Jaws is a novel with minimal shark action that is populated with entirely hateable characters, a sentiment shared by the man that would later direct the film adaptation. Said adaptation jettisons much of the cumbersome back story (Hooper's affair with Brody's wife, Mayor Vaughn's ties to organised crime) and drastically changes the dynamics of the main players: In the film Brody and Hooper are pals, here they hate each other. The problem is that the populous of Amity are deeply unlikable. Brody comes across as confrontational then immediately defensive, Ellen (his wife) isn't thankful for anything she has and Hooper is a young spoiled rich cunt that spends most of the time either bounding with naïve abandon or sulking whenever he gets bitch slapped. Quint is the only constant and every bit as intriguing as his portrayal on screen.
It does, however, pick up toward the last third. Despite a discernable lack of flow at the start (seriously, for a book about a killer shark, all of about fifteen pages is dedicated it), once the hunt for the epominous beastie starts it somewhat earns it's thriller moniker. Much like the film, the tension is palpable, if a bit brief in literature form. It's just a shame that so much time is wasted getting there.
It's ok. There are those I know that loved it and whilst the prose is perfectly fine (Benchley actually has a dab hand at this whole writing thing), it wears it's flaws on its sleeve in bright fluorescent colours.
3/5
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