Little Night by Luanne Rice

Published by Pamela Dorman Books on June 5, 2012 

Luanne Rice is a capable writer who specializes in telling stories about family dynamics.  The bare bones of a good story are buried deep within Little Night.  Sadly, a determined reader will need to dig through contrived situations and weakly developed characters to find it.

The prologue begins in 1993 with the arrest of Clare Burke after she smashes Frederik Rasmussen’s face with a burning log.  After years of estrangement from her sister Anne caused by Anne’s controlling husband Frederik, Clare had noticed Anne’s injuries during a visit.  Clare was convincing Anne to flee to a place of safety when Frederik came home and began to choke Anne.  The police do not believe Clare was protecting Anne when Anne refuses to contradict her domineering husband, who accuses Clare of attempting to murder him.

In 2011, Anne’s daughter Grit visits Clare in New York City.  Grit is a follower of Clare’s bird blog.  She shares Clare’s animosity toward Frederik.  Grit also has issues surrounding her mother’s uncaring behavior and her brother’s apparent death in a bog.  Grit and Clare nonetheless bond over the fact that they both miss Anne.  Before she fled home, Grit stole Anne’s diary which Clare reads to gain insight into Anne’s personality.

Part two begins with a posting on Anne’s blog that (with good reason) questions her parenting of Grit.  Reading it together (as well as subsequent entries) gives Clare and Grit another bonding opportunity.

Other events are scattered through this mostly uneventful novel.  Grit behaves in a self-destructive way.  She gets tattoos from an artist named Dennis.  She earns a little money by cooking for pretentious people.  Clare examines her feelings for a bird enthusiast named Paul.  Yet most of the novel’s drama is reserved for the last couple of chapters, which I thought were entirely unbelievable.

In fact, I didn’t believe much of the story at all, beginning with the setup.  I doubt Clare would have been prosecuted, much less convicted and sentenced to prison, given the fairly obvious evidence of Frederick’s abusive nature (Anne’s loyalty to her husband notwithstanding).  The subplot involving Grit’s brother is similarly contrived.

Neither did I believe that the characters were real.   Frederik is too over-the-top to be convincing.  Sure, there are people in the world who are as evil as Frederik, but Rice fails to develop Frederik in sufficient depth to make his personality ring true.  Anne is subservient because Rice needs her to be that way to make the story work, but we never learn why such a seemingly strong-willed girl changes so dramatically that later in life she betrays both her sister and her daughter for the sake of a man she doesn't seem to like.   Dennis is improbably attuned to Grit from the instant they meet.  His perfect sensitivity makes him seem more like an illusion than a real person.  Neither Paul nor Dennis is a fully realized character.  They are empty vessels, existing only to spice the story by giving Clare and Grit the opportunity for love.

Some aspects of Little Night are hokey:  a bartender’s intuitive knowledge that Clare had served prison time (a mere two years) because of her “blank stare”; the upscale soap opera that was Anne’s life before Frederik came along (fate’s punishment for her wanton ways?); Dennis feeling moved to kiss Grit while giving her a tattoo, apparently because he senses her tortured soul.  Clare’s childhood discovery that her perfect father was a less-than-perfect husband -- a realization that “broke Anne in a way that changed her forever” -- is trite.  Scenes of family drama are robbed of their potential power by cheesy, melodramatic writing (Grit “missed her mother so much she thought her head would explode”).  The characters engage in so much hand-wringing about their family problems that the narrative becomes emotionally deadening.

Rice presents some interesting information about birds and bogs.  She draws interesting parallels between nature and families, both of which are filled with beauty and brutality.  Unfortunately, Rice feels a need to explain her metaphors, as if she thinks her readers are too dim to grasp them without assistance.  That’s the fundamental problem with this uneven novel:  sometimes Rice tells us too much, other times not enough.   Rice's failure to find the right balance makes Little Night a novel of limited appeal.

NOT RECOMMENDED

The Self Illusion by Bruce Hood

Published by Oxford University Press on May 23, 2012 

Bruce Hood argues that the self is an illusion, "a powerful deception generated by our brains for our own benefit." He contends that a correct understanding of self contradicts the popular view that we are individuals within our bodies, "tracing out a pathway through life, and responsible for our thoughts and actions." His argument that the self is merely an illusion will probably not be well received by the portion of the mental health and self help industry that makes a living teaching people to understand themselves, control themselves, or change themselves. Hood argues that none of those objectives can be accomplished, although we might maintain the illusion that we have accomplished them, because we cannot change or control what does not exist.

Is the argument convincing? Yes and no. According to Hood, who we think we are is a product of external influences: "it is the experience of others that defines who we are." Our brains manufacture models to make sense of the external world, and we experience those models as "a cohesive, integrated character," but the model is just a construct, not a reality. I buy that, but I'm not sure the word "illusion" is synonymous with "mental construct." I suppose one could argue that any product of the brain -- a thought, an emotion, a sensation -- is in some sense an illusion as opposed to a tangible reality, but I find that difficult to accept that creations of the brain are correctly categorized as illusions.

Hood's thesis, as summarized in the last chapter, is that the self is the product of the mind, built over time from observing externalities. I'm not sure why this means that the self is an illusion. A house is built over time from materials derived from external sources, but a completed house is no illusion. Yes, the self may be based on imperfect memories and misperceived experiences. Yes, the self is "continually shifting and reshaping" as external influences change. That tells me that the self is fluid, not that it isn't real. Of course, Hood contends that the brain fights hard to protect the self illusion, and that may be exactly what my brain is doing as I write this. Even if "self" is an illusion, however -- and Hood acknowledges this -- it is a useful illusion, and one with which we are stuck. As Hood notes, we "need a pretty strong sense of self to survive," so even if self is an illusion, it is one most of us need to embrace.

On the other hand, perhaps my quibble is only a semantic disagreement with Hood's use of the word "illusion." Much of Hood's argument is indisputable. Hood presents the heart of his argument in the preface. The remainder of the book is packed with information. Chapter 1 provides an overview of the brain: how it functions and how it develops during infancy. Chapter 2 focuses on the social interaction of babies, who (Hood says) are hardwired with a Machiavellian ability to manipulate adults. He also discusses the development of self-consciousness during infancy. Chapter 3 explores the notion of the "looking-glass self" (the theory that we conceptualize ourselves based on how others see us), examines the role memory plays in the development of the sense of self, and discusses the phenomenon of false or induced memories. Hood's premise is largely dependent upon this research. If our sense of identity is based on a composite of our memories, and if our memories are inherently unreliable, are we really who we think we are? Hood also discusses the role that gender and stereotypes play in shaping the sense of self, as well as autism and psycopathy, ADHD and impulse control. Chapter 7 discusses the fallibility of memory and the relationship between memory and identity.

Some aspects of the book are likely to be controversial, particularly the assertion that "the freedom to make choices is another aspect of the self illusion." Chapter 4 suggests that people are not truly responsible for their actions -- a point of view that is shunned by a criminal justice system. That brain injuries rather than conscious choice may lead to aggression or pedophilia is a reality that the law would prefer to ignore. More doubtful, however, is Hood's assertion that our actions are never a product of free will. Toward the end of chapter 4, Hood acknowledges what seems obvious: even if free will doesn't exist, we might as well accept the illusion that it does because the illusion makes us happy.

The most valuable concept that follows from Hood's argument is his rejection of the notion that "winners," extraordinary achievers who manage to overcome formidable obstacles, are inherently better than "losers," the large majority of people who are limited by their circumstances. Hood asks why we blame people for failing to achieve "rather than the circumstances that prevent them from achievement." I suspect that society isn't ready to accept the ramifications of that simple question.

Much of the rest of The Self Illusion could come from Psychology Today. It's all very interesting and Hood credibly connects the wide-ranging topics to his central premise. Do we lose our sense of individual identity in a crowd? Do we join groups to define our identity? Why do we fear ostracism? If the self can be easily molded (even made to do evil) by group membership, can a core self really exist? What do identity disorders say about our actual identity?

After absorbing as much of this information as I could, I think Hood's evidence for the nonexistence of self can be summarized this way: 1. We do not always behave as we expect to behave. 2. We often behave as we think others expect us to behave. 3. When we are in a group, we engage in group behavior rather than behaving as individuals. 4. Behavior is sometimes caused by a mental disorder. This summary is too simplistic to be fair, but I don't think the broader arguments in The Self Illusion convinced me that self is an illusion so much as it reinforced my understanding that the self is complex. Clearly we construct a sense of ourselves that is influenced by a variety of factors (from dopamine to Twitter), but I'm not sure that construct is illusory so much as it is malleable. In any event, Hood assembles a large amount of information that is useful and interesting, whether or not you ultimately agree that it proves his point.

RECOMMENDED

Zombie by J.R. Angelella

Published by Soho Press on June 5, 2012

The best news about Zombie is that the only zombies in the story are metaphorical.  Jesus is one (back from the dead).  So is a pill-popping mom who is usually zoned out (the living dead).  As befits its title, the story takes a horrific twist but it never quite becomes a horror novel.  Zombie is too funny to be frightening, but it also makes serious points about the nature of everyday monsters.

Like all straight teenage boys, Jeremy Barker is obsessed with girls, although he gets nosebleeds when he’s aroused.  The highlight of his summer was seeing his neighbor Tricia naked.  Jeremy is also obsessed with zombies.  He thinks the high school he’s about to enter should have security measures in place to counteract a potential zombie attack.  Although he’s attending the Byron Hall Catholic School for Boys, he seems wholly unprepared for the rituals (including confession) in which he is expected to participate.  On the other hand, when a priest tells Jeremy that “zombies have more in common with Catholics than most people care to admit,” Jeremy knows he has found a friend.  The priest, in fact, recommends The Greatest Story Ever Told as an underappreciated zombie movie.

Jeremy is supposed to be taking Ritalin but he isn’t fond of pills.  Jeremy’s mother, who is a bigger fan of pills than Jeremy, left his father some time ago, leaving behind stacks of women’s magazines that Jeremy devours.  Jeremy’s brother has also moved out, leaving Jeremy alone with his dad.  Jeremy’s father (Ballantine) lives in his own world, a world that includes Jeremy only when his father wants to impart fatherly advice, including the kind of knot Jeremy should sport on his necktie (the bigger the knot, the bigger the … or so Jeremy’s dad believes).  Ballantine disappears every night and Jeremy doesn’t believe his claim that he’s spending his time with a nurse.  The mystery of Ballantine’s secret life deepens when Jeremy finds a disturbing DVD among his father’s belongings -- disturbing in part because Jeremy recognizes his English teacher in the video.

Jeremy offers opinions on varied topics -- boxers versus briefs, how to survive a zombie apocalypse or an art exhibit -- while his friends dispense dating advice, providing amusing digressions from an amusingly meandering story.  The lurking mystery of Ballantine’s nocturnal activities is resolved in a manner that mixes Dostoevsky, Frankenstein, Eyes Wide Shut, and existential philosophy.  That doesn’t sound funny, but it is, in a twisted sort of way.

Fans of zombie movies might appreciate Jeremy’s running commentary on the many zombie films he’s seen (including the underrated Zombie Strippers).  Jeremy sees zombie movies as morality tales or parables in which zombies, having no stake in humanity, represent amorality in its purest form.  Of course, it isn’t necessary to be a zombie to be soulless -- witness those around the world (including Jeremy’s father during the Vietnam War) who have made a profession of torturing others.

Zombie is written in an informal, chatty style.  Chapters are short, sentences are snappy, dialog is sharp.  It is a quick and fun read, yet the book has a surprising degree of literary merit.  Characters are smart and brash and they analyze each other in insightful ways.

If you don’t like books with depressing endings, you might want to give Zombie a pass.  My larger complaint about the ending is its abruptness.  A number of story threads are left dangling; a number of characters who seemed to be important to the story simply disappear.  Still, I think Zombie accomplishes its goal.  This is a novel about survival, and despite the depressing outcome, there’s a degree of warmth and hopefulness in Jeremy’s ability to survive a metaphorical zombie apocalypse.

(Like most boys attending a Catholic boy’s school, Jeremy has a foul mouth.  That adds to the humor, and I mention it only for the benefit of readers who screen books for their kids or who choose to avoid reading naughty language.)

RECOMMENDED

Amped by Daniel H. Wilson

Published by Doubleday on June 5, 2012 

Amped is a variation on a science fiction theme with a rich tradition:  an exploration of the rights to which artificially intelligent beings are entitled.  Although the theme has most often involved machines that take on the characteristics of humans, Daniel Wilson applies it to humans who have been physically and cognitively enhanced by technology.  The result isn’t particularly profound or original, but taken as a thriller with science fiction trappings, Amped is enjoyable escapist fiction.

Amped begins with a familiar premise:  a device implanted in the brain amplifies intelligence by focusing concentration.  Not surprisingly, there is a public outcry against those who, having obtained the device, are perceived as having an unfair advantage.  Since those with amplified concentration will inevitably be the smartest students, they are banned from many public schools, an outcome advocated by the Pure Human Citizen’s Council but condemned by the Free Body Liberty Group (who put an interesting spin on “pro-choice”).  The PHCC, led by Senator Joseph Vaughn, has convinced a growing segment of the population that enhanced intelligence is both unpatriotic and a threat to the American way of life.

As a technological enhancement that (supposedly) makes life better, the amp is arguably not so different from the neural implant that controls Owen Gray’s epileptic seizures.  Because the maintenance hub in his temple is indistinguishable from an amp’s hub, however, Owen experiences hostility from “normal” people who believe he has an amp.  Owen’s empathy for amps is therefore understandable, but his understanding of his own existence is radically altered when his father reveals a secret about Owen’s past.  The disclosure sends Owen on a trip to an Oklahoma trailer park called Eden.  Meanwhile, a disbanded group of amped soldiers called the Echo Squad is blamed for terrorizing the country.  One of them, a cowboy named Lyle Crosby, becomes central to the story.

Unfortunately, the story’s background is better than the story itself.  A third of the way in, Amped becomes a tale of resistance:  the amped, led by the Echo Squad, against the regular (“reggie”) folk who oppress them.  Amped later turns into a political conspiracy action-adventure story flavored with Superman and a bit of romance.  At times it reads like military science fiction without the military trappings; at other times it resembles a condensed version of a Ludlum novel.

One of Amped’s most interesting themes is the nature of heroism.  The difference between freedom fighter and terrorist, as we have often heard and as the story demonstrates, is simply a matter of perspective.  Another theme is the consequence of oppression.  Those who fight back reinforce the fears of the oppressors while persuading the ambivalent that they have something to fear from a suddenly violent minority.  Those who don’t fight back are consigning themselves to a life of oppression.

Amped’s primary theme is, of course, fear and hatred of people who are different from the norm.  An important but underdeveloped character (an advocate for peaceful resistance) perceptively argues that most people are good, but not when they’re afraid.  Fear is easy to instill and a powerful tool for manipulation of opinion, a point that Wilson makes in a heavy-handed way.

Unfortunately, Amped buries these serious themes in an action-adventure story that fails to do them justice.  The story takes a (not entirely unexpected) twist at the end, the sort of ploy that thrillers rely upon to startle readers.  As an action-adventure-thriller-science fiction story, Amped isn’t bad, but a disappointing ending cheapens a strong setup.  It is only partially redeemed by an epilog that, despite being a little too warm and fuzzy, delivers an important message.

Despite my criticisms, Amped make a number of points rather effectively:  the media’s willingness to slant stories in a way that both reflects and shapes popular opinion as dictated by the prevailing power structure; the ability of oppressors to spin the truth by portraying themselves as the oppressed; the godlike sense that often develops in people who have profoundly superior abilities.  The parallel between those who call for human purity (i.e., unenhanced brain functions) and those who, in the past, have supported racial purity or religious purity or political purity is obvious but nonetheless insightful.

Wilson writes with unwavering intensity and fierce energy.  While the story is ordinary, Amped is worth reading for the well-conceived background and for the thoughtful messages it delivers.

RECOMMENDED

Drowned by Therese Bohman

First published in Swedish in 2010; published in translation by Other Press on May 22, 2012 

I'm amazed to find a work of Scandinavian fiction in which the characters aren't endlessly complaining about how depressed they become during the long, frigid winters. In the first half of Drowned, the characters complain about how depressed they have become during the unusually hot summer. Part Two takes place in the fall and the characters complain that the rain and rotting leaves have created "a state of torpor." It seems that an unremitting feeling of depression is a consistent feature of Scandinavian fiction, no matter what the season might be.

Marina, an art history student in Stockholm, takes a train to the country to visit her sister Stella, who is living with an older man, a novelist named Gabriel. Unsurprisingly, something develops between Marina and Gabriel. Much of the story (written in the first person from Marina's perspective) takes place inside Marina's head as she ponders the meaning behind the brief kiss Gabriel gave her, her life-long jealousy and resentment of Stella, and her relationship with her absent boyfriend. One external event becomes significant: a burn mark on Stella's inner thigh that she can't adequately explain.

Things have changed by November, including Marina's relationship with Gabriel, when the novel's second half opens with Marina's return to the country. I won't reveal the plot-altering event that leads to the second visit for the sake of not spoiling it, although it is something the reader will probably anticipate long before it happens. Mild tension develops as the reader wonders how that event came to pass.

Some of its promotional blurbs describe Drowned as a thriller. Readers who come to the novel expecting it to thrill are likely to be disappointed. Nothing mysterious -- or even eventful -- happens until the story's last quarter. All of the action (and there isn't much) is crowded into the final pages. Even then, the story is more strange than suspenseful. The ending leaves many questions unanswered, and while that isn't always a bad thing, in this case I think too much is left open. The story seems incomplete.

Drowned is not for readers who only enjoy plot-driven, energetic novels. The tone is hushed, the pace is languid, and the content is based on thought rather than action. Therese Bohman's focus is on the creation of character rather than the tension that usually defines a thriller. Of course, the character Bohman develops is Marina, so when Gabriel, late in the novel, becomes more significant to the plot, it seems that we're meeting him for the first time. Gabriel's actions seem out of character but only because he was such a hollow character for most of the novel. If Bohman intended to create a sense of foreboding (and I think she did), she waited too long to do it.

Bohman has a nice eye for descriptive detail but she doesn't go overboard. Although she often seems on the verge of writing run-on sentences and is addicted to comma splices -- a writing style I generally disfavor -- Bohman makes it work. The sentences hurry forward, creating the illusion of urgency even when nothing much is happening. References to art and poetry pop up with some frequency; at least some of those have an allegorical relationship to Bohman's story. All of that kept me reading but, in the end, it isn't enough to make the novel succeed. Although there are many aspects of Drowned that I appreciated, it ultimately left me frustrated, in a state of torpor.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS