Summary
Forged of the exquisite gem, the Amber Room is one of the greatest treasures ever made by man--and the subject of one of history's most intriguing mysteries. Seized by the Nazis from Russia in 1941, the Room was hidden and has not been seen since. But now the hunt begins once more.
Author Notes
Steve Berry was born in 1955. He is a graduate of Mercer University's Walter F. George School of Law. He was a practicing attorney when he started writing in 1990. His first book, The Amber Room, was published in 2003. His other works include The Romanov Prophecy, The Third Secret, The Columbus Affair, The Patriot Threat and the Cotton Malone series. He also writes e-book original short stories including The Balkan Escape, The Devil's Gold, and The Admiral's Mark. He and his wife founded History Matters, a nonprofit organization dedicated to aiding the preservation of our heritage. In 2015, The Patriot Threat made The New York Times Best Seller List.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Publisher's Weekly Review
First-time novelist Berry weighs in with a hefty thriller that's long on interesting research but short on thrills. Atlanta judge Rachel Cutler and ex-husband Paul are divorced but still care for each other. Rachel's father, Karol Borya, knows secrets about the famed Amber Room, a massive set of intricately carved panels crafted from the precious substance and looted by Nazis during WWII from Russia's Catherine Palace. The disappearance of the panels, which together formed a room, remains one of the world's greatest unsolved art mysteries. Borya's secret gets him killed as two European industrialists/art collectors go head to head in a deadly race to find the fabled room. Searching for Borya's killer, Rachel and Paul bumble their way to Europe, where their naivet? triggers more deaths. Berry has obviously done his homework, and he seems determined to find a place for every fact he's unearthed. The plot slows for descriptions of various art pieces, lectures and long internal monologues in which characters examine their innermost feelings and motives in minute detail, while also packing in plenty of sex and an abundance of brutal killings. A final confrontation between all the principals ends in a looming Bavarian castle where Rachel is raped. All the right elements are in place, but the book is far too long and not as exciting as the ingredients suggest. Readers may end up wishing Berry had written a nonfiction account of the fascinating story of the Amber Room and skipped the fictional mayhem. Agent, Pam Ahearn. (Sept.) Forecast: The Amber Room has been in the news again lately (a long New Yorker piece on its history ran earlier this year), because the panels are presently being re-created for the 300th anniversary of St. Petersburg this year. The attention may spark interest in Berry's debut, but less-than-stellar word of mouth may cause sales to peak early. (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Booklist Review
Give this man credit: whereas most lawyers who decide to write a novel stay fairly close to home, Berry, a Georgia trial attorney, wanders far off the beaten path. Although his debut novel features a trial judge as its central character and opens with a pretty typical courtroom scene, it soon steps outside the courtroom--way outside. When Judge Rachel Cutler's father dies under suspicious circumstances, he leaves his daughter tantalizing clues to a decades-old secret: the Amber Room, an exquisite treasure that, so the legend goes, was appropriated by the Nazis when they invaded the Soviet Union. Now, to find out why her father died, and who's responsible, Rachel (with her ex-husband, Paul) heads off to Germany, where she hopes to find the truth about the Amber Room. Based loosely, very loosely, on certain historical events, the novel is plotted cleverly and written with style and substance. A welcome change from the usual legal-thriller fare from wanna-be Turows. --David Pitt Copyright 2003 Booklist
Library Journal Review
After an American contractor announces his intention to recover priceless panels that the Nazis stole decades ago from the Amber Room of Russia's Summer Palace, an old man fascinated with the story is brutally murdered. His daughter heads to Europe to ferret out the connection. A splashy debut. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
ONE Atlanta, Georgia Tuesday, May 6, the present, 10:35 a.m. Judge Rachel Cutler glanced over the top of her tortoiseshell glasses. The lawyer had said it again, and this time she wasn't going to let the comment drop. "Excuse me, counselor." "I said the defendant moves for a mistrial." "No. Before that. What did you say?" "I said, 'Yes, sir.' " "If you haven't noticed, I'm not a sir." "Quite correct, Your Honor. I apologize." "You've done that four times this morning. I made a note each time." The lawyer shrugged. "It seems such a trivial matter. Why would Your Honor take the time to note my simple slip of the tongue?" The impertinent bastard even smiled. She sat erect in her chair and glared down at him. But she immediately realized what T. Marcus Nettles was doing. So she said nothing. "My client is on trial for aggravated assault, Judge. Yet the court seems more concerned with how I address you than with the issue of police misconduct." She glanced over at the jury, then at the other counsel table. The Fulton County assistant district attorney sat impassive, apparently pleased that her opponent was digging his own grave. Obviously, the young lawyer didn't grasp what Nettles was attempting. But she did. "You're absolutely right, counselor. It is a trivial matter. Proceed." She sat back in her chair and noticed the momentary look of annoyance on Nettles's face. An expression that a hunter might give when his shot missed the mark. "What of my motion for mistrial?" Nettles asked. "Denied. Move on. Continue with your summation." Rachel watched the jury foreman as he stood and pronounced a guilty verdict. Deliberations had taken only twenty minutes. "Your Honor," Nettles said, coming to his feet. "I move for a presentence investigation prior to sentencing." "Denied." "I move that sentencing be delayed." "Denied." Nettles seemed to sense the mistake he'd made earlier. "I move for the court to recuse itself." "On what grounds?" "Bias." "To whom or what?" "To myself and my client." "Explain." "The court has shown prejudice." "How?" "With that display this morning about my inadvertent use of sir." "As I recall, counselor, I admitted it was a trivial matter." "Yes, you did. But our conversation occurred with the jury present, and the damage was done." "I don't recall an objection or a motion for mistrial concerning the conversation." Nettles said nothing. She looked over at the assistant DA. "What's the State's position?" "The State opposes the motion. The court has been fair." She almost smiled. At least the young lawyer knew the right answer. "Motion to recuse denied." She stared at the defendant, a young white male with scraggly hair and a pockmarked face. "The defendant shall rise." He did. "Barry King, you've been found guilty of the crime of aggravated assault. This court hereby remands you to the Department of Corrections for a period of twenty years. The bailiff will take the defendant into custody." She rose and stepped toward an oak-paneled door that led to her chambers. "Mr. Nettles, could I see you a moment?" The assistant DA headed toward her, too. "Alone." Nettles left his client, who was being cuffed, and followed her into the office. "Close the door, please." She unzipped her robe but did not remove it. She stepped behind her desk. "Nice try, counselor." "Which one?" "Earlier, when you thought that jab about sir and ma'am would set me off. You were getting your butt chapped with that half-cocked defense, so you thought me losing my temper would get you a mistrial." He shrugged. "You gotta do what you gotta do." "What you have to do is show respect for the court and not call a female judge sir. Yet you kept on. Deliberately." "You just sentenced my guy to twenty years without the benefit of a presentence hearing. If that isn't prejudice, what is?" She sat down and did not offer the lawyer a seat. "I didn't need a hearing. I sentenced King to aggravated battery two years ago. Six months in, six months' probation. I remember. This time he took a baseball bat and fractured a man's skull. He's used up what little patience I have." "You should have recused yourself. All that information clouded your judgment." "Really? That presentence investigation you're screaming for would have revealed all that, anyway. I simply saved you the trouble of waiting for the inevitable." "You're a fucking bitch." "That's going to cost you a hundred dollars. Payable now. Along with another hundred for the stunt in the courtroom." "I'm entitled to a hearing before you find me in contempt." "True. But you don't want that. It'll do nothing for that chauvinistic image you go out of your way to portray." He said nothing, and she could feel the fire building. Nettles was a heavyset, jowled man with a reputation for tenacity, surely unaccustomed to taking orders from a woman. "And every time you show off that big ass of yours in my court, it's going to cost you a hundred dollars." He stepped toward the desk and withdrew a wad of money, peeling off two one-hundred-dollar bills, crisp new ones with the swollen Ben Franklin. He slapped both on the desk, then unfolded three more. "Fuck you." One bill dropped. "Fuck you." The second bill fell. "Fuck you." The third Ben Franklin fluttered down. From the Hardcover edition. Excerpted from The Amber Room by Steve Berry All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
