Relentless by Simon Kernick

First published in the UK in 2006; published digitally by Atria Books on September 18, 2012 

Software salesman Tom Meron describes himself as a dull guy with a dull job. He gets a call from an old friend, a successful attorney named Jack Calley. On the telephone, Meron hears Calley being murdered; with his dying breath, Calley gives the killer Meron's address. After discovering that his wife is missing from work, Meron is attacked by a man with a knife. Meron makes a harrowing escape before being arrested on suspicion of murdering his wife's university colleague, a woman named Vanessa Blake. Meron's wife, Kathy, is also a suspect in Blake's killing, given that her fingerprints are on the murder weapon.

After this setup, the story shifts to Detective Inspector Mike Bolt, who is investigating the apparent suicide of a judge who was also Calley's client. Point of view then alternates between Meron's first person account of his odyssey and third person narratives that follow Bolt or the bad guys.

Simon Kernick peppers the plot with mundane marital drama but fails to flesh out Kathy's character -- a serious omission in a novel that depends so much upon the reader's belief that she would act as she does. Supporting characters are mostly cops and former cops, including Tina Boyd, whose boyfriend died under mysterious circumstances after receiving a tip that revealed the motive for the high level murders. None of the characters have much personality; this is a novel that depends on plot rather than astute characterization. Unfortunately, the plot is problematic.

The entire storyline struck me as improbable -- not an uncommon impression when reading a thriller, but this one requires the reader to accept a motivation for murder that is both contrived and unimaginative. The plot advances only because Meron makes some inexplicably stupid decisions: he doesn't call the police when he hears Calley being murdered, and he later runs from the police for no apparent reason. For a software salesman, Meron is also a remarkably adept fighter. The killer tries to make his murders look like suicides but he leaves identical suicide notes at the scenes of the crimes -- making him one of the stupidest murderers to grace the pages of a crime novel. A lawyer's shockingly unprofessional behavior makes little sense but the plot hinges upon it. Kathy's behavior is preposterous (for reasons I can't reveal without spoiling the novel's biggest surprise). The likelihood that her fingerprints would have been found on the murder weapon is virtually nil.

While Kernick is a capable storyteller, his prose style is undistinguished.  On a more positive note, the story moves at a relentless pace, making the novel a quick and easy read, and Kernick earns points for cleverness by giving the plot a couple of unexpected twists as the story nears its end. Still, Relentless lacks the pizzazz that the title promises and that the best thrillers deliver. Relentless isn't by any means an awful book, it just isn't a particularly memorable one.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

San Miguel by T. Coraghessan Boyle

Published by Viking on September 18, 2012

The most distant of the Channel Islands from the coast of California is rain-soaked, wind-swept, and populated by sheep. In San Miguel, T. Coraghessan Boyle tells the stories of three women who made the island their home. While fans of character-driven historical fiction featuring strong women should be pleased with San Miguel, readers who gravitate to plot-driven fiction will probably find this novel less satisfying than some of Boyle's earlier, more captivating work.

Part one tells Marantha's story. It is a masterful portrayal of a woman struggling to control the dark side of her personality, to adapt gracefully to miserable circumstances while coping with failing health. In the late nineteenth century, Marantha joins her second husband (Will Waters) and adopted daughter (Edith) on San Miguel where, with Marantha's money, Will has purchased a half interest in a sheep farm. Marantha hopes to recuperate from consumption but soon realizes that a rainy, windy island is the wrong setting in which to salvage her health ... or, for that matter, her marriage. To paraphrase The Clash: Will she stay or will she go?

With Marantha, Boyle is at his best, creating a carefully nuanced character and describing her life in powerful terms. Marantha knows she has become "a crabbed miserable thing who said no to everything, to every pleasure and delight no matter how small or meaningless," but that is not the person she wants to be. As only a gifted writer can do, Boyle generates sympathy and understanding for a character whose thoughts and behavior are often spiteful.

Part two shifts the focus to Edith and her frustrated desire to be independent, free from her stepfather's tyranny. Hers is a story of isolation and desperation, of a blossoming woman longing for the company of intellect and social grace ("On a ranch, there are no gentlemen or ladies -- there was just life lived at the level of dressed-up apes tumbled down from the trees"). Boyle encourages the same empathy for Edith as he does for Marantha, although Edith is less complex and, for that reason, less interesting.

Part three begins in 1930. It introduces a woman named Elise who, at 38, is newly married to Herbie Lester. Having never been west of the Hudson, Elise moves to San Miguel with Lester. Unlike her predecessors, Elise manages to make a life that, if not quite normal, is generally satisfying despite Lester's growing detachment from reality.  Unlike the first two sections, some chapters in part three drag, adding little to character development while recounting events that are of no significant interest. The story perks up with the encroachment of World War II and a series of dramatic events that foreshadow an inevitable conclusion.

Edith resurfaces in part three as a memory, a tale told by Jimmie, the island's constant resident and the only character to appear in all three sections.  While the information Jimmie provides adds welcome continuity, the story of Edith's adult life is disappointingly abbreviated. Elise, on the other hand, is a character in full, but not a particularly vibrant one.

Boyle’s surgical prose slices into his characters, exposing their inner workings.  Boyle introduces the setting and characters in short chapters that bear descriptive titles:  “The Kitchen,” “The Flock,” “The Wind,” “Jimmie,” and so on.  Occasionally they are repeated, creating the sense of characters living parallel lives:  “The House” on San Miguel in which Marantha dwells, for instance, is less inviting that “The House” that will become Elise’s home.  Jimmie also rates more than one chapter heading, but he is hardly worth the space.  The novel belongs to the female characters, not the men.

The novel is aptly named.  The island of San Miguel is virtually a character in the novel, fickle and treacherous, beautiful and harsh, challenging its inhabitants with relentless wind and sand.  The sense of isolation Boyle creates is vivid.

That the characters are based on real people is perhaps San Miguel's greatest weakness. At its best, the novel creates tension as the characters struggle to survive the perils of nature and the numbness of seclusion. In part three, however, the story falls flat. Boyle's fidelity to the real-world characters, his failure to make Elise and all of the male characters more interesting than they actually were, causes the novel to lose momentum after a strong start. For its sense of history and place, and for Marantha's compelling story, San Miguel is worth reading, but this is far from Boyle's best work. 

RECOMMENDED

The Janus Reprisal by Jamie Freveletti

Published by Grand Central Publishing on September 11, 2012 

More than ten years after Robert Ludlum's death, the Ludlum Industrial Complex continues to churn out novels featuring his name on the cover, often in a larger font than that given to the actual author. In this case, the largest font is reserved for Jason Bourne's name, although this isn't a Jason Bourne novel. The Janus Reprisal (excuse me, Robert Ludlum's^TM The Janus Reprisal) is part of the Covert One series, allegedly based on Ludlum's ideas (and possibly his notes), although Ludlum himself never authored a Covert One novel. As the ninth Covert One novel, The Janus Reprisal presumably has only a tangential connection to any notion that originated with Ludlum.

The Janus Reprisal is better than many factory-produced novels. Although it makes use of a well-worn plot (terrorists want to acquire a mutated virus so they can become bioterrorists and kill Americans), Jamie Freveletti adds some modest twists to the standard formula.

The story begins with a group of terrorists staging an improbably successful attack on a hotel in The Hague, moving from room to room and shooting the occupants. Coincidentally, Lt. Col. Jon Smith is a hotel guest. Smith is both a physician and an operative of the super-secret spy organization called Covert One. He's attending a meeting of the World Health Organization. Other attendees have stored biological agents in the hotel's safe. The terrorists make off with the biomaterials, and it is up to Smith to track them down.

Meanwhile, an old nemesis of Smith's -- Oman Dattar, a Pakistani unimaginatively nicknamed The Butcher -- escapes from a prison in The Hague, only to find that he's having financial woes. He needs money to pay his assassins, one of whom targets Smith at the hotel during the terrorist attack. The assassin stupidly carries Smith's picture with him, as well as the photos two other people, giving Smith a trail to follow.

Smith is a pleasant departure from other thriller/action heroes in that he doesn't possess superhuman strength or inexhaustible stamina (although he functions surprisingly well after being exposed to mustard gas). Smith is smart but specialized; he doesn't have the encyclopedic knowledge that diminishes the credibility of some thriller heroes. Beyond that, however, Smith is devoid of personality. The Janus Reprisal is all plot; characterization is absent.

Some aspects of the novel are all too familiar: Smith disarming a bomb by following instructions he receives over the telephone; Smith's reliance on a genius computer hacker who is a social misfit; multiple shootouts in which professional killers never manage to disable or kill the hero; a mole in the CIA; a plan to kill everyone in Manhattan; using a woman as bait to flush out the terrorist (which always results in the woman being captured ... don't thriller heroes ever read thrillers?). The action sequence at the end becomes difficult to believe but it's not as outrageous as some other thrillers I've read.

Notwithstanding the story's familiarity, The Janus Reprisal is enjoyable. The workmanlike prose is clean; the pace is quick. Despite being used as bait, the woman who has been targeted by Dakkar is strong and resilient, not the typically helpless female character of old-school thrillers. The plan to wipe out Manhattan has some original elements. The plan is far-fetched, but no more so than is common in modern action-based thrillers. The Janus Reprisal isn't by any reasonable standard a first-rate thriller, but it's a fun time-killer, significantly above the norm for a factory-produced novel.

RECOMMENDED

More Than Human by Theodore Sturgeon

First published in 1953

More Than Human explores what it means to be human, a question made relevant by the evolution of an entity that Theodore Sturgeon calls Homo Gestalt, a group of individuals who reach completeness only by functioning together as a single being. The 1953 novel is written in three parts. The middle (and weakest) section first appeared as a novella in Galaxy magazine. Sturgeon, whose writing career focused on short stories, turned the novella into a novel by adding the first and third sections. Of the few novels he produced, More Than Human is by far the best.

The first section introduces most of the principle characters. Lone is feeble-minded but has the ability to control the minds of others. Jane can move objects with her mind. Mute twins named Bonnie and Beanie can teleport. While appearing to be developmentally disabled, Baby has the intellectual capacity of a supercomputer. The characters can barely survive as individuals; linked together they constitute a superior form of humanity.

In the first section, Sturgeon uses lush and riveting prose to remind the reader, primarily through the character of Lone, what it means to be human: to know the joy of anticipation and the pain of reality; to accept the necessity of loss as a condition of growth; to be loved and reviled; to lose friends and connect with strangers; to experience the awakening of compassion and empathy after years of comfortable numbness. There are deeper and more profound lessons in this novel than in any ten self-help books. One of my favorites has to do with the continuing struggle for self-realization: "So it was that Lone came to know himself; and like the handful of people who have done so before him he found, at this pinnacle, the rugged foot of a mountain."

The second section takes place several years later. It introduces Gerry Thompson, a disturbed sociopath with an impaired memory. Thompson, like Lone, has the ability to control minds, but it is not an ability that has served him (or humanity) well. He becomes involved with the Gestalt in a less than positive way, losing much of his identity in the process. This section begins and ends with Thompson in the office of a psychiatrist who is trying to help him recover his memory.

Section three takes place after the passage of another several years. It focuses on Hip Barrows, an Air Force engineer who (like Thompson) has lost his memory. Barrows is in jail and likely to be insitutionalized when he meets Jane. With Jane's assistance, Barrows begins to remember the events that led to his incarceration, and ultimately the event that triggered his memory loss -- an event that relates back to something Lone and the Gestalt did in part one. Barrows and Thompson come into conflict when Thompson decides that the Gestalt's behavior need not be governed by human standards.

The third section gives Sturgeon an opportunity to explore questions of ethics. He posits that traditional laws of morality cannot apply to a vastly superior entity, any more than human morals apply to ants, while new concepts of morality cannot arise to govern Homo Gestalt when only one such entity exists. Yet how can Homo Gestalt be complete without a conscience? Sturgeon steers the characters on a path toward self-awareness, much like a Brahmin might act as a spiritual guide to the ways of the universe. There is, in fact, something of a Buddhist or New Age philosophy at work in More Than Human, or at least one that is deeply humanistic (an ironic term, perhaps, to apply to an evolved entity that is more than human).

In many respects, More Than Human is nearly perfect: the dialog is particularly strong, the prose is some of the finest that science fiction has produced, and the message is inspiring. The supporting characters are drawn in finely detailed strokes: a farmer who endures despite losing everything that gave his life meaning; a innocent woman who has been sheltered from life by her deranged, ultra-religious father; a psychiatrist who exemplifies the caring empathy that should characterize his profession.

More Than Human reflects an optimism about the future of humanity that was a common trait of 1950s science fiction, before the genre succumbed to postmodern bleakness. Sturgeon envisioned a destiny for mankind that is not "guided by an awesome Watcher in the sky ... suffused with the pale odor of sanctity," but one that humanity achieves as the inevitable result of progress. Perhaps twenty-first century readers, awash in novels that envision the "posthuman" as a mechanical blend of brain and technology, are too jaded to consider humanity "sainted by the touch of its own great destiny." Jaded or not, the ideas that Sturgeon develops in More Than Human deserve a twenty-first century audience.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Fobbit by David Abrams

Published by Grove Press/Black Cat on September 4, 2012 

All wars are fought, in significant part, on the propaganda front. As warfare has become more sophisticated, so has news management. Fobbit (the term infantry grunts apply to soldiers who never leave the relative safety of the Forward Operating Base in Baghdad) ably captures the military's attempt to manage the news during the American occupation of Iraq.

Assigned to Public Affairs, Staff Sergeant Chance Gooding Jr. is doing his best to spin the war, a task made more difficult by officers like Capt. Abe Shrinkle, who blows up an American military fuel tanker with a hand grenade, killing a civilian Iraqi bystander in the process. As Gooding tries to prepare timely press releases, he is consistently beaten to the punch by CNN reporters who manage to compile a more accurate and complete story while Gooding's meddlesome superiors insert phrases like "enemies of democracy," debate the merits of referring to insurgents as "terrorists," and fret over the placement of favored adjectives like "heinous" and "brave." There is no bad news to report (at least according to the memos Gooding receives), a distortion of reality that challenges Gooding to recast disaster as triumph.

Despite its inevitable comparison to Catch-22, Fobbit isn't as split-a-gut funny, nor does it illustrate the folly of war as well as Heller's novel. David Abrams is a capable writer but his humor is often forced and he lacks Heller's literary flair. Abrams tips his hat to Heller when Gooding, reading Catch-22 on R&R, describes Heller's novel as "an owner's manual for this war." Shirkle, on the other hand, believes (in accordance with the views of his West Point professor) that Catch-22 is unpatriotic because Yossarian spends much of his time trying not to die for his country.

Unlike Catch-22, I sometimes felt that Fobbit consisted of a collection of characters in search of a plot. As a penetrating examination of the military's attempt to manage the news during the occupation of Iraq, Fobbit is a success. As cohesive comedy, Fobbit is far from perfect. The humor largely derives from two harmonic notes: the illusory attempt to control the news and the uniform incompetence of commissioned officers. When Abrams strays from those themes -- when, for instance, an officer sends self-aggrandizing emails to his mother -- the humor feels strained. While Abrams sets credible scenes within the Forward Operating Base and on occasional forays into Baghdad and Qatar, Fobbit rarely creates a visceral sense of men at war. Images of death and destruction lack power. Shirkle's transformation from flag-waving patriot to anti-military slacker is unconvincing. The novel's ending is more of a fade-out than a decisive conclusion, although I suppose that also describes the war itself.

Fobbit is an enjoyable novel despite its flaws. Abrams has a talent for spotting fools and for replicating their foolishness in his characters. He has a unique take on the war and on the public affairs writers charged with concealing the truth. When the novel focuses on propaganda management, it works well. Fobbit is worth reading for those golden moments.

RECOMMENDED