BOOK REVIEWS

2001, Part J: October 2001

2001, Christian Sauvé

Featured this month:

 

Towing Jehovah
James Morrow

Harcourt Brace, 1994, 371 pages, $30.00 Can. hc, ISBN 0-15-190919-9

The famous German philosopher (and occasional smart-ass) Frederick Nietzche once said, in his amusingly Teutonic way of his, "God is dead". I bet he never expected anyone to take him so literally than James Morrow in Towing Jehovah.

In it, the God actually croaks, dies, passes away (end up being no more) and his body is found floating in the Atlantic Ocean not far away from central Africa. The Catholic Church, naturally, is concerned. Not only does most of the theological corpus pass away along with Him, but the disposition of His two-miles-long remains poses a few non-trivial practical challenges. So that's how disgraced supertanker captain Anthony Van Horne is contacted by an angel to carry God's body to its eternal resting place; a specially-constructed tomb in the eternal ice of the Arctic Circle.

Before long, readers are privy to such unique scenes as plotting the careful displacement of an iceberg-sized cadaver, hooking up towing chains to God's ear bones and fighting off sharks around His body with rocket launchers. It get weirder after that, as Atlantis pops up and World War 2 re-enactment societies are hired by militant atheists to sink God's body.

From this fantastical premise, you would be entirely justified to expect a wacky treatment of the story, with plenty of silly hijinks and uproarious punchlines. That's not what Morrow had in mind, however, and so the first and final thirds of the books are written in a mode that almost brings to mind the usual dry technothriller à la Clancy. (Myself, I was reminded of Preston and Lincoln's The Ice Limit) Tons of realistic details ground the story's initial whopper in hard believability. It's an unusual choice, and an effective one; whenever Morrow departs from it in mid-book for the Atlantis sequence, the book loses some of its interest.

In many ways, the fantastical spectacle of a two-mile-long body of God is weird enough to have no need for extra strangeness. Whether they're driving across His body in a jeep, dancing in His bellybutton or try to bomb the entirety of His body, our characters are too close to insanity as it is. Not that it stops them from discussing profound theological issues in what I thought was a witty fashion. "What if you could prove that God doesn't exist?" is one of the less-complex questions discussed.

It's all joyously irreverent, of course. Not only is Morrow lampooning the biggest target of all, but he also allows equal-offense time to atheists and other unbelievers through the Central Park West Enlightenment League, a dysfunctional bunch of irreducible skeptics who arrange for the disappearance of the most convincing proof faith can have. Don't worry; whatever your own convictions, you'll certainly find something to be offended about in this novel. And yet, even as you're scandalized, you'll be amused: Towing Jehovah is no constant laugh-riot, but it's a steady giggler.

Best of all, maybe, is that Towing Jehovah is reader-friendly to the highest degree, with limpid writing, complex characters and occasional examination of deeper issues without too much guilt. The ideas keep on coming, as do the unorthodox scenes and character-driven twists. Some late-minute appearances are contrived, but they heighten the tension quite effectively. It's a solid and satisfying read; it's no accident if it won the World Fantasy Award in 1994. Chances are that you'll enjoy it too.

 

 

Ghosts of the Titanic
Charles Pellegrino

Avon, 2000, 339 pages, $9.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-380-72472-3

Now that the TITANIC movie has come and gone on big screens, VHS and DVD, it seems as if everyone's an expert on the subject, citing diagrams and expert advice on exactly how the Big Ship sank. In the wake of the film's boffo success (biggest moneymaker ever, anyone?), shelves of books on the subject were ransacked by new catastrophe enthusiasts.

One of those books was Charles Pellegrino's Her name, Titanic. Faithful readers of these reviews may remember that I've been a Pellegrino enthusiast for some time, hence this review. Ghosts of the Titanic is a sequel of sort to Her Name, Titanic, but don't worry if, like me, you haven't read the first volume; the sequel is mostly self-supporting.

Some knowledge of the Titanic disaster is essential, though, as Pellegrino wastes no time explaining the basics. (This being said, one of the book's highlights is the illustrated timeline of events running from page 176 to 195.) In some ways, this is a post-TITANIC book, immediately accessible if you've seen the film. James Cameron even wrote the foreword.

And what Pellegrino says is really "what the movie left out": An examination of the current state of the wreck, the likely composition of the iceberg, the fire that had been raging deep in the ship's structure during the whole trip. Pellegrino tells us stories that couldn't fit in the three-hour movie, such as the efforts to keep the electricity running and Colonel Gracie's narrow escape.

Using new testimonies, computer models and scientific evidence (some of which he himself collected during his visits to the wreck), Pellegrino uncovers yet more details about the events of April 14, 1912. One of his most fascinating findings is the fate of the Grand Stairway: Contemporary examinations of the wreck have so far failed to find it—leading James Cameron to theorize that the massive wooden structure could have ripped free of the sinking wreck and floated to the surface. A finding, ironically enough, supported by his experiences while filming TITANIC, as the Stairway replica started to rip itself from the set once submerged.

This anecdote, like many others, shows Pellegrino's knack for finding the most astonishing things in places we wouldn't expect. Coincidentally or not, his misfortune for being in a weird place at a weird time also pops up with alarming frequency and spine-chilling effects. (Here he describes missing TWA flight 800, and being cured of a fatal disease in extremis by one of his friends. I'm still waiting to hear more details about the nuclear device "accidental energetic disassembly" he survived, briefly mentioned here once again.)

All throughout Ghosts of the Titanic, Pellegrino exhibits a heart-wrenching sensitivity that will put a lump in your throat. It's not easy to publish a book on this subject without somehow coming across as an opportunistic fellow, but Pellegrino's mourning feels genuine and the result is a book that never seems exploitative.

Pellegrino's polymath familiarity with widely divergent fields of study also gives him a unique expertise to slip in and out of the strict subject of the book. Perhaps the most fascinating section of the book is Chapter 5, when he examines "rusticles", iron structures formed by the bacteria slowly eating the tons of metal in the wreck. Not only does he conclude that the Titanic will eventually disappear (there goes the end of Arthur C. Clarke's The Ghosts of the Grand Banks!), but he also describes how the rusticles structures are evolving internal circulation systems... from unicellular organisms! As the ultimate kicker, he suggests that new medical research stemming from the study of rusticles might eventually save more lives that were claimed by the Titanic tragedy.

In short, Ghosts of the Titanic is another success for Pellegrino, another savvy mix of science fact and good heart-felt writing. Give it a try if you're interested in the author or the subject matter. If you don't think you've had enough of that subject yet, Pellegrino promises us, in the epilogue, that Ghosts of the Titanic is the second volume in a trilogy he expects to complete in 2010-2012. Given what he managed to tell us this time around, I can't wait.

 

 

Girls on Film
Clare Bundy, Lise Carrigg, Sibyl Goldman and Andrea Pyros

Harper Perennial, 1999, 227 pages, $20.00 Can. tp, ISBN 0-06-095310-1

The popular stereotype of an accomplished movie critic usually revolves around a monocle-wearing, pipe-smoking intellectual with an European accent who goes bonkers for three-hour-long subtitled Iranian films about a broken cup of tea. On the other side of the spectrum, you've got drooling brain-damaged teens who thought BATTLEFIELD EARTH was "a lot of fun". Surely there must be a middle ground, a place where intelligent, unpretentious movie lovers can come together.

Girls on Film is a book for those people who aren't afraid to like both independent films and Hollywood blockbusters, people who love both Woody Allen and John Woo, people who see film as a media with the duty to inform, move and above all entertain. The "Girls" of the title are ex-college friends, at the time of publication editors/reviewers of a popular film website. The book isn't a compendium of web-published material ("You won't find any of this on the Web site!" claims the back cover) but a self-contained, strongly-structured film guide that will make you rush out to the nearest video store.

The hook of the book ("Gee whiz! Young women can talk about movies too!") is actually a misdirection: Even if, yes, the authors unabashedly present themselves as, well, girls writing about movies, the potential public of the guide is much larger than the 18-34 female demographics. They're so knowledgeable and -more importantly- enthusiastic about their subject that their passion becomes universal. It helps, of course, that they focus on almost all areas of cinema, not simply what you'd expect from "flick chicks". (Their discussion about how to be a film snob at parties is a pure hoot.)

The structure of the book is simplicity itself: Eight sections about different types of movies, each section being composed of an introduction, four essays about the genre (by each of the girls) and a must-see list of 25 typical movies, accompanied by various side-bars. So we get sections such as Dramas, Comedies, Indies, Romance, Horror, Tearjerkers, Coming-of-Age and Blockbuster movies chapters. The eight top-25 listings alone will make you want to carry this book to the video store with you: There's enough intriguing material there for a few weekend's worth of classic rentals. There is -alas!- no index, so if you want to track down why HEATHERS affected Andrea's early love life, you'll have to re-read part of the book. Or not, given the strong organization of the sections.

A book of this type depends a lot on the personalities of the people writing it. Fortunately, the "girls", as a group, more than adequately create a distinct atmosphere about their preferences; witty, unpretentious yet with a solid vigor that doesn't trivialize their efforts whatever the subject discussed. It's a shame that the different authors themselves aren't more distinctive, but that's not as much of a flaw as you'd expect—it's a lot like listening to a good band; you don't complain that the bassist should be more distinctive... In any case, all of them sound like your best down-to-earth friends. You'd love to go see a movie -any movie- with these four. They're not always "right" (duh!), but they argue so well... Laugh-aloud stuff at times. The cartoon illustrations are great.

Easy to read and even easier to love, Girls on Film is one movie reviewing book you'll pick up again from time to time to get recommendations, or simply for the fun of reading a few page again. Accurately targeted at a large segment of the population and not simply "at the girls", this is a book worth tracking down in used bookstores.

[November 2001: Regrettably, a late-2001 web check reveals that the original girlson.com site has been bought and closed by a bigger company. The girls have split up, one of them going all the way west to become a media journalist. The remaining ones have created another site -www.critichick.com- to re-create the girlson.com feel, but said site hadn't been updated in six months... A shame, really.]

 

 

Die Hard
(previously known as Nothing Lasts Forever)
Roderick Thorp

Ivy, 1988 edition of 1979 original, 232 pages, $6.95 Can. pb, ISBN 0-8401-0229-5

You remember DIE HARD? Bruce Willis stuck in a skyscraper with terrorists? Alan Rickman as the bad guy with a weird European accent? "Yippey-Ka-Yay"? The hero throwing himself down the roof with a fire hose attached to his waist? Exploding helicopter? Glass shards embedded in foot? "I now have a machine-gun, ho-ho-ho?" One of the best action movies ever?

Of course you remember DIE HARD. Everyone does. It's a bona-fide modern film classic. It's worth viewing every Christmas.

But what you probably don't remember is that the film is based upon a novel, Roderick Thorp's Nothing Lasts Forever. And what you really don't know is how much the film improves upon the book.

Oh, it's obvious that the two works are connected. In both cases, one lone man dispatches a busload of terrorists inside a high-rise building. The various action beats of the film are generally original to the screenplay, though the same general locations (elevator shaft, executive suite, roof) are used. The dramatic arc is identical, gradually mowing down through enemy ranks up to the final mano-a-mano showdown. But even with similar premises, the differences can be dramatic.

Most significantly, the protagonist of Nothing Lasts Forever is nothing like Bruce Willis. Joe Leland (not John McClane) is a sixty-something man, an ex-New York detective with a clouded past, a wrong-man-condemned affair presumably stemming from a previous novel. He's divorced, slightly bitter and not really prone to wisecracks. The author doesn't wait a long time before using his alter-ego to fulfill deep wishes; barely twenty-five pages in the novel, Leland's get a date with a woman nearly half his age. Creepier: the damsel-in-distress in the novel is the daughter of the protagonist rather than his wife.

Where it gets interesting, though, is in the tone shift from novel to screenplay. Whereas the book is dark and nasty, the film is joyful and uplifting. Antagonist-wise, we go from political terrorists to high-tech robbers. Thorp intended to write a "serious" thriller; Screenwriter Stephen de Souza, coached by producer Joel Silver, obviously meant to sketch a mass-market blockbuster. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the conclusion of the novel, in which not only does Leland learns that his daughter is up to no good (P.207-208: "'Klaxon Oil has promised to supply the Chilean fascist regime with arms... Your daughter is one of the principals in this illegal transfer of weapons.") but she actually dies, dragged outside the skyscraper's 32nd floor by the corpse of the lead terrorist as he's shot by the protagonist. Talk about a downer!

But outside the obvious cheer of DIE HARD's revised ending, the clean mechanics of the film contrasted to the often-muddled structure of the book clearly illustrate what a good cinematographic adaptation should be. The temporal unity of the action is tightened: The film ends at dawn while the novel drags on until nearly eleven AM. The film squeezes in an early ironic confrontation between hero and villain. Comparing both versions, the film comes out as a leaner, more focused work, a pure thrill machine unburdened by any higher aspiration, yet more effective because it doesn't dwell on whatever issues bugged the novelist. Compare and contrast Leland's internal monologue about women in positions of authority versus DIE HARD's elegant watch symbolism and you'll see for yourself.

That's not even touching upon the things that film can do better than prose. While the jumping-off-roof, breaking-window, being-dragged-by-falling-hose scene is in both the book and the novel, the written version seems limp and lacking in energy compared to the taut filmed sequence.

In the end, Nothing lasts Forever is an average novel turned in a superior film, a book more interesting as an origin piece than a work by itself. Worth a look for fans of the film who want to understand why it's so good.

 

 

First Contract
Greg Costikyan

Tor, 2000, 287 pages, $8.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-812-54549-4

You would think that more than a hundred years after H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds, Science-Fiction would have managed to come up with every single imaginable twist on the "First Alien Contact" scenario. And yet here's First Contract, a refreshing take on the subject that will make you smile in amusement even as it describes the complete economic collapse of Earth.

The hook is simple: Aliens descend on Earth, say "hi!" and propose a small trade; a copy of the galactic encyclopedia in return for the low-low price of, say, Jupiter. Before anyone can scream out "REMEMBER MANHATTAN!", the deal is done and humans are stuck with a set of UN-controlled data files that no one can figure out. Meanwhile, aliens set up shop on the planet and destroy most of our industries by offering better products. The resulting economic catastrophe makes the depression of the Thirties look like a trifle.

I won't pretend that this type of scenario has never been explored before in SF (who knows what might have been published in "Analog", not to mention Costikyan's own seed novella, "Sales Reps From the Stars"), but it's certainly not a common spin, and the style with which it's explored deserves mention.

In many ways, this is a novel that should have been published by Baen Books. The glorification of market forces, the deep and thorough knowledge of economic drivers, the quasi-encyclopedic knowledge of past historical precedent all bring to mind the usual Baen potboiler. But no, surprise, this is a Tor book... Jim Baen must be kicking himself.

The story takes the form of a narrative by Johnson Mukerjii, initially a hard-working high-tech CEO whose business, marriage and life are irremediably destroyed by the aliens. Before long, he's huddled underneath a bridge, plotting his revenge. Mukerjii makes a perfect narrator, his lively wit illuminating the dry exposition passages he must dish out throughout the story. Hey, it works; expect to know a lot more about stock markets, financial statements and trade shows by the end of First Contract. Heck, the novel will even make you understand how third-world countries have to behave in light of rich-nations imperialism.

It's worth repeating that even though the novel deals with heavy-duty economic SF theory, it's never dull or difficult; Costikyan vulgarizes quite well, and if the novel isn't all hilariously funny, it'll leave a quasi-permanent grin on your face while you're reading it. Which isn't as straining as you might think; you'll probably end up reading this book in a single sitting.

Dig a bit deeper and, of course, you'll find here a deep and knowing satire on corporatism and the new feudalism. Or is it? Costikyan understands his subject so well that it can play both ways. Certainly the last few pages of the book take the Wal-Mart philosophy of retail (and supply) to its logical galactic extreme... and if that's not satire, well, I'm ready to send back my SF-Critic's license.

It helps, of course, that the book is a throwback to the plucky-humans-über-alles philosophy of so much golden-age SF. Despite being technologically pounded, economically colonized and spiritually destroyed, humanity -through our stalwart hero- finds a way to make a good deal. We haven't conquered back the universe by the last page, but it's obvious that we're on our way and it's only a matter of time. Say what you want about self-image and wish-fulfillment, but that type of attitude usually earns a bonus point or two in my ratings.

I wasn't so taken by the last two pages, which seem a lot like a gratuitous extra spin than a knock-out ending. (Cut it, and the true ending sentence is much funnier. You better believe they'd ship on time.)

But taken as a whole, First Contract ranks as one of the best SF novels of 2000, a unique blend of big business and alien invasion. Cleverly imagined, compulsively readable and constantly amusing, this is a book that should please a wide array of readers. Don't miss it.

 

 

Lunar Descent
Allen Steele

Ace, 1991, 325 pages, $5.99 Can. pb, ISBN 0-441-50485-X

All too often, catching up on an author's entire oeuvre is an exercise akin to completing a puzzle. You'll read the most available/important/distinctive works first, then work your way to, eventually, the rest of the picture. Whenever you do complete your work, though, you might find out that the smaller pieces illuminate something unexpected in the panorama.

So it was that I began to read Allen Steele with his ninth book, and gradually worked my way to the rest of them in time. With Lunar Descent, Steele's third novel, I finally put in the missing puzzle piece, and it all forms an interesting portrait.

Orbital Decay was about a semi-rebellion among workers building a space station. Clarke County, Space was about a semi-rebellion among residents of a space station. Lunar Descent... is about a semi-rebellion among workers on the moon. Okay, so the details differ (Clarke County, Space isn't about the rebellion, though it happens shortly after in the same timeline and Lunar Descent is about a strike action), but at this stage we're merely playing with words. Suffice to say that some recurring themes do figure pro-eminently in Steele's fiction.

The style, too, has similarities. Most of his novel are built around straight-ahead prose supplemented by other forms of writing; interviews, oral testimonies, media articles, etc...

Both of the above similarities, make sense when you know about Steele's background as an investigative journalist before he started writing SF full-time. It's no accident if he's one of the most liberal SF writers in the business. His blue-collar characters like to have chemically-influenced fun, disrespect authority and do the job their pointy-haired managers have assigned them.

The protagonists of Lunar Descent are no exception. Our "moondogs" are the few, the brave, the proud men and women mining ore on the moon for the Solar Power Satellite projects back on Earth Orbit. Think about those hard-workin' oil rig personnel and you'll have a fair idea of their mindset. Sure, they get high and mean from time to time, but -wink, wink- work hard, play hard, right?

Apparently, the evil corporate villains of Steele's fiction don't think so, and before long they tighten the screws on operations, replacing half the personnel, finding a wholly unsuitable station manager, clamping down on "non-essential" imports and generally doing everything in their power to be completely unlikable. Boo! Hiss! Fight da power!

So our guys strike, and unfortunately, their evil managers declare their SPS work crucial to national economic indicators, and send in the space marines to quell the rebellion. So it's exoskeleton-boosted marines against weaponless marines. Who will win? Well, yeah, but not in the way you'd expect, fortunately.

All and all, even though we'd seen this before, Lunar Descent is a success because of its likable characters, the vivid description of life in a workplace 300,000 kilometers away, the snappy writing and the good humor with which Steele nails down the essential details. Some stuff doesn't ring true (why is it, for instance, that characters born in the 80s or 90s will always be fascinated by the same classic-rock enjoyed by the author? Hmm.) and Steele's usual biases make the action predictable at times, but no matter; here's another solid hard-SF book well worth your time and money. Lunar Descent is what the SF mid-list is all about.