Here’s something we can all agree on: Jack Reacher kicks ass. Kicks it with relish. Kicks it with—not abandon, he’s too in control for that—but with a sense of near-blissful release. Kicks it, most importantly, in the name of justice, in the name of everybody getting what they deserve. America loved Jack Reacher from the moment it met him. Lee Child, his creator, has written 28 Reacher novels, all of them best sellers. But there’s a special spice, a special piquancy, to our Reacherism right now. Amazon’s Reacher, the second season of which wraps up this week, is among the most-watched shows in the country. It’s as if our collective imaginative power source, its fuses blown, has switched over to some kind of small, noisy backup generator. Enough with nuance, enough with finesse. Give us a violent simplicity. Give us an elemental morality. Give us Jack Reacher kicking ass, over and over again. Reacher, on the page, is a strange and special and severely limited character: That’s the whole point of him. His mind is …