BOOK REVIEWS

2001, Part D: April 2001

2001, Christian Sauvé

Featured this month:

 

Sea Change
James Powlik

Dell, 1999, 481 pages, $9.99 Can., ISBN 0-440-23508-1

Hey, an oceanic thriller! No, it's not JAWS. Tagline: "There's a new terror under the sea with a mind and a hunger of its own." No, it's not JAWS. It opens with a few death, continues with a few more deaths, and features quite a few more deaths before the end comes by. No, it's not JAWS. Though, like most aquatic monster thrillers, the comparisons are hard to ignore.

It's a shame, really; Steven Spielberg's blockbuster film so definitely imprinted itself on the collective unconscious that any novel about a roughly similar situation (danger underwater!) will labor under undue expectations. But then again, it allows us critics to make easy comparisons and skimp out on actual critical content.

Which is fortunate, given that Sea Change stands up as a particularly average thriller, JAWS comparisons or not.

You know the drill; at least one person dies in the prologue, in a gruesome manner that can be delightfully interpreted as a supernatural event. Then the protagonist comes in, an oceanographer named Brock Garner. Fortunately, he's described as being "renegade", thereby qualifying to be the hero. (When was the last time you read a novel about a professional hero described as "a loyal follower", "unimaginative" or "strictly average"?) The female sidekick doesn't come in long after. Ellie Bridges is a doctor, easily embodying the motherly characteristics of any good love interest. (Oh yeah; she's also a renegade doctor. Good match.)

But that's not all! The antagonist is a rich (uh-huh) shallow (yah) media-hungry (familiar, yet?) pseudo-environmentalist (aren't they all?) magnate who, oh heavens, married Brock's ex-wife. Don't worry; she'll come around to our stalwart hero for some much-needed true lovin'. Plus, the clueless antagonist will eventually make an ambition-driven mistake or two that will effectively seal his fate. It all comes together in the end. Natural disaster plus military conspiracy plus human conflict here and there and pretty soon, you're talkin' thrillah!

Mix in the requisite evil father, capable military units, more gruesome deaths and a countdown to some major havoc, and you get the thriller that you expect. Granted, Sea Change gets better as it advances, even including a few spectacular scenes toward the ending as all means necessary are taken to stop the evil menace. (Which, predictably enough, isn't completely stopped in the epilogue.)

There's a certain journeyman quality to Sea Change in that it does the job, but with no extras. If you're stuck with the book and want to care about the characters, you will, but they won't grab you by the throat by themselves. In much the same vein, the various incidents are interesting, but not overly so; for his next novel, Powlik could use some brush-up in convincing dialogues and sustained tension. It's a novel whose essence is hard to isolate, liquefied as it is in a sea of averageness.

Which would have been fine if it would have been snappy, but Sea Change isn't, dragging along for far too long while carefully setting up the mechanics of its plot. At least one subplot (the insensitive father-figure with a secret to hide) could easily have been removed, along with many other sections that don't really advance anything or give us something new. With thrillers of this sort, we know where we're going; we don't need to have our hands held along the way.

Fortunately, few of the above should apply if all you're looking for is decent time-wasting entertainment. Powlik hasn't wowed anyone with Sea Change, but at least he demonstrates his ability to write a baseline thriller. The plentiful technical details are reasonably convincing (be advised that there's a glossary hidden at the end), the monster hasn't been seen before and the ending delivers a reasonable amount of bang for the effort invested into it. As far as nautical thrillers go, it's no, say, Steve Alten's Meg, but it'll do.

 

Infinity Beach
Jack McDevitt

Avon EOS, 2000, 510 pages, $ 9.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-06-102005-2

This is not a simple book to review. The easiest commentaries are raves or trashings, because it's so much fun to be unequivocally of one opinion that you can just keep on writing until you've reached your self-imposed word count. On the other hand, books with both good and bad points require a more careful approach, which often results in a more incisive and satisfying review.

There is another category of book, however, that's nearly impossible to review, and it's the type of book that arouses no interest whatsoever. Forgotten a week after reading, barely remembered when it's time to make up best-of lists, or even representative bibliographies, these books basically have no existence outside their own covers.

And Jack McDevitt's Infinity Beach comes perilously close to being a forgettable book. Much like the author's body work to date, it contains a few good ideas and a weak execution exacerbated by unneeded padding. Sure, McDevitt's done some exciting work (The Engines of God), but he's also responsible for a few stinkers (Eternity's Road) and many more indifferent novels (A Talent for War, Ancient Shores). His premises are rarely matched by his development, and his characters are, more often that not, strictly perfunctory. But he keeps turning out novels, and given his average level of quality, he'll stay in the business for a few more years.

But it's not novels like Infinity Beach that will help him gain new die-hard fans. In theory, it's supposed to be a story of "second contact", in which a murder mystery is solved by a victim's clone-sister who, in doing so, incidentally comes to reveal the truth about a so-called "failed" contact mission.

As mentioned previously, this actually sounds like a decent premise. McDevitt's usual fascination for future historicals (in which his protagonists uncover historical secrets still quite in our own future) is exhibited once again. The dynamics between victim-sister/clone-investigator were promising.

But the novel starts, after a quasi-meaningless action vignette, with a slow-as-dirt introduction of characters, universe, past events... Our clone protagonist starts investigating, slowly, and -slooowly- discovers various clues that might lead her to uncover the secret. Slowly.

And the pace only seldom improves, losing itself in meaningless side-trips, irritating subplots and a generally frigid pacing. I eventually got the feeling that McDevitt himself wasn't too interested in what's happening and that I shouldn't feel too guilty if I didn't care either.

Yet I'm not ready to call Infinity Beach a bad book. Looking retrospectively on the content of the novel, there seems to be everything there for me to enjoy. So why didn't it "take"? Why did I found it boring rather than engrossing? Could it be a random fluke, result of subconscious rumblings somehow affecting a book that, at any other time, wouldn't be so badly considered?

Alas, I can't even muster the intention to re-read this book in a year or two. So I'll compromise and instead state that I will, in any case, try McDevitt's next. Who knows? Maybe it'll be one of his good ones!

Note: The UK edition of the book has been re-titled Slow Lightning. No comments.

 

Bears Discover Fire
Terry Bisson

Tor, 1993, 254 pages, $27.95 Can. tp, ISBN 0-312-85411-0

Bears discover fire. A huge magma "bubble" raises the Adirondacks outside the atmosphere. A blind painter is asked to draw the afterlife. A writer quits before the story is over. A toxic donut is consumed. A retired astronaut goes back to the moon.

Welcome to the short stories of Terry Bisson.

Bisson's been known for a few things, some of them faintly ridiculous (He novelized JOHNNY MNEMONIC, finished Walter M. Miller's posthumous Saint Lebowitz and wrote back-cover blurbs for HarperCollins) but always somehow evading becoming a big-time SF star. Some authors are like that.

Fortunately, Bisson managed to convince Tor books to publish an anthology of his stories, and the book stands alone in introducing a pretty good author to the world-at-large, or at least those who can get their hands on the collection.

As always, some stories are better than others, so here's a quick recap of the book in not particular order.

I found Bisson to be at his best when writing very short humorous vignettes with satiric bite. "By Permit Only" will amuse and knock you out with its I-give-up ending. "Next" shows bureaucracy gone mad with red tape nightmares. It might be fun to read "Are There Any Questions?" out loud, just to get the feel of the huckster narration. I'm still not sure if "The Toxic Donut" is supposed to be funny, but I liked the dark comedy and the pyrrhic choice offered within.

Of course, Bisson points out in his afterword that he can also write some non-funny stuff, and "Necronauts" is a good example of that, a none-too-jolly story that nevertheless reads very well.

Other highlights include "They're made out of Meat", a widely-reprinted true little classic that you might have read by accident somewhere else. (Even, in my case, as being attributed to L. Ron Hubbard!) and "Two Guys From the Future" (Bisson outdoes Connie Willis at the fluffy time-travel romance game)

Some of the longer stories are interesting, but wounded by their insufficient bang-to-length ratio. "Over Flat Mountain" struggles with its world-building and eventually loses. It's a fate shared by "The Shadow Knows", which adds to it an underwhelming conclusion best left in depressing New-Wave-era anthologies.

Then there are the weird stories I'm not sure I liked. "The Two Janets" looked like a fun concept in search of a plot. "England Underway" still seemed as whimsically inconsequential as the first time I read it in Omni. "Press Ann" reads like a draft for a shorter, funnier sketch. "Carl's Lawn & Garden" was jammed by an extra-large dose of heavy-duty symbolism in its last sentence.

Of course, there are misfires. The title story didn't bowl me over as much as it convinced the various award juries. "George" seemed pointless. "The Message", even at five pages, seemed long and laborious. And then there are the pieces I just couldn't get into: "The Coon Suit" (Oh, so that's the conclusion.) and "Canción Auténtica De Old Earth" (Rzzz).

In most cases, Bisson's writing is brisk, smooth, funny with a good dose of truth thrown in. Even with the boring stories, he delivers the goods and entertain the reader. It might not lead anywhere, but at least you'll enjoy the trip.

Of course, that's the risk with any short story collection. Savor the good, take the okay and try the bad. In any case, you'll be able to form a good picture of Terry Bisson as a writer, and he needs the attention.

 

Skeptic
Holden Scott

St. Martin, 1999, 376 pages, $8.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-312-96928-7

Looking at the world through tabloid newspaper glasses, it seems that the strange, the unusual, the supernatural and the just plain weird is constantly threatening to invade our so-called-reality. The universe described by the New York Times, or any other "mainstream" media, seems hopelessly constrained, boring in its lack of excitement, pathetic in its self-explanatory fashion. But wait! The Loch Ness monster will be captured! Aliens will land on the White House lawn! Even the humble vampires want nothing worse than to be our friends!

It's difficult to gauge how many people gobble up fantastic stories as honest truth, or even how many people might be tempted to believe in some of it. Polls routinely indicate that a significant proportion of Americans believe that telepathy exists, that aliens are among us, that angels routinely intervene in their lives and there's got to be something in all these JFK conspiracy theories.

There's definitely a potential for a few hundred novels on the subject of skepticism and so-called reality. When a thriller called Skeptic comes across our desks for perusal, it's hard not to expect some kind of definitive statement on the subject. But while an intriguing novel, Holden Scott's first book isn't quite up to the task.

Oh, it's not as if there isn't a lot of stuff in these 376 pages. From a medical research center in Boston to a raid deep inside Chinese lines, this is the type of thriller that sacrifices plausibility for maximum bang; avid readers of the genre will love it if only because it shows them something new.

The plot revolves around a scientific discovery that more or less validates the concept of ghosts. Through a complex and not-quite-credible mechanism involving viruses, it seems that deceased people's "spirits" can communicate with the living. Now mix in a dangerous Chinese super-spy, a political assassination, a CIA agent as beautiful as she's deadly and you've got an interesting story.

There are a few serviceable characters, including the requisite competent/rebellious/tortured doctor hero, the sexy CIA agent and the eeevil antagonist. There are a few good gadgets, including a (fictional?) type of weaponry not seen anywhere else yet. There are gruesome autopsy scenes that will make your stomach churn. There are chases, escapes, gunfights and explosions. There's even a massive plot to take over the world, if you still wanted something of the sort.

But there's only one little tiny instance of supernatural doing, and it's almost an afterthought thrown in at the last minute by the author. But as for the main plot, there's nothing that warrant belief of skepticism; Scott does his suspension-of-disbelief techno-babble so well that there's no need to be skeptic.

Leaving that aside, Skeptic remains a better-than-average thriller, thanks to effective writing, memorable incidents and a strong dose of originality. Yes, Scott does get carried away from time to time and his grandiose conspiracy is simultaneously too over-the-top and seemingly useless that it's likely to inspire more giggles than chills. But when considering the novel's overall freshness, that doesn't seem too bad. Much like tabloid newspaper readers, thriller fans would rather read blatantly ridiculous material than to be stuck in the same old reality.

 

 

High Crimes
Joseph Finder

Avon, 1998, 388 pages, $8.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-380-72880-X

Fiction does not operate according to the usual laws of reality. Life seldom makes up interesting stories and that's why, from stone-age shaman onward, making up compelling fiction has always required creative interpretations of how things usually happen.

The protagonist is a good person who struggles in search of his goal. After difficulties, lovers end up together. Bad persons are punished. While not ironclad, these "rules" drive most of modern fiction. You're familiar with them from years and years of novels, films and other stories.

Sub-genres acquire their own dramatic conventions, which occasionally make them impenetrable to newcomers. Thrillers are no exception. After reading a few dozen of them, patterns start to emerge and readers may demand bigger surprises in order to be satisfied.

Ironically, there are such things are expected surprises. A novel with twists and turns can start to be repetitive; any character whose body isn't certifiably autopsied is liable to come back "from the dead", any friend is a possible traitor and every government agency has squads of murderous operatives. It becomes possible to guess the next big twist simply by asking ourselves "What's the worst that could happen at this point?" A lawyer asking himself if his client committed the crime isn't much of a story if the client isn't actually guilty as hell. (See, oh, films from JAGGED EDGE to PRIMAL FEAR, whose "twist" is given in the first line of dialogue.)

Joseph Finder's High Crimes is an enjoyable, but generally predictable thriller whose final twist is self-obvious whenever you ask yourself "What would be most interesting?" It then proceeds straight into ludicrous absurdity, but by this time, you're only two pages away from the end, so you might as well finish the whole thing. Even if you'll still end up with a few unanswered questions.

This being said, the setup is interesting; a renowned attorney is stunned when her husband, theoretically an economist, is hunted down by the military for a war atrocity trial. He insists that he's innocent and she agrees to defend him at a court-martial. Powerful forces from the Pentagon do everything they can to distance the trial from a few high-ranking officers. Who's lying, the husband or the brass?

What the novel lacks in overall surprise, it gains in sharp writing and solid details. Our heroine has to learn the intricacies of martial law at the same time as we do, and the result is a fascinating trip through an area few readers know about. Characters are presented efficiently, sometime too quickly, and developed with an adequate amount of care. The dialogue is witty and natural. The pacing drags a bit, especially in the beginning (just get the suspect in custody and go on with the story!), but it gets better and for all its little problems, High Crimes doesn't become boring.

It might even be unintentionally comical in its frantic effort to keep our interest. Aside from the inherent fascination of court-martial procedures and special-operation details, Findley piles up increasingly extreme events regardless of if the story calls for it. The setups are sometime so laborious as to be offensive, such as with the whole chapters leading up to the apprehension. A few latter sequences, like the car sabotage, scream "cheap thrill!" more than they suggest an organic plot development. But given that they're eventually inconsequential to the overall dramatic arc, most of these cheap thrills remain meaningless.

But that's all part of dramatic logic, where the bad guys are notoriously inconsistent in their desire to kill off the protagonists. Dramatic logic -where the best friends are in fact the best enemies and the most unexpected twists become mandatory- is the real main character in High Crimes. It's a good testimony of Finder's professionalism that his novel can sustain interest despite holding few genuine surprises.

 

 

Tom Clancy's Net Force
"Tom Clancy" (most probably Steve Perry)

Berkley, 1998, 372 pages, $10.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-425-16172-2

Reviewing "Tom Clancy's" novels is the critical equivalent of shooting fish with big barrels. These ghost-written cookie-cutter novels sustain a basic level of readability, sure, but you'd be hard-pressed to remember anything about them only a few days after an initial read. Heck, you'd be lucky to remember the difference between the various series, whether they're "Op-Center", "Politika" or "Net Force". As far as any serious reader is concerned, they're three names for the same thing: Clancy's willingness to whore out his diminishing reputation through dozens of mediocre novels he should be ashamed to be associated with.

This venom now being out of my system, allow be to concede that as far as the "Tom Clancy's" novels go, Net Force is better than the other ones. The premise is slightly more SFish than the other series, being concerned about a federal agency dedicated to fighting computer crime. The series is set in a ten-year-away future, which is depressingly similar to our own except when it suits the purposes of the plot.

In other words, don't go in Net Force expecting a fully-developed social anticipation in the tradition of the best Science Fiction. While Steve Perry has previously proven himself to be an adequate SF writer, he's obviously writing Net Force to pay the bills, and this strictly alimentary approach to the novel shows through a distinct laziness.

Take, for instance, Net Force's representation of cyberspace, which makes all the mistakes you might see in a slush-pile SF novel magically teleported from the mid-eighties. Metaphorized into a representation of the highway system, it forces characters to drive cars and search highways for bad guys. Not only does this represent a singularly useless and inefficient mapping of cumbersome real-world equivalent over something that doesn't require it, but it also drags down the level of the rest of the book to this quasi-adolescent car fetishism where driving a Dodge Viper is good enough to catch the enemies.

And, yes, there is a "good" level of the book to drag down. One character and one subplot is enough to keep our interest, the "Selkie" assassin and her contract against new Net Force director Alex Michaels. It's the least ridiculous part of the book, the most focused and the most interesting. There's also an interesting love triangle / martial arts exposé between Michaels, an agent named Toni Fiorella and some other agent whose name isn't ultimately important. Oh, and a few funny scenes featuring a nerdy teenager.

But that's it. Zero other set-pieces, zero compelling characters, awful technology and scarcely any good writing besides a very few fascinating technical/procedural details. The rest of Net Force is of such forgettable averageness that it blurs up almost instantly, sinking is the cesspool of "Tom Clancy's" novels. The only question left for me to ask remains "If I'm buying those awful novels used, who the heck keeps buying them new?"