و با ارزش‌تر  است و حتی برای نسل عجین شده در نِت ما هم می‌تواند مزه خاصی داشته باشد، مزه دنیای قبل از  دیجیتالی شدن؛ و این مسئله مخصوصا در قسمت کش و قوس‌های بانکیِ روند داستان  بیشتر خودش را نشان می‌دهد.
البته داستان از ضعف‌های زیادی رنج می‌برد مثل شخصیت‌پردازی ضعیف زن نقش اول با آنکه معلوم است برای این شخصیت برای نویسنده اهمیت داشته است. اما با وجود این، شخصیت زنِ بدون عمق و تک بعدی ای از کار در آمده و تغییر و ��حولش اصلا قابل باور نیست. قسمت رمانتیک ماجرا هم احمقانه است و هیچ منطقی ندارد. کنش‌های این‌چنین آدم‌هایی در این موقعیت خاص و در طول زمان محدودی که داستان در آن اتفاق می‌افتد، به هیچ عنوان منطقی نیستند.
اشکال بزرگ دیگر شخصیت آنتاگونیست یا ضد قهرمان است که تا وقتی مخفی و پشت پرده است قابل قبول است اما وقتی به صحنه می‌آید با یک نادان خاصی مواجه می‌شویم که احمقانه‌ترین پایان‌ها را برای خودش رقم می‌زند که اصلا قابل قبول نیست.
اما این کتاب داستان شخصیت‌های فرعی و ضد قهرمان نیست بلکه داستانِ فقط یک شخصیت است و تمام داستان، اوست. همه چیز برای بورن چیده ش��ه است؛ از شخصیت‌پردازی، از زاویه دید دانای کل، از گذشته نگاری‌ای که ذره ذره ساخته می‌شود تا عنوان کتاب و عناوین تمام سری که بر اساس نام او نوشته شده‌اند.
"همه چیز در مورد بورن است" و به نظرم لادلوم، حداقل در سه گانه، با همین گزاره خود را از تمام انتقادات خلاص می‌کند.
پ.ن: این کتاب از نظر من هفت ستاره از ده ستاره می‌گیرد.

I FINALLY finished this! I just don't have time to read long books in print any more, but I've wanted to read this for a while & found it worthwhile. It's certainly not a perfect book. There's a lot of convenience, especially Marie's love & expertise. Several times there were silenced revolvers, too. I hate them, but the plot was twisty & the psychology was good - better done than the way amnesia & all is typically done. Well, for me, anyway. My knowledge of psychology & amnesia are practically nonexistent, at best. Still, it worked well in the story & retained its logic.

It was nice to finally see what the movie was based on. As usual, there isn't much in common beyond the names of the characters & the non-stop action. It read pretty well & was a nice change in pace from my normal reading. I don't think I'll run out & read another of Ludlum's novels any time soon, if ever. I certainly won't read further in the series since Eric Van Lustbader took them over. I liked The Sunset Warrior trilogy many years ago, but he's into writing bricks now. I read one of his ninja books a couple of decades ago & I'm not into bricks of that sort.

I loved the movie and heard that I the book was comparatively awesome. And it was.

The thing is: I haven't the faintest idea how the movie came out of the book. Beyond the premise of a man fished from the sea with no memory but incredible ingrained abilities and talents that make it look like he's really probably and assassin with no amnesia, and the fact that the first act after the prologue occurs in Zürich and deals with a Swiss bank, nothing is the same.

Sure, there's a girl named Marie, but she's an entirely different character. Sure, there are people trying to kill the man named Jason Bourne, but they're entirely different men. Sure, there's an American government-run company called Treadstone Seventy-One that is looking for Bourne, but for entirely different reasons. But are all these differences a bad thing?

No. They are not.

I really think the first Bourne movie is among the best action films ever created. That said, for most of its running time, Ludlum's 1980 novel is better than the movie. The premise is so much more intriguing and Bourne's turmoil better perceived. Instead of an enemy as doughy and effeminate as cloak and dagger U.S. senators and secret servicemen, the novel pits Bourne against the unbeatable assassin, Carlos the Jackal (though Ludlum refrains from the colourful animamorphism), and his vast array of human resources. The book is action-packed, one of those thrillaminnut rides that refuses, for the most part, to let up. I don't read cheap thrillers often, but The Bourne Identity was worth my time.

And I like to think that my time is valuable.

This is not to say that Ludlum's thriller is not without fault. The book's requisite romance is rushed and artificial. We know that Bourne and his interest are in love solely because Ludlum tells us that this is the case, not because we see any evidence that this should be the case. And, actually, there is a far greater problem. The climax is poorly wrought and much more difficult to follow than anything previous encountered in the book. The ending is not satisfying in that by the time it comes, emotional resonance has long-since evaporated.

But still. I was in love with the book until the last forty pages or so.