“Art stands on the shoulders of craft…”

This is the Story of a Happy Marriage
by Ann Patchett

Ann Patchett is a writer I’ve come late to. Everyone raved about Bel Canto, but opera-lover that I am, have I read it yet? Nope. Still, her most recent novel, State of Wonder, made my annual top 10 list, and seeing her speak inspired a blog post entitled, “No one ever told me Ann Patchett was so charismatic.” So, even though I read relatively little non-fiction, I was well-primed for this collection of essays, penned over the course of many years. Allow me to cut to the chase and tell you that I loved this book from start to finish.

After a brief introduction meditating on the differences in writing fiction and non-fiction, Patchett launches into writings on craft. And I thought to myself, I could read her thoughts on this subject all day! At one point, she writes, “If you’ve read this far, you must be pretty interested in writing yourself.” On the contrary, I’m the furthest thing from a writer and I was utterly captivated. And while I don’t write, there were plenty of underlined quotes to share with writing friends.

Ms. Patchett truly charmed me in these pages. I found her reflections on her most influential teachers

both generous and winning. Likewise, I was utterly enchanted by her essay on attending the Met’s simulcast at the local multiplex. Ms. Patchett writes on subjects that resonate with me—her love of her dog; ups and downs with her husband; on becoming an independent bookseller, and the importance of bookstores in our communities; on her relationship with her elderly grandmother. An unexpected, but terrific, story recounts her efforts to get into the LAPD Police Academy. There’s great diversity in the collection.

Ms. Patchett, as always, writes beautifully. And as so much of the writing is frankly autobiographical, her voice and personality come shining through in each entry. They paint the portrait of an artist whose work—whether fiction or non-fiction—I intend to get to know better. And they portray an interesting and accomplished woman with whom it was a true pleasure to spend time.

“A legend can be made, it turns out, one crude stroke at a time.”

On Such a Full Sea
by Chang-rae Lee

On Such a Full Sea is the story of Fan. Not just the story… The myth! The legend! It is being narrated—unusually—by the collective, first-person plural voice of the citizens of B-Mor, once Baltimore. (“The nation has collapsed. Once, we had a country of federated states. Now we have charter villages for the rich, and settlements for the not-so-rich. In between are open counties, places of anarchy with no corporate or government protection. We don’t know exactly what happened to our planet, but it’s easy to imagine.”). The tale is being recounted from an indeterminate point in the mid-future. Not so near and not so far. In the world imagined by master craftsman Chang-rae Lee, things are very different and yet disturbingly familiar, all at once. Speak the narrators:

“Whenever we tell the story of Fan, details are apt to change. You don’t mean to alter anything, in fact your intention is the very opposite, you want nothing more than to be an echo of the previous speaker, who, you decide, did a perfectly super job. And try as you might to match the very tone of the telling, the bellow of certain episodes and the half-breathed whisper of others, isn’t it the truth that despite your fealty to the story, a moment will arise that compels a freelancing, perhaps even rebellious, urge?”

Fan, it seems, knows from freelancing, even rebellious, urges. At 16, as a skilled diver and citizen of the protected workers facility of B-Mor, her life is far better than most. In sheltered B-Mor, spitting is among the community’s worst crimes. (Though, at one point the narrators ask, “Don’t sanctuaries become prisons and vice versa, foremost in the mind?”) When Fan’s boyfriend, Reg, is called to the Directorate and never comes back, Fan impulsively leaves the safety of B-Mor and strikes out in search of him.

“If she possessed a genius, and a growing number of us think she did, it was a capacity for understanding and trusting the improvisational nature of her will. This might seem a contradictory state, and for most of us it would be. We have hopes and make plans, and if they are dashed or waylaid, we naturally rationalize and redraw the map to locate ourselves anew. Or else we brood and too firmly root. Very few can step forward again and again in what amounts to veritable leaps into the void, where there are no ready holds, where little is familiar, where you constantly get stuck in the thickets of your uncertainties and fears. Fan was different.”

And so Fan embarks on what proves to be a picaresque journey. (“What perverse episode lay ahead for her now?”) Perverse, indeed! What Fan encounters in the open counties is immediately alarming and becomes increasingly shocking along the way. Mr. Lee avails himself of some genre tropes, but his imagination doesn’t stop there. My jaw LITERALLY dropped open at least once while reading. There is plenty of plot here for readers to sink their teeth into.

Character, on the other hand, it trickier in this novel. Readers never get into the head of Fan. She’s a

quiet and somewhat opaque individual. And this makes sense because Fan is, essentially, a fiction. Fan is not a real person, but rather the composite that the citizen-narrators have created. (“Why, in the life of a community, does a certain happening or person become the stuff of lore?”) Furthermore, there’s no clear way that these interested parties can know the details of what actually occurred to Fan after she left. The entire tale is suspect.

In discussing this novel’s collective voice, comparisons have been made to works by Jeffrey Eugenides, Joshua, Ferris, and everyone in between. But the book that immediately came to my mind was Hannah Pittard’s underrated The Fates Will Find Their Way. It, coincidentally, is also the collectively-voiced imaginings of a community in the wake of a 16-year-old girl’s disappearance. You know what they say, there are only so many stories. And while that may be true, there are an infinite number of ideas, and this novel is chock-full of insightful observations not only about Fan’s world, but our own. Mr. Lee has not built his world of whole cloth. Rather, he’s paid careful attention to the (mis)direction in which we are heading. There is sly commentary on the environment, government, immigration, healthcare, privilege, race, and so much more.

Beyond plot, character, and ideas, there is language, and here Mr. Lee is pure genius! The language spans from colloquial to eloquent and reading it was a joy from start to finish. I found myself truly savoring passages. And so it is, I’ll leave the final word on this book to Mr. Lee and his narrators:

“The funny thing about the tale of Fan is that much of what happened to her happened to her. She showed plenty of her own volition. Really, more than any of us could ever dream up. And yet at the same time, her tale demonstrates how those who met her, often took it upon themselves to help her, without, really, any hesitation. Without always a ready self-interest. Every once in a while there are figures who draw such attention. Even when they aren’t especially charismatic, or visionary, or subtly, cleverly aggressive in insinuating an agenda into the larger imagination. For some reason, we want to see them succeed. We want them to flourish. Even if that flourishing is something we’ll never personally witness. They draw our energy so steadily and thoroughly, that only toward the finish of events can we recognize the extent of our exertions, and how those exertions, in some, might have taken the form of a movement.”

Psycho killer qu’est-ce que c’est?

Cain's Blood
by Geoffrey Girard

I heard about this novel’s audacious high-concept premise several months before its publication. Marketing copy said:

“A terrifying debut novel about the evil in each of us: when clones of infamous serial killers escape from a secret government facility, it’s up to a former Army Ranger to stop them… with the help of a teenage killer clone.”

And I was basically like: You had me at ‘clones of infamous serial killers.’ I mean, with a premise like that, it was either going to be unbelievably awesome or excruciating bad. Execution would be everything. And I am officially declaring Geoffrey Girard’s debut thriller UNBELIEVABLY AWESOME. If Cain’s Blood doesn’t rocket to the top of the bestseller list in the land of Hannibal Lecter, well, there is no justice in the world of publishing. And, of course, there isn’t, so who knows.

Okay, back to the story… Honestly, beyond the blurb above, there’s nothing you really need to know. Well, I’ll mention that teenage helper is an innocent, 15-year-old clone of Jeffrey Dahmer. Oh yeah, Girard’s not playing around. This novel is a who’s who of serial murder, with appearances by Ted Bundy, David Berkowitz, Ed Gein, etc. The gang’s all here. As I stated above, execution is everything with a premise this bold. Mr. Girard starts things off provocatively by giving readers a prologue in the form of “A Brief History of Cloning” in which he writes, “Cloning humans, by the way, is still completely legal in the United States, everyone just assumes it’s not.” Uh, I certainly did. Mr. Girard has done his homework on everything from genetics to the differences between psychopaths and sociopaths:

“About one half of one percent of Americans could be diagnosed as sociopaths or psychopaths. So says the National Institute of Mental Health… There are degrees to everything. Ninety-eight percent of that two million are only sociopaths, and most sociopaths are little more than flaming assholes… Guys with no regard for the feelings and rights of others. Care only about Number One, steal for the hell of it, moody guys who screw over coworkers, start bar fights out of boredom, won’t talk to their kids…that kind of thing. True psychopaths are much, much rarer. The difference is important, and also horrible.” [I’ve condensed the quote above with ellipses.]

How is that not fascinating? When it comes to science thrillers, the science doesn’t have to be rock solid, but you have to make me believe it. Mr. Girard did a laudable job of making his outrageous premise plausible. And there was neither too much nor too little of the science. He got the balance just right.

Now, obviously a tale like this lives and dies with plotting and pace. Honestly, there wasn’t a whole

lot to the plot. Some bad dudes escaped and a good, if damaged, soldier had to round them up. But within that simple structure, Girard kept his tale lively, offered up some surprises, and kept things moving at a lightning pace. Turning pages was not only effortless, it was mandatory. I can’t imagine that any reader will be surprised to learn that this novel is full of the most lurid and graphic kind of violence. It’s definitely not for everyone. I’m not generally a fan of gratuitous violence, but I’m not even sure it was gratuitous. All I know is that I couldn’t look away.

Character development is not what drives this sort of story. The damaged soldier thing is a bit of a cliché, but Shane Castillo was a likeable enough protagonist. And Mr. Girard did a fine job with his teen Dahmer, making him sympathic and creepy all at once. There is much that is black and white in this tale, but the author also makes good fodder of the moral ambiguities inherent in the situation. Should Cain’s Blood be your next book club pick? Probably not. But I say give yourself a pass and enjoy the guilty pleasure of this very wild ride.

And one more note: Cain’s Blood is actually one half of Mr. Girard’s debut. It’s a complete novel, but he is simultaneously publishing a young adult novel called Project Cain. It tells the exact same story as this novel, but from the POV of the teen Dahmer. I haven’t read it yet, and I know it will be somewhat redundant, but I have to admit I’m curious.

“There’s the story, then there’s the real story…”

MaddAddam
by Margaret Atwood

Early on in the long-awaited conclusion to her MaddAddam trilogy, Margaret Atwood writes:

“There’s the story, then there’s the real story, then there’s the story of how the story came to be told. Then there’s what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story too.”

And in MaddAddam, at last, Ms. Atwood gives us all of the above.

It’s been a decade since I first read Oryx & Crake, and four years since I read The Year of the Flood. I loved both books, loved the way the two intertwined and complemented each other. So, in preparation for this final volume, I started by rereading the first two novels of the trilogy. Wow, oh wow, did they hold up well! I realize that not all readers have the time or inclination to revisit books they’ve already read, but in this case it was well worth the extra effort, if only to fully appreciate the connections between the three novels. I don’t believe that a trilogy was planned when Ms. Atwood wrote Oryx & Crake, and yet it was almost as if she had salted away loose ends a decade ago as part of some subconscious, brilliant master plan. For those who aren’t inclined to follow my suit, MaddAddam helpfully opens with a four-page summary entitled, “The Story So Far.” Personally, I wouldn’t consider reading this final volume without having first read the prior two at some point.

When last we visited with the God’s Gardeners, it was the post-pandemic Year of the Flood. We’d been on a harrowing journey narrated through the eyes and voices of two Gardeners, Toby and Ren. In MaddAddam, Toby is back as narrator, and while Ren is a secondary character in the novel, I have to admit that I missed her voice. This time around, the tale is told by Toby alone until late in the novel a surprising second narrative voice emerges.

And it’s appropriate that Toby tells the tale, because it is primarily (Finally!) the story of Zeb, a man that Toby has secretly desired for years. Up until now, Zeb has been an enigmatic character, always hard to pin down. In MaddAddam, it becomes clear that Zeb’s history is inextricably linked to that of Adam One and the God’s Gardeners, as well as that of Crake and the Crakers.

But in addition to looking backward, the story of Toby, Zeb, Snowman, the God’s Gardeners, the Crakers, and the “MaddAddamites” who engineered them, moves forward. The whole bunch of them are joined in an uneasy community. The Crakers are an alien intelligence. Says one of the MaddAddamites, “Their brains are more malleable than Crake intended. They’ve been doing several things we didn’t anticipate during the construction phase.” Amen to that! There are many unexpected complications of joining humans and Crakers together, many of them quite comic. The comic relief is welcome, because Atwood’s post-apocalyptic future is dark. Of all the Craker characters, there is really only one who stands out, a young boy christened Blackbeard. He befriends Toby, and is, simply put, adorable. He is also the entrée for readers into the Craker mind. Can it possibly be accurate to say he “humanizes” them?

There are many dangers facing this little tribe. Probably the most aggressive threat is that of the

Painballers—escaped prisoners who have all but lost their humanity. The matter of humanity is, I think, central to this tale because if humanity is to be measured among the characters, it’s a broad spectrum. The Gardeners and their allies are a fairly admirable bunch, trying to live in peace, sustainably, and protect the Crakers. While the Crakers have some extraordinary natural defences and abilities, left to their own devices in this harsh world, these childlike beings would surely perish. The Painballers are entirely human, but have regressed to an almost animalistic state. And then there are the pigoons—the enormous, genetically-engineered pigs that have acquired an unknown degree of human intelligence in addition to the transplant organ-compatibility they were designed for. The pigoons are a threat to all constituencies, and in MaddAddam, we learn a great deal more about these animals.

I can only write so much here, and yet it is a testament to Ms. Atwood’s epic achievement with this final volume that there is so much substance contained within a mere 416 pages. I want to discuss the role of mythology and written language within this tale, the allegorical elements, the cyclic nature of the story being told, and the connectedness of all things. And, I want to quote her at length, for the sheer intelligence of her thoughts, and the beauty of her expression of them. Truly, I could go on and on.

She has given us the story, the real story, and how it came to be told. Ms. Atwood has looked into our future with this trilogy. She has extrapolated trends in our culture today and carried them into a worst possible tomorrow. Her work is disturbing because her vision is undeniable. Different readers will get different messages from this tale, and will take away different lessons. Despite the darkness, I am left with a feeling of hope. And a very strong impulse to start talking with the bees.

“Sometimes you can tell the truth better through stories.”

The Truth
by Michael Palin

The quote above is one of more than a dozen that wrestle with the nature of truth in this second novel by writer, globe-hopper, and former-Python, Michael Palin. At the heart of this struggle is Keith Mabbut. Keith was once a crusading investigative journalist, but the hard realities of life have turned him into more of a paid corporate hack. Having just wrapped his latest commissioned work, he’s finally about to indulge in a passion project, his first novel. He queries Tess, a lady friend:

’Do you prefer fact or fiction?’
‘Oh, fiction every time. I hate facts.’
‘Why?’
‘Facts are just facts.’ She shrugged dismissively. ‘They don’t amount to a row of beans. If you want the truth, read Jane Austen.’

Tess has a point, but hers is one of many views that are examined in this morality play. Interrupting Keith’s well-laid plans is his agent with the best offer he’s received in years. It’s a commission to write a book about the reclusive activist Hamish Melville. For decades, Melville has been a tireless defender of the environment and a crusader on behalf of indigenous peoples. And he’s ducked the press entirely, creating quite the aura of mystery:

“I’m not interested in talking about myself. I’m interested in what I can do, in the time left to me, to prevent a little of the damage we seem hell bent on inflicting on this long-suffering planet. I’m not the story.”

After some internal wrangling, Keith does accept the assignment, along with the punishing six-month deadline. Now all he has to do is unearth a man that no one can find. This leads Keith on a journey far from his comfortable London existence. Eyes are opened. Much is learned. And, indeed, a book is produced. But when the manuscript is submitted at last, the nature of “the truth” again comes into question. Whose truth? And how many of the parties involved have their own agendas that have nothing to do with the truth?

Palin, himself, is a writer who has delved into both fact and fiction—with fact winning out a majority

of the time. The man has exhaustively documented his travels to the remotest corners of the world, and it’s clear that his personal experience has colored the tale he’s chosen to tell. And he tells his tale well in the clear, clean, elegant prose that seems to come so naturally to the British.

The Truth is more character-driven than plot-driven, but as the novel moved towards its inevitable conclusion, I found myself turning pages faster. I had gotten caught up in the story and was hungry for the revelations that finally came. As the character at the center of this study, Keith Mabbut makes a fine protagonist. He’s likeable, idealistic, kind-hearted, and yet still somewhat foolish and flawed. His personal life is in a fair amount of disarray. At the age of 56, he’s got a lot to learn and he knows it.

I remember reading Palin’s debut, Hemingway’s Chair, 15 years ago and anticipating some Python-esque comic novel. That gentle story couldn’t have been further from what I was expecting. This time my expectations were more in line. The Truth also features a certain gentleness and civility—and yes, of course, some humor—but there’s nothing over-the-top or wacky about the tale. It may not be the novel one would expect from a comic genius, but it looks with clear-eyed affection at the human condition. Says one character of the events depicted:

“It would be an interesting cautionary tale. And I trust you enough to know that you would tell it honestly, but charitably, too. Everyone, no matter how admirable they appear to be, is simply human. Prone to all the imperfections, temptations and mendacities that go with the territory.”

Ain’t it the truth.

“Perception is reality.”

Big Egos
by S. G. Browne

“It used to be you were stuck with your own personality, your own identity, and any adjustments to your persona would only be as successful as your acting ability. That all changed with the introduction of Big Egos.

Not everyone wants to alter who they are, to live a life that isn’t theirs and pretend to be someone they’re not. There are plenty of men and women who are perfectly content with their lives and their struggles and the comforts of their own identities. But for those who can afford it, for those who seek the thrill of experimenting with alternate personalities and temporary identities, Big Egos offers a respite from the mundane…

On CBS is an advertisement for Big Egos, ‘Does your lifestyle not fit the person inside of you? Try someone else on for size! For $3,000, you can change who you are by purchasing a DNA-encoded cocktail of your favorite dead actor, artist, writer, musician, singer, athlete, politician, talk show host, or television star. All legally approved by their respective estates, because if there’s one thing estate holders love, it’s money. You can even purchase an officially-licensed fictional character like the Luke Skywalker, the Mary Poppins, or the Harry Potter…’”

The quote above sums up well the premise of S. G. Browne’s latest novel, Big Egos, set in the world as we know it with this one notable exception. Our first-person narrator works in quality control for Big Egos, so he’s an insider, an endorser, and a high-volume user of this product. He’s also a man in a less than satisfying relationship, and he’s experiencing serious second thoughts about having talked his best friend into his first ego trip:

“I never should have introduced Nat to the world of Big Egos. Not that I haven’t enjoyed spending time with him. We’ve spent at least one night a week over the past month going to ego parties and bar hopping, pretending to be Luke Skywalker and Han Solo, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I’d almost forgotten how much fun we could have together.”

That does sound like fun, doesn’t it? But there’s a dark side to this technology, and Browne’s light tale gradually becomes nefarious, heading in unexpected directions. Regardless, there are laughs to be mined from start to finish. First and foremost, Mr. Browne is a social satirist, and this set-up provides rich ground for examining contemporary culture.

Additionally, the author has great fun with the personas of the many famous characters that pass

through his pages. It’s affectionate satirizing reminiscent of the film Midnight in Paris. The following snippet even features an eminently imitable character that appeared in that film, but Mr. Browne is playing with a much broader cross-section of popular culture. Always, however, it’s the extensive literary parody that I can’t resist:

“Give me a boat,” says Hemingway. “And the open sea. Nothing else matters.”
“What about complex sentences?” says Faulkner.

As for his own writing, Browne’s use of language is smooth, unobtrusive, and peppered with amusing observations:

“Every day, Emily brings a Cinnabon with her to work, and nibbles at it and picks at it, until it’s nothing but a corpse of a cinnamon roll. A pastry victim, gutted and left for dead on her desk like breakfast roadkill.”

Character development is a lot trickier. It’s hard to get to know characters that are constantly shifting personas. His narrator is a slick operator with a distinctive voice. The rest of the cast is more superficially developed. It should be clear, by now, that this is not a character study. Browne keeps his plot moving forward at a steady pace, and Big Egos is a quick and entertaining read. Consider it required reading for all pop-culture junkies.

“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.”

Speak of the Devil
by Allison Leotta

WARNING: Spoilers for Allison Leotta’s prior novel, Discretion, below.

Readers of Allison Leotta’s Anna Curtis legal thrillers have been waiting on tenterhooks for her latest novel, Speak of the Devil. The mystery of the prior installment, Discretion, was thoroughly wrapped up, but Anna’s personal life ended on a cliff-hanger with the words, “I am going to ask him to marry me.” The End. I ask you, who does that? Torture! The good news is, Speak of the Devil picks up immediately with Anna’s proposal to her significant other, Homicide Chief Jack Bailey. I’ll let you discover what his response is on your own; you won’t have to wait long.

On the professional side of things, what should have been a routine bust on a brothel turns into a murder investigation. Anna is trying to hunt down a machete-wielding monster with ties to a massive criminal gang. Unfortunately, before long this monster with the face of a devil is trying to hunt Anna down as well.

Obviously, there’s much, much more to the tale than that, but in this case, I think that telling less is more. Each of Ms. Leotta’s novels has been more enjoyable than the last, as the plotting of her mysteries becomes defter and readers become more invested in her cast of characters. Reading Speak of the Devil, I was almost incensed by what Ms. Leotta put her protagonist through. I know that authors are supposed to torture their creations, but enough already! As for the mystery, there are some real shockers this time around, causing me to be especially circumspect in my synopsis.

The good news is that most of the supporting characters that readers have grown fond of, such as

Detective McGee and Special Agent Sam Randazzo, are again by Anna’s side, and some interesting new characters are introduced. Mysteries alluded to in prior novels are answered conclusively. In general, the author excels at creating a consistent universe, with passing references to elements of past novels helping to sell the ongoing story.

Also helping sell the story is the extensive knowledge of Anna Curtis’s world that Ms. Leotta brings to her books. Like her protagonist, she too prosecuted sex crimes as an Assistant U.S. Attorney in the DC Attorney General’s office. Leotta’s experience lends weight to observations like:

“Why, she wondered, just once, couldn’t a trial go just as planned—with the witnesses saying what you expected? There was always something. In the dozens of cases she’d taken to trial, not a single one went down without some sort of surprise in the middle or immediately before. The only question was how bad the surprise would be.”

Of course, it is those surprises that make for compelling page-turners. Speak of the Devil moves quickly, and to be honest, I had a hard time putting it down. I had never heard of the street gang MS-13 before, but apparently every terrifying thing in this book is true. And just as truth is stranger than fiction, it’s scarier, too. I don’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed that I’m so uninformed about what’s going on in the streets.

I’m grateful that Speak of the Devil doesn’t have the same kind of cliff-hanger ending that Discretion did. However, there may be changes ahead for Anna. This series consistently gets better as it goes. I can’t wait to see what the next chapter brings.

“It became one of those stories, never told honestly.”

& Sons
by David Gilbert

I think I was about 7% into David Gilbert’s sophomore novel, & Sons, when I started emailing friends that it was brilliant. That was a pretty snap judgment, but by the time I made it to 100% I knew my instincts about this novel were dead on. Now I’m going to use Mr. Gilbert’s words more than my own in this review, as it quickly became apparent that he is the most delightful sort of prose stylist—smart, sophisticated, inventive. Here, for instance, is how he introduces a character:

“Richard was handsome in the style of generations of handsome men who marry and pass along their handsome genes like pieces of family silver, in a pinch pawnable. Whatever former hard living had colored his face with almost exotic damage, like a psychological tan. He. Had. Lived.”

The novel opens at the funeral of Charles Topping and is primarily narrated by his youngest son, Philip, whose life is in something of a crisis. An extramarital affair has caused the dissolution of his marriage, as well as the loss of his teaching job. Attending the funeral is Charlie’s oldest friend, the legendary, reclusive novelist A.N. (Andrew) Dyer, about whom it is written:

“…his last novel, The Spared Man, was published roughly ten years ago and most of that was cribbed from something he had abandoned 20 years before—since then nothing new from the celebrated author of Ampersand and Here Live Angry Dogs and Brutal Men and a dozen other books, not even a decent letter of length. It seemed a vital piece had gone loose in his brain and he could feel the bit rattling around, a temporal gear that had slipped its carriage and no longer stamped thoughts into proper words and sentences. He was, in effect, broken.”

Upon hearing that Philip is renting a room at a depressing residence hotel, Andrew extends an invitation to stay at his large Upper East Side apartment with himself and his teenage son, Andy. The two families have always been close:

“It seemed that no matter where we were, the Dyers and Toppings were within shouting distance—New York, Southampton, Hobe Sound—brought together by mothers who took the obligation of our fathers’ friendship more seriously than our fathers ever did. I think that these women hoped that the continuation of this history might provide the missing words from these heavily redacted men, as if we might fill in a full and pleasing account of their life together.”

Women are very much secondary in this novel. It is about the complicated and sometimes fraught

relationships of men. And more than anything else, as the novel’s title would suggest, it’s about fathers and sons. The other central characters in this tale are Andrew’s two adult sons, Richard and Jamie, half-brothers to young Andy, as well as Richard’s teenage son, Emmett. This is a family drama, but along the way there is more than a hint of satire of both the publishing and film industries. Much hay is made of the literary trappings.

And then, just when you think you know the story you’re reading, Mr. Gilbert throws in a real shocker from out of left field. As I reader I was like, “Wha…?” But that’s okay, it was a bold choice. It wasn’t the only time that Mr. Gilbert surprised me in the course of this tale. & Sons is wonderfully character-driven, but much happens within its 448 pages. He does not stint on story.

As I read, I reflected that for whatever reason, there are few novels that examine, in depth, the internal lives and relationships of men. Mr. Gilbert has a great sensitivity for nuance, and has created some endearingly flawed and fallible characters. This novel was truly a joy to read and one which it’s a pleasure to recommend.

NOTE: Check out the unusually fun book trailer below.  Brooke Shields gets top billing, but the stalkerish fan featured is the author.  And San Francisco readers, please note the Mr. Gilbert will be reading and speaking at the Book Passage's Ferry Building location on Wednesday, August 7, 2013 at 6:00pm.  See you there!

“Time is more complex near the sea than in any other place…”—John Steinbeck, Tortilla Flat

Sea Creatures
by Susanna Daniel

I can’t say why it is, but some stories grab you right from the opening pages. That was the case with Susanna Daniel’s fantastic sophomore novel, Sea Creatures. Early in the tale, Georgia, the novel’s first person narrator relates:

“A year before, I’d been running a business that if not thriving, exactly, then still had potential. A year before, Graham still had a shot at tenure, and his sleep troubles were more or less under control. Frankie had been a well-adjusted two-and-a-half-year-old, a little slow to talk, but not yet entirely mute.”

So, already I’m curious about these changed circumstances. As Georgia’s tale begins, it’s 1992, and she and her family have left their lives in Chicago to return to her hometown of Miami. Her dad and stepmom offer refuge, and Graham has a professional opportunity at the university. Unfortunately, work requires him to be away a lot. Georgia, meanwhile, takes on a part-time job of her own. Her stepmother sets her up working as a personal assistant to an old family acquaintance referred to as “The Hermit.” In actuality, he is a reclusive artist living in isolation in a stilt house surrounded by water, in a loose community called Stiltsville. Georgia and Frankie visit several times a week, ferrying out supplies and doing odd jobs.

That’s the set-up and the cast of characters, and that’s about all I’m going to tell you. Parts of this tale move in somewhat predictable directions—not because there’s anything clichéd going on, but because there are just some truths to relationships. Still, Ms. Daniel managed to surprise me many times along the way, and kept me captivated by the tale she was telling. For a book that’s not a traditional page-turner kind of genre, I could barely put it down! The novel is both character-driven and plot-driven, and some fairly dramatic events do occur. For instance, as I began the novel, I wondered about the 1992 setting. Why? Well, there is a reason, and it concerns a historic event.

The novel’s prose is lovely, as are her observations about human nature and relationships. Ms. Daniel

has created an appealing cast of characters, likeable, well-rounded, and flawed. Another brief quote:

“The strange reverse-nostalgia itched at me every time I stepped from the boat to the stilt house dock, and it was several minutes before I could slough it off and relax. I think as much as anything else it was a weighty sense of gratitude, as well as the foreknowledge that whatever this was—this occupation, this friendship, this parallel life—it would not last forever.”

It’s not too overwhelming, but there is a foreshadowing of events to come. By the time I’d reached the novel’s end, all lingering questions had been answered, the drama was passed, and I was a deeply satisfied reader. I’m looking forward to more from Ms. Daniel, who is now firmly on my radar!

“Kittens one day, old cats the next.”

The Ocean at the End of the Lane
by Neil Gaiman

I’m not going to tell you much about the plot of Neil Gaiman’s latest, The Ocean at the End of the Lane. It’s a slender book, under 200 pages, and his first novel for adults in eight years. Here, however, is a short exchange that happens early in the tale:

She shrugged. “Once you’ve been around for a bit, you get to know stuff.”
I kicked a stone. “By ‘a bit’ do you mean ‘a really long time’?”
She nodded.
“How old are you really?” I asked.
“Eleven.”
I thought for a bit. Then I asked, “How long have you been eleven for?”
She smiled at me.

That exchange occurs between the unnamed seven-year-old narrator and his new friend, Lettie Hempstock. However, we first meet this narrator about 40 years later in the novel’s prologue. He’s returned to the rural English village of his youth to attend a funeral. After the service, he takes a drive and finds himself strolling down not only the lane of his childhood home, but down memory lane as well. And what this visit unearths are some long-suppressed memories of extraordinary events.

Mr. Gaiman has been candid in admitting that the bookish protagonist of the tale is a stand-in for his younger self, and that the novel has autobiographical elements—though I think it will be clear that they are merely a jumping off point for the fantastic. And fantastic it is! In all senses of the word.

I read The Ocean at the End of the Lane on Father’s Day, which somehow felt appropriate. And I

read it travel-woozy and jet-lagged. Also good, I think. I was halfway into another world already. What I can tell you is this: I read the book in one sitting. I did not eat, drink, or take a bathroom break. I did not move. It’s possible I did not breathe. But I did get chills. The book opens with what I gather was a true incident from the author’s childhood, a tragedy that is the catalyst for all that is the come. And as the tale grew darker and darker, I began to truly fear for these characters Gaiman had brought to life and made me care about.

The story is a heady combination of fantasy, horror, nostalgia, and coming-of-age tale. Like all of Mr. Gaiman’s work, there is much subtext to be mined. One could discuss the fascinating Hempstock women at length—their mythic origins, the various legends and cultures from which they may have derived, and their relationship to other Hempstocks in the author’s catalog. Or, you could concentrate on how the author examines adulthood from a child’s perspective and childhood from an adult’s perspective. Or, you could identify the influences of numerous other writers on this work, and explore the importance of literature in our lives and the power of story within the tale. The narrator asks, “Why didn’t adults want to read about Narnia, about secret islands and smugglers and dangerous fairies?” (Some of us do, Neil, some of us do.) What I’m saying is, that while The Ocean at the End of the Lane may be short on page count, it’s quite long on substance.

The writing is evocative, eerie, and very, very good. Dialogue and dialect bring characters’ voices to life. (“Right, my proud beauties,” said Ginnie Hempstock, loudly.) The tale moves quickly. At that length, there is nothing superfluous. More than anything, Mr. Gaiman is a masterful story-teller. When he tells you, in the guise of a pre-adolescent old soul, that a duck pond is an ocean, well, you will believe it.

“The next step in human evolution”

Chimera
by David Wellington

David Wellington’s latest novel, Chimera, opens with a prison break. Except, Camp Putnam isn’t a typical prison:
“Sergeant Brian Lourdes had a pretty good security clearance. Not enough to know why those seven men had been locked away so tight. Not enough to know why they were so dangerous they could never be set free. But enough to know what would happen if they ever did get out. Enough to know it could mean the end of America.”

That’s page two of what may be horror writer Wellington’s break-out thriller. So, right from the get-go, readers are told the stakes are high. We learn a few other disquieting facts about these escaped “detainees” in that first chapter. They dodge bullets moving at inhuman speed and gaze at the world through solid black eyes. Cue the eerie music!

Next the action moves to Fort Belvoir, Virginia, and the office of Captain Jim Chapel. Chapel, a veteran of Afghanistan, works at INSCOM, the army’s Intelligence and Security Command handling oversight on weapons system acquisitions. As the novel opens, he’s not exactly field-ready, having lost his left arm in combat. But receiving new orders he notes:

“DIA was the Defense Intelligence Agency, the top level of the military intelligence pyramid. DX was the Directorate for Defense Counterintelligence and HUMINT—HUMINT being Human Intelligence, or good old-fashioned spycraft. DX was the group that used to give him his orders back when he was a theater operative in Afghanistan, but he hadn’t worked for them in a long time—these days his work was handled directly by INSCOM and he hadn’t so much as spoken to anyone in the DIA in five years.”

Therefore, Chapel is an odd choice to track down and, well, neutralize these escaped detainees. What little he learns about them is deeply disturbing. He’s working mostly in the dark however, repeatedly told by superiors that information is on a “need to know” basis. Chapel’s given two things to help track the fugitives down. The first is a list of targets the detainees may be going after. And the second is a “guardian angel” whispering in his ear:

“Captain, I’ll always be with you. But this is as physical as I get. The sweet little voice in your ear, making helpful comments and keeping you company. I’ve already been briefed on your operation, and I’m looking for ways to help right now.”

So, that’s the set-up, and it’s a good one. The tale melds a bit of speculative science with a whole lot of action. The entire premise is about pace, pace, pace, and things move along at a fair clip. Mr. Wellington isn’t Michael Crichton, and while there’s a veneer of science to the tale, for better or worse, it never gets bogged down in facts or exposition.

Given the title of the novel, I don’t think it’s too much of a spoiler to reveal that in the course of his

investigation, Chapel learns that, “In genetics a chimera is an organism that has more than one kind of DNA in the same body.” I had to chuckle a bit over that (much like one of the novel’s central characters) because this tale is a bit of a chimera itself. I can think of any number of other novels it owes some of its DNA to. For instance, in his Sigma Force series James Rollins has written about a protagonist with a high-tech prosthetic arm for years, and Mark Alpert mined that territory as well in his recent science thriller Extinction. As for chimeras, Jeremy Robinson went to town with them in Island 731. Wellington’s creations are far less over-the-top, and I’m not implying that he actually borrowed from any of these writers. There are only so many new ideas under the sun. Some parts of Chimera (such as assistant “Angel” who really kept me guessing for the duration of the novel) feel fresher than others. The romantic sub-plot was neither the best nor worst I’d seen, though the whole “good guy hero just looking for love” motivation felt fairly superficial.

As I mentioned above, the novel moves swiftly. Chimera is more streamlined than a typical Rollins or Preston/Child thriller in that it’s a single narrative thread, making it a quick read—very much the sort of thing to make a long plane ride fly by. There were moments when I felt the plot was getting contrived, but author Wellington often boldly addressed these objections heads on, somewhat overcoming the issue. His protagonists are appealing enough—good news as the novel’s subtitle, “A Jim Chapel Mission” seems to indicate we’ll be seeing Captain Chapel again. Additionally, Mr. Wellington deserves brownie points for creating some strong and interesting female characters.

A science thriller-writing pal of mine once commented that “Writing techno-thrillers is really hard.” (Pithy, he is.) But, yes, it really is. I’ve seen a lot of dismal examples over the years. Chimera certainly isn’t perfect, but it’s promising. I’m quite looking forward to the next Jim Chapel mission.

“The date for the end of the world… it’s in four days.”

The Eye of God
by James Rollins

The quote above is the final sentence of the first chapter of James Rollins’ latest Sigma thriller, The Eye of God. In other words, it’s just another low-stakes drama from this master of disaster. This time around, the prologue opens in AD 453 with the death of Attila the Hun. From there, we quickly move to present-day Rome, with our old friends Vigor and Rachel. (Already, things are off to a good start.) Vigor is consulting with his niece about a mysterious package he’s just received from an old friend—a priest declared dead more than a decade prior. The package contains an artifact, a human skull etched with Jewish Aramaic. “I believe this relic is an example of early Talmudic magic practiced by Babylonian Jews.” It also contains a book bound in human skin. And these artifacts are pointing towards a coming apocalypse with a very imminent date.

Meanwhile… At an air force base in California, “something’s gone wrong.” So says Sigma’s Painter Crowe, who happens to be in attendance. A special camera has been tracking a comet’s progress through space, trying to collect “proof that the comet was shedding or disturbing dark energy in its wake.” After a few pages of fairly sexy physics talk, remote data is retrieved: “It displayed a satellite view of the eastern seaboard of the United States, the photo taken as the satellite blazed a trail across the sky. It was detailed enough to make out the major coastal metropolises. Boston, New York City, Washington, D.C. Every city lay in a smoldering ruin.” So, you’ve got your ancient prophecies lining up disturbingly with your weird space-time science anomaly prophesies. Ladies and gentlemen, we are off to the races!

Now, I’ve reviewed a lot of Rollins’ novels in the past decade plus, and the reviews are beginning to feel a bit redundant only because Mr. Rollins is so consistent with the strengths of his novels. So please bear with me as I go over the major bullet points:

• I read a lot of this type of science/adventure thriller and I don’t think there’s another writer out there that can touch Rollins for the complexity of the tales he weaves—and I mean that in an entirely positive way. Above I alluded to Attila the Hun, the Roman Catholic Church, advanced physics, and Jewish mysticism. That is merely the tip of the iceberg. Throw into the mix Genghis Khan, the world’s only freshwater seal, exotic locales spanning the globe, magnetic fingertips (So freakin’ cool!), St. Thomas, multiverses, and the question, “Could the ancient Chinese have had knowledge of events described in the book of Genesis?” In every book, Rollins weaves an astonishing number of incredibly diverse, incredibly cool elements into one cohesive tale. And usually it hangs together so well, I wonder if he hasn’t stumbled onto some secrets of the universe.
• Again, I must commend the author on his strong female characters. I don’t think readers are ever disappointed when Rachel and Seichan are both a part of the mix. The Eye of God introduces several noteworthy new female characters as well. (And for those of you waiting for something to happen with Gray… Your wait is over.)
• How many different times and ways can I express my love of Kowalski? This time around he
  
  enters with the line, “Why does that duck keep looking at me?” Which is just so Kowalski. I thought he was funnier than ever in this book. I want to quote all his best lines, but I’ll refrain.
• Easter eggs! There are Easter eggs in this novel that refer to a non-Sigma book in the Rollins-verse. It’s not a character this time around. Really, really fun!
• Not just one super-cool author’s note at the end describing what’s fact and what’s fiction, this time there are several of them.

Now, this is the point where I usually kvetch about a bunch of nit-picky stuff, but I don’t really have any significant complaints this time around. Once I was going to ding him on a plot element being too outlandish, but as he often does, he followed it up with enough science that I was willing to continue suspending my disbelief. No, this is a strong novel in the long-running Sigma series. The plot is fascinating, and I hope it goes without saying that it moves at a lightning pace. Furthermore, there are significant developments among the major players. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

I honestly don’t know how long James Rollins can possibly come up with these convoluted tales he spins. Surely he’s written about every single interesting thing in the universe by now? But apparently not. As long as he keeps writing them, I’m going to keep reading them!

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here...

Inferno
by Dan Brown

Dan Brown opens his fourth Robert Langdon thriller running—or rather lying down. The Harvard professor awakens in a hospital. In rapid sequence he discovers that he’s lost two days from his memory; that—astonishingly—he’s in Florence, Italy; and most shocking of all, that he’s in the hospital because persons unknown have tried to murder him. Most of these facts are given to him by a (naturally) pretty young doctor. Mere pages into the novel, an assassin is shooting up the hospital and Langdon and this doctor are on the run. (“She knew it was probably just the adrenaline, but she found herself strangely attracted to the American professor. In addition to his being handsome, he seemed to possess a sincerely good heart. In some distant, alternate life, Robert Langdon might even be someone she could be with.”)

Soon enough, there are more revelations—about this impressive woman, about mysterious objects secreted on Langdon’s person, and about a larger conspiracy. Of course, the conspiracy involves a bio-terror plot, and it can only be foiled by… a professor of symbology! Brown sums the opening up well in the following quote—and forgive me if the punctuation is not letter perfect, I’m transcribing from the audiobook without a printed copy for reference:

“Dante’s Inferno, Langdon thought. Inspiring foreboding pieces of art since 1330. Langdon’s course on Dante always included an entire section on the illustrious artwork inspired by The Inferno. In addition to Botticelli’s celebrated map of Hell, there was Rodin’s timeless sculpture of the three shades from The Gates of Hell, Stradanus’s illustration of pledges paddling through submerged bodies on the river Styx, William Blake’s lustful sinners swirling through an eternal tempest, Bouguereau’s strangely erotic vision of Dante and Virgil watching two nude men locked in battle, Bayros’s tortured souls huddling beneath a hail-like torrent of scalding pellets and droplets of fire, Salvador Dali’s eccentric series of watercolors and woodcuts, and Doré’s huge collection of black and white paintings depicting everything from the tunneled entrance to Hades to winged Satan himself.

Now it seemed that Dante’s poetic vision of Hell had not only influenced the most revered artists throughout history, it had also, apparently, inspired another individual, a twisted soul who had digitally altered Botticelli’s famous painting, adding ten letters, a plague doctor, and then signing it with an ominous phrase about seeing the truth through the eyes of death. This artist had then stored the image on a high-tech projector sheathed in a freakishly carved bone. Langdon couldn’t imagine who would have created such an artifact. And yet, at the moment, this issue seemed secondary to a far more unnerving question: Why the Hell am I carrying it?”

As for the twisted soul above, well, it’s not a priest. Inferno’s plot doesn’t revolve around the Church this time. The catalyst of the novel’s events is a mad scientist. Oh, he’s got a plan, and it’s positively Bond-villain-esque! The fact that his actions make absolutely no sense in the world as we know it must simply be overlooked. This sort of convoluted plotting comes with the madness, you see.

On to the substance of the book… If Brown’s writing has irritated you in the past, you can most

definitely expect more of the same. I think you can see how easily the language flows in the lengthy quote above. The action commences from the outset, as if the characters were sprinting from a starter’s gun, and the pace keeps up, but a lot of it begins to feel like action for action’s sake. Momentum without meaning. Plot is Brown’s bread and butter, and while there is definitely some fun stuff in this book, a big part of me feels like it’s nothing we haven’t seen from this and other authors before. And I, personally, didn’t feel like there was significant emotional payoff to compensate for other flaws.

So, am I trashing this book? No. Not really. Listen, I’ve read every book the man has written. At this point, it’s almost entirely because I need to read what everyone else on the planet is reading. (And apparently I’m immature enough to stay up all night and read it first.) But I love thrillers. Dan Brown does have the basic skills down. The story moves relentlessly forward on short, hooky chapters. It’s the type of quick read that makes long airplane rides fly by, and I’m entirely in favor of that. Furthermore, you might learn a few factoids and a thing or two about art that inspires you to visit a museum sometime. And apparently, Robert Langdon has a great many fans. They’ll be happy to see their old friend (much like his creator) up to his old tricks.

Lauren Graham: As funny on the page as she is on the stage!

Someday, Someday Maybe
by Lauren Graham

Life is often heavy. Literature is often heavy. Sometimes I just want a little light entertainment, and Lauren Graham’s debut novel, Someday, Someday Maybe sounded like just what the doctor ordered. Now there’s no reason to believe that a gifted comic actress would be a particularly gifted comic novelist. Actually, my expectations might lean slightly in the opposite direction. So let me be the first to proclaim what a fun, funny, clever, and refreshing debut this is. It was absolutely everything I wanted and more than I expected.

Someday, Someday Maybe is the story of aspiring actress Franny Banks. She’d given herself three years to make it in New York, and as the novel opens in 1995, her deadline is fast approaching. Currently, she’s waiting tables, not for Godot. The novel details Franny’s travails personally and professionally as her deadline looms. There’s no real need to describe the plot further.

It seems reasonable to assume that there’s at least a smidge of autobiography in the mix. It can’t be a coincidence that Lauren Graham’s first professional listings on IMDB showed up right around 1995. She’s writing about a time, a place, and a world that she knows. The details ring true. And she does an excellent job of articulating the work of an actor. It’s quite interesting being inside Franny’s head, hearing her thought process, as she taps into the emotions she needs to convey. It’s easy to empathize with the likeable Franny and to root for her to succeed.

One of the greatest pleasures of the novel is the humor. Both actors and the industry are satirized. Additionally, there is rich observational humor. In discussing a neighbor, Graham writes:

“We worry about Frank in the way New Yorkers worry about strangers whose apartments they can see into. Which is to say, we made up a name for him and have theories about his life, and we’d call 911 if we saw something frightening happen while spying on him, but if I ran into him on the subway, I’d look the other way.”

Aside from her career, Franny is a twenty-something woman navigating the rocky shoals of romance. There’s a light chick-lit feel to the novel, and the romantic subplot was truly delightful. Graham has meta-fictional fun with romance tropes:

“I mean, the whole ‘love triangle’ THING bothers me. Who even thought of that? I’ve never been in a love triangle. Especially one where the girl is torn between the obviously right guy played by the more famous actor and the obviously hideously wrong guy played by the slightly less famous actor. And also, why does the heroine always have a sassy best friend? And why is she always a brunette?”

This is not literary fiction. Graham is writing in the voice of her first-person narrator. Yes, there are a

fair number of run on sentences and sentence fragments, but she brings Franny’s voice to life. I could hear her, and she didn’t actually sound very much like Lorelei Gilmore at all. Franny is a new creation. The novel’s prose is very readable, and occasionally it’s more than that. Also, Franny’s tale moves swiftly. It’s a story you’ll read in no time, and the odds are good you’ll be left wishing for a few chapters more.

Graham’s characters are appealing. You want these young people to find their happy ending—whatever that happens to be. The novel comes to a very satisfying conclusion, and I enjoyed my time in Franny’s company enough that I wouldn’t mind at all visiting with her in the future. Given her creator’s success, I’m going to gamble that things turn out alright for her. As for Lauren Graham, I can only hope those long hours on set translate to further forays into fiction. This was an auspicious and entertaining debut. I’m waiting for a sequel.

"This house may not give you what you want, but it will give you what you need."

The House at the End of Hope Street
by Menna van Praagh

“The house has stood at the end of Hope Street for nearly two hundred years.” So begins Menna van Praag’s debut novel. In those opening pages, nineteen-year-old Cambridge doctoral student Alba Ashby, reeling from an unnamed “worst event in [her] life,” is inexplicably drawn to the house. Alba is more than an academic over-achiever. She sees things that others can’t: ghosts and auras, but also vibrant and colorful scents and sounds. She immediately senses that this house is different.

Welcomed in by Peggy, the house’s elderly caretaker, she’s told, “You can stay here for ninety-nine nights, until the seventh of August, just before midnight. And then you must go… No rent, no bills. Your room will be your own, to do with as you like. But take care of the house and it’ll take care of you.” This last is an understatement. The house at the end of Hope Street is a veritable Hogwartsian Room of Requirement. When you’re sad and lean against the wall, it softens to comfort you. When you want to draw, a notebook materializes. You get the idea.

The tale opens with Alba, but eventually it proves to be an ensemble fantasy, as readers meet the other inhabitants of the house. There’s Peggy, of course, as well as an aspiring singer, Carmen, and actress, Greer. Each woman gets her ninety-nine days for healing, for reinvention, for whatever it is she needs. And this has been going on for two centuries. All over the house are framed photos of illustrious and accomplished ladies: Florence Nightingale, Daphne du Maurier, Vita Sackville West, Beatrix Potter, and dozens of others. (Don’t worry that you won’t recognize all the names—such as Elizabeth Garrett Anderson, the first female doctor in England—there’s a handy guide to all the ladies at the novel’s end.) These women are more than the house’s history; they’re a part of its present. Their photographs speak and frequently advise the house’s current tenants. It’s just that kind of place. Okay, so that’s the set up. I’ll leave the actual plot for you to uncover.

The reason I actually decided to take a chance on this book is that Ms. Van Praag was compared to so many authors whose work I loved: Jasper Fforde, Sarah Addison Allen, Alice Hoffman. I’d say that Addison Allen is the most apt comparison, and that fans of her light, magical realism-filled novels are likely to enjoy this. I don’t believe that van Praag’s prose is up to par with Ms. Hoffman’s lush writing. And Jasper Fforde was, for me, the strangest and most disappointing comparison. While it’s true that many classic literary figures make an appearance in the novel’s pages, this book contains none of the wit and great humor that is such a feature of his work. Overall, I’d describe this as gentle women’s fiction with a fantastic edge.

As the paragraph above indicates, I had a mixed response to the novel. I’m not going to lie… I had issues with Alba. “Every day she went to the library at the same time. Every day she bought her lunch at the same café and ordered the same thing.” This character is not just boring and repressed; she’s painfully shy and incredibly passive. When confronting a person who has wronged her terribly, she’s “barely audible.” Again and again I found myself wanting to slap this little mouse. And this is something I see in fiction all the time. An author who wants to show growth creates a character that is so damaged and diminished that it’s hard to care about her. (Kinder, gentler readers may well disagree with me on this.)

In general, I found the characters of the novel to be fairly one-dimensional. Alba has siblings, for instance, that are so cold and uncaring that they in no way resemble real human beings. And another thing—if you use historic figures like Dorothy Parker and Sylvia Plath as characters, write them dialogue that sounds like it might come out of their mouths. Give Parker a witty line, for God’s sake! Give Plath some poetry!

On the other hand, one of the great pleasures of the novel is the bibliophily on display throughout.

Alba is a serious book lover, her one redeeming quality. I thoroughly enjoyed her ruminations on literature. And even if they weren’t well-characterized, the extensive literary cast and references were great fun. I’ve always said that you can’t go wrong preaching to the choir. The story, in general, is entertaining and it all moves quickly. Also, Ms. van Praag did manage to surprise me with a few fun plot twists I didn’t see coming. And I actually quite enjoyed the theme of female empowerment, as exemplified by the house’s past tenants. The other thing that van Praag handled well was the novel’s resolution. While I felt frustration with certain elements of the tale, I have no complaints about the ending. It was the feel-good fix I was looking for.

So, all in all, a mixed bag. I’m happy enough to have read the book. It was quick and not overly challenging. In other words, not a bad way to pass a day. And the great thing about debut novels? The authors are still learning and growing. Who knows what Menna van Praag may dream up next?

Creatures of earth and fire connect in a dazzling debut

The Golem and the Jinni
by Helene Wecker

There is a certain satisfaction in coming to the end of a long novel, but as the pages dwindled on Helen Wecker’s The Golem and the Jinni, all I felt was grief that this magical story had to end. After 500 pages, I wanted it to go on and on. And if you stop reading this review right now, that’s all you really need to know.

You will be shocked to hear that the novel is, in fact, about a golem and a jinni. For those who are unaware, a golem is a figure of Jewish myth, an automaton made of earth or clay, brought to life to do the bidding of another. A jinni (or genie) is a figure of Arab myth, a magical creature of fire. So, before we even get into plot details, look at that fascinating set-up! Jewish/Arab. Earth/fire. Just hearing the premise, I anticipated some sort of culture clash to be central to the tale. And while the story does primarily unfold amongst the Jewish and Syrian immigrant populations of late 19th century New York, it is not a parable of Mid-East conflict. This was merely the first of many instances when Ms. Wecker defied expectation and convention, keeping me guessing in what direction her tale would evolve again and again.

Talk about defying convention—the titular golem is a woman, and self-aware. She was originally created (with a laundry list of attributes that included intelligence, curiosity, and propriety) to be a rich merchant’s wife. He, alas, died en route to America, shortly after bringing her to life. She arrived at Ellis Island without a master or a plan. The jinni, on the other hand, was freed from imprisonment in a flask—but don’t expect him to start granting wishes any time soon.

This is the story of two creatures in turn of the century New York who are both Old Worldly and

otherworldly. Separately, they must find their way in circumstances that neither is prepared for, all the while concealing their essential natures. As the golem says to the jinni, “We’re our natures, you and I.” Because, yes, eventually their paths do cross and it’s the start of a most unexpected friendship.

Can I tell you? This wonderful, literary fantasy left me wanting to slap the next writer who sits down in front of a keyboard and starts typing about a vampire. Ms. Wecker has created a story unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Her central characters, while not human, share a deep humanity (for better or worse) and are beautifully drawn. Other characters, which at first seem peripheral to the tale, prove to be central, as Wecker’s story expands encompassing a larger community. And at all times the relationships depicted between men, women, creatures, adults, children, friends, lovers, and enemies were complex, unpredictable, and captivating. The novel’s prose is as rich as the period setting is evocative. And while I really haven’t gone into any detail, please know that the plotting is both elegant and assured.

Of course, there is culture clash in this novel, and conflict galore. But in every instance that her tale could be ordinary, Ms. Wecker makes it extraordinary. The lush cultures, heritage, and history depicted so beautifully are merely the jumping off point for a dazzlingly inventive fantasy. Where did this writer come from, and how is it possible that this accomplished work is her debut? It is sure to be one of the literary highlights of the year!

NOTE: This book will be released next Tuesday, April 23, 2013.

Open the pod bay doors, please, HAL

Code White
by Scott Britz-Cunningham

One of the great things about thrillers is that there are so many different kinds! There are crime thrillers, medical thrillers, religious thrillers, techno-thrillers, and many more. Most thrillers tend to fall into one category, but I’ve just read a notable debut that has elements of all four listed above!

Code White is an impressive first effort from medical doctor Scott Britz-Cunningham. The entire novel takes place in the course of a single day, making for a propulsive plot. At the heart of the tale is Chicago neurosurgeon Ali O’Day. She is one of a team of doctors who are attempting to make medical history—and are having it documented live on a national morning television show. They are using a new technology called SIPNI, short for Self-Integrating Prosthetic Neural Implant, to try to restore the sight of a blind child. During the operation, there’s an overhead announcement, “Mr. White, please report to security.” A nurse explains that it’s a security code, “It’s a bomb. A bomb in the hospital.”

Readers don’t have to wait long to find out who the mastermind of the plot is. It’s not a who-done-it, or even really a why-done-it, but more like a will-they-stop-it? Isn’t that always the way with bombs? So, in one corner you have your dedicated doctors trying to save an adorable child, in another you have your mad bomber, and then you have law enforcement. In this novel, that comes in many forms. The threat is first identified by the hospital’s head of security, Harry Lewton, but soon enough both the Chicago PD and the FBI are added to the mix. They do not help matters.

It is the unassuming Lewton who is the novel’s most appealing character. Character development is

generally the weakest element of most thrillers, and I was of two minds about it here. Britz-Cunningham has actually done an excellent job of giving his characters backstories and stressors in the present that influence their actions in the course of the crisis. In that way, they were well-rounded. Still, other than Lewton, it’s hard to get a real feel for them, and it’s hard to work up a lot of sympathy. The biographical details were in place, but the other details that would have brought them more to life—the quirks, the speech idiosyncrasies, the stuff that really humanizes—were absent. So, while there’s room for improvement, character was at least handled with some forethought and intelligence. Less head, more heart next time, Scott.

The plotting is clever and, as you can imagine, fast-paced, especially as the clock ticks down. There’s a significant amount of science, covering both medicine and technology, interspersed throughout the novel. It’s smart and interesting. Exposition is handled well. And then there’s the question of why I titled this review the way I did. You’ll see. Blending so many types of thriller together strikes me as a difficult thing to pull off. It shouldn’t work. But Britz-Cunningham does manage to pull it off. This isn’t a perfect novel, but it’s an impressive debut, and well-worth checking out.

A good, old-fashioned creature feature

Island 731
by Jeremy Robinson

When I reviewed Jeremy Robinson’s novel SecondWorld, I suggested that he might find broader readership by toning it down just a smidge. I’d like to report that he did-but I don’t think I can honestly say that. And yet… Somehow the completely insane over-the-top… everything… of his latest novel, Island 731, works. It just works. If you can’t have fun reading this novel, you simply aren’t trying hard enough.

Of course, while I’ve voiced all sorts of criticism over the years, I’ve never denied the fun of Robinson’s novels. This one, for instance, opens with a brief, disturbing prologue set during WWII, and then immediate jumps to the present day aboard the research ship Magellan. Well, overboard the research ship Magellan. They are investigating the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. A scientist jumps overboard to acquire a valuable research specimen, and a crew member jumps to the rescue. Add a great white to the mix and we’re off to the races!

The scientist is Avril Joliet and her rescuer is Mark Hawkins, a former park ranger and expert tracker. (Yeah, yeah, these fictional characters do tend to come equipped with invaluable skill sets.) They are merely two of a small ensemble of characters at the heart of the tale. Possibly the most entertaining among the characters is high school science teacher Bob Bray. It is Bray who is the vehicle for most of the exposition once the novel’s plot kicks into gear, and much of the humor. This book is all about plot, so I don’t want to give much away. Succinctly, there’s a major storm that is merely the beginning of the problems that are about to plague the Magellan. Cascading failures lead members of the crew to a mysterious island. (And Jules Verne smiles from heaven.) There, they encounter astonishing and very frightening creatures. Bray attempts to explain:

“Okay, let’s talk science… Chimeras are formed when two fertilized eggs, or embryos, fuse in the womb… The main difference between natural chimerism and laboratory chimerism is that the process can be controlled in a lab… Anyway, instead of randomly merging embryos, scientists can select specific embryonic cells from one organism—say a bird’s wings and breast muscles strong enough to use them—and transplant them on to something else. Like a lion.”

(If that sounds choppy, blame me. The ellipses are due to my condensing of the text.) Later, clues point to horrors from WWII. Again Bray is the agent of exposition: “There have been several nations and individuals who have done horrible things in the name of biological scientific progress throughout history. But none hold a candle to Unit seven thirty-one. They were Japan’s covert R and D division during World War Two. They performed sadistic experiments on human beings.”

I don’t think it’s necessary to go into further detail. Robinson’s plot unfolds at a lightning pace, and

revelations occur throughout the novel. Along with those revelations are a goodly number of shocks and surprises along the way. As noted above, Robinson has written a science thriller, and he makes a good faith effort to dress his outlandish tale in enough facts to make the fiction go down easier. Me, I’m a Googler. I stop and check details regularly. Is there a Great Pacific Garbage Patch? I’m sad to say it’s true. Japanese cannibalism in WWII? I’d never heard of it, but-check! And what the heck is an aye-aye? Do yourself a favor and look it up. Robinson is the master of the strange but true. That will only get you so far. As always, Robinson really pushes the envelope of what readers will buy. I’ve been known to balk. But this time I just grinned and went along for the ride. I do love me some monsters!

You’ll recognize all sorts of classic and contemporary influences to this novel. Let’s just call it an homage to the greats. Mr. Robinson is walking where others have gone before, but he puts his own spin on this science-run-amok tale. And I ask you, who doesn’t like a good, old-fashioned creature feature?

Keep calm and mermaid on

The Mermaid of Brooklyn
by Amy Shearn

The tag line for Amy Shearn’s sophomore novel, The Mermaid of Brooklyn, reads “Sometimes all you need in life is a fabulous pair of shoes—and a little help from a mermaid.” Now, if you ask me, that sounds like some kind of light chick-lit novel—and there’s nothing wrong with light chick-lit. But that’s not what you’ll find in these pages. That’s selling Amy Shearn’s novel way too short.

First, it’s not chick-lit at all. If you must classify, put this one down as women’s fiction, but with a sharply-observed, Perotta-esque take on the village-within-a-city that is Park Slope, Brooklyn. It’s the story of Jenny Lipkin, the overwhelmed mother of an infant and a toddler. In the novel’s opening pages, her husband Harry calls to tell her he’s stopping to pick up cigarettes on his way home. He never arrives. Days pass, and no one has heard from Harry, no one can reach him. This would, of course, be upsetting under any circumstances, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Harry has issues of his own. But he’s never stayed away this long before…

Jenny is an appealing protagonist, appealing in her imperfection. She’s not extraordinarily beautiful, clever, or together. Quite the contrary, she was barely getting through her days when she had her husband’s support. Now the struggle really begins. The kids, the bills, the home: “This was not one of those ‘Oh, ha, sorry it’s such a mess’ moments. It was dangerously messy. It was call-child-services-doubt-the-mental-health-of-the-mother messy. It was TLC-reality-programming messy. We cohabited with dust bunnies I knew by name…” That’s a funny passage, and there is a good amount of humor and some real wit within the text, but there’s also a fair amount of darkness and desperation. I suspect that more than a few women will relate to Jenny’s feelings of bone-deep exhaustion and inadequacy.

Where, you may be asking, is the mermaid in all this? Where indeed? There’s no mermaid in sight

until more than a quarter of the novel has passed. And this nameless entity is not, perhaps, the mermaid you’re expecting. She’s no fairytale friend. This mermaid of Brooklyn is a creature of Slavic myth, a rusalka. I’m a connoisseur of mermaid legends and lore, and this was a new one on me. Per Wikipedia, “In Slavic mythology, a rusalka is a female ghost, water nymph, succubus, or mermaid-like demon that dwelt in a waterway.” I’ll leave you to discover how Jenny encounters her, and the exact nature of their relationship. It’s not entirely negative, as the above might lead one to believe, but it’s not exactly positive either. Jenny muses:

“I was starting to realize the rusalka wasn’t the best person to listen to. What did I know about her? Who WAS she, this new self of mine, this recently arrived Siamese twin? It was beginning to strike me, in moments of sickening dread, that I might be just another sailor coiled in her hair, seduced by her promises of impossible passions, believing I was being buoyed up as she slowly strengthened her squeeze, dragging me down to the ocean floor.”

Notwithstanding an amusing tendency to pepper her dialogue with Yiddish, there’s an opaqueness to the rusalka that leaves readers a lot of room for conjecture as to her nature. But despite this supernatural element, this is an unusually realistic look at one woman’s struggle to find her way through neighborhood politics, temptation, depression, and family life. I’m neither married nor a mother, but I related tremendously to Jenny, and I cared about her struggles.

The writing in The Mermaid of Brooklyn is terrific. I don’t use phrases like “chick-lit” or “women’s fiction” in a pejorative manner, but rather to describe genres of fiction. Still, those genres will give certain readers expectations as to literary quality. Whatever those expectations are, the depth of this book will surpass them. Shearn uses language in clever and observant ways. “We’d been in the park all morning, and I was Pompeiied in a gritty paste of apple juice, dirt, and sandbox.” Or, as two mothers express their exhaustion: “It was an exchange we shared about thirty times a day, like songbirds trading musical phrases.”

This was my introduction to Ms. Shearn’s work. I came to it with expectations that weren’t met at all. Fortunately, they were significantly exceeded. The Mermaid of Brooklyn is a whole lot more than a book about a fabulous pair of shoes.

"Catch me next time round."

Life After Life
by Kate Atkinson

In a notable departure, British novelist Kate Atkinson brings her literary gifts to the world of speculative fiction. In her new stand alone, Life After Life, heroine Ursula Todd lives and dies over and over. Beginning on the day of her birth, a snowy February day in 1910, the baby is “dead before she had a chance to live.” Except, in the very next chapter, we again witness Ursula’s birth and she isn’t choked by the umbilical cord. But she does succumb to another fate at the age of four.

And so it goes, living, exploring, experimenting, trying to get it right. It takes readers a while to actually meet the adult incarnation of Ursula Todd. There were so many dangers, so many wrong paths along the way. After a while, I’m afraid, it became just a bit like, “Oh my God, they killed Kenny!” I don’t mean to be flippant, but this little girl died a lot of different ways. Any emotional intensity is severely muted through sheer repetition, and the knowledge that there are no real consequences. It will all begin again.

Which is not to say that there are no effects. Ursula seems to sense echoes of her past lives, sometimes even taking extreme measures to avert past disasters. Ms. Atkinson was rather brilliant in how she seeded these shadows of lives past throughout the novel and Ursula’s consciousness. Other reviewers have written eloquently on Buddhist philosophy, Jung’s Collective Unconscious, and many other sophisticated influences on Ms. Atkinson’s story. But one reader’s religion is another reader’s science. I, for instance, might go on about the physics of multiverses. “She had felt pleased with herself for resisting a yellow crêpe de Chine tea dress…” But in another lifetime, “She tried on the yellow crêpe de Chine tea dress she’d bought earlier that day…”

Buy the dress, don’t buy the dress. It’s one of a million—a billion—details that determine the outcome of our lives. As we watch Ursula live life after life, sometimes more successfully, sometimes less, we begin to determine the pivotal days, the ones that simply need to be survived. And we begin to see the cascading effect of small changes. We become very intimately acquainted with Ursula and the people that surround her.

Now, this premise is nothing new. From Bill Murray in Groundhog Day to Ken Grimwood’s cult
classic, Replay, this has been done before. It may be my imagination, but I feel like I’m seeing more of this sort of tale lately. Variations on the time travel theme. What Atkinson brings to the table is her skill as a writer, and the deadly seriousness with which she carries out her tale. For it is unfolding not in contemporary America, but 20th century England. Intellectually I know the history, but living war after war after war through Ursula’s eyes was brutal. Born in 1910, the girl saw some history, and it’s very clear that Atkinson did her research. The novel lingers longest during WWII, with Ursula experiencing the war from multiple vantages, all of them fairly brutal. War is hell. Didn’t someone say that once? As a reader, I began to feel brutalized, trapped in an endless war that went on for (surely) hundreds of pages. There seemed to be no exit. What is the point of all these lives? That is the question. A big question with major philosophical implications.

Atkinson does give answers, of a sort, though there’s plenty open for interpretation. This book is great fodder for those who want to delve into these mysteries, and for those who want to discuss them with others. It is well written, thought-provoking, and compelling. I enjoyed it, and am glad to have read it, but while I’m usually the most enthusiastic reader and the loudest in my praise, I can’t seem to embrace this one as whole-heartedly as many readers have. I liked it. It was good, layered, well-written, brilliantly-plotted, etc. etc. But it’s grim. Atkinson covers a bloody period of history, and even without the wars, the body count is staggering. I didn’t actually count how many times or different ways that Ursula dies, but it’s a lot. And, frankly, even when she’s living, it isn’t all that joyful. This is an undeniably excellent novel, but I’m glad to have finally reached the end of the line. It’s time for me to move on.