Oath of Office by Michael Palmer

Published by St. Martin's Press on February 14, 2012

The doctors in Oath of Office aren’t Marcus Welby.  They have problems.  Serious problems.  Dr. John Meacham, fearful of losing his license after yelling at yet another patient, kills seven people in his office before trying to kill himself -- a fairly clear violation of the Hippocratic Oath, to which the title refers.  Dr. Lou Welcome’s license was once suspended for self-prescribing amphetamines.  Having been helped through recovery by a physician’s wellness program, Welcome took a part-time job with the program in addition to his part-time position in an ER.  Meacham was one of Welcome’s clients.  Welcome is now in trouble with his boss, who blames Welcome for failing to demand more aggressive treatment of Meacham’s mental instability.  When the doctors treating Meacham all behave negligently, when Meacham’s widow endangers Welcome with her bizarrely fixated behavior, and when a chef at a local eatery sticks his thumb on a chopping block, Welcome begins to wonder whether the whole town has gone batty.

Developing alongside Welcome’s story is one involving the president, his wife, and a disgraced Secretary of Agriculture who resigned after being photographed with a naked teenage girl inside a motel room.  The First Lady rather bizarrely agrees to assist an unknown Mystery Man in an effort to clear the SecAg’s name and obtain his reinstatement to his former position.  To reveal how these two storylines converge would risk spoiling a clever plot; suffice it to say that you might learn more about agriculture than you knew before you began reading.

Oath of Office pairs a medical mystery with a story of political intrigue.  The plot is intellectually engaging and sufficiently fast moving to keep thriller fans happy.   The story seems plausible (an increasing rarity in the world of thrillers) although I’m not a scientist and might be easily fooled.  The source of the bizarre behavior isn’t much of a mystery; it’s fairly obvious by the novel’s midway point.  There are times when the villains do remarkably stupid things for the sake of moving the plot along, but those lapses of logic are forgivable.  An improbable romantic subplot neither adds nor detracts from the story.  A couple of plot twists toward the end are nifty if not entirely unexpected.  One of the final scenes will appeal to fans of gruesome.

Michael Palmer’s characters are adequate if not particularly memorable.  Characters who attend AA and reverently recite the serenity prayer are standard fixtures in thrillers.  Like many of those characters, Welcome is a bit too self-righteous about his day-to-day sobriety.  However justified it might be in the real world, pride is a deadly sin when exhibited in fiction.

The dialog Palmer gives to members of the medical community is convincing.  Dialog spoken by streetwise characters suggests that Palmer has spent more time in an office than hanging out on the streets.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Palmer’s best scenes showcase Welcome’s skillful response to medical emergencies.  Those passages are captivating, filled with tension and urgency.  The rest of the novel is written in a capable if unremarkable prose style.  One of the primary action scenes is unoriginal:  any thriller set in the heartland seems to feature characters running through a cornfield while being chased by a thresher.  A couple of times the narrative gets bogged down in discussions about the efficacy of AA versus psychotherapy as a treatment for substance abuse.  Recovery wonks might find the discussions fascinating but I thought they were distracting.  Fortunately those shortcomings are more than offset by Palmer’s creative story.  On the strength of its plot and its fast-moving action, Oath of Office is a novel that most thriller fans (not just medical thriller fans) should enjoy.

RECOMMENDED

Pure by Julianna Baggott

Published by Grand Central Publishing on February 8, 2012

Nine years after the Detonations, Pressia (who has a doll's head where her hand should be) is about to turn sixteen and is worried that she'll be picked up by the revolutionary group OSR and turned into a killer ... or perhaps a target. Her story initially alternates with that of Partridge, a boy who, though fortunate to live inside the Dome, resents his powerful father and wonders about his mother's fate. Inhabitants of the Dome think of those who live outside the dome as "wretches." The wretches disparagingly refer to those who live inside the Dome as "Pures." The wretches improbably experienced "mutations" during the Detonations; things they were carrying are now bonded with their bodies. Some less fortunate wretches fused with the earth, some fused with buildings, some with animals, some with machinery, some with other people (collections of people all fused together are called "Groupies"). All this fusing is supposedly the result of bombs that "disrupted cellular structures" combined with "nanotechnology that promotes the self-assembly of molecules." I'm not a scientist but his sounds more like doubletalk than science to me. If you can swallow the premise -- and it's difficult to take seriously a novel that gives new meaning to My Mother the Car -- Pure tells a surprisingly entertaining story.

Believing that his mother might still be alive, Partridge does the unthinkable: he leaves the Dome to search for her. It is of course inevitable that Pressia, fleeing from the OSR, will encounter Partridge, fleeing from the Dome. Although it seems that the story depends upon this fortuitous (and formulaic) coincidence, the plot is more complex than it first appears.

Pure is difficult to pigeonhole. It combines elements of a horror story (a wolfman carries off a child, a Dust creature reaches up from the ground to snatch Partridge) with a fantasy (the fused people strike me as more fantasy than science fiction), blends in a family drama, adds action scenes that echo The Hunger Games with a twist of Escape from New York, incorporates some Soviet-style darkness balanced with stirring heroism, and even sneaks in romantic subplots.

What to make of the resulting mashup? Labels aside, Pure is an appealing, smart, quirky addition to the ever-growing field of post-apocalyptic fiction. Although the plot is often derivative, the novel's strength lies in its characters. Except for a fused character who is very much like a two-headed character Harlan Ellison created for a short story and reprised in an episode of Masters of Science Fiction, Julianna Baggott's leading characters are unique individuals with surprisingly well developed personalities (something that is far too rare in fantasy and science fiction).

Dystopian fiction often offers a political point of view but it's rather subdued in Pure. In that regard, Baggott's best thought is that the prisons and "rehabilitation centers" of the future are built tall so that people know "that you live under their roof or in their shadow." Some of the wretches have developed odd religious beliefs -- they consider the Detonations to be punishment for their sins -- that cleverly reflect the oddness of some contemporary religious dogma. A group of (for lack of a better term) feminist wretches blame the mess that has been made of the world on men (a gender whose members are known to the women as "Deaths"); they prefer to live in a heavily armed collective. The mess came about, in part, because of the convolution of church and state. While all of this is interesting if not entirely original, the novel's larger message, I think, is that "when you live in a place of safety and comfort," it's easy to ignore the less fortunate who are hidden from your view. That's always worth remembering.

Still, Pure is more a well told story about troubled people than a novel of ideas. Neat plot twists require the characters to rethink their lives. Pressia's descriptions of her "heart-pounding" feelings for Bradwell occasionally come a bit too close to chick lit for my taste, but in most respects the writing is solid. Despite her deceptively ordinary prose, there's a poignancy in Baggott's writing that's rare in science fiction. Pure is a fine novel, one that makes me look forward to the remaining installments of Baggott's trilogy.

RECOMMENDED

The Eden Prophecy by Graham Brown

Published by Bantam on January 31, 2012

Stop me if you've heard this before: terrorists are about to unleash a dangerous new virus on an unsuspecting world. Yes, you've heard it before. You're also familiar with the chase scenes (this book features a car and motorcycle chasing a boat and dune buggies chasing ATVs), gunfights, explosions, hot women, studly men, and exotic locales, all standard ingredients in the recipe for a movie-style thriller. There's even a villain named Draco and some international finance intrigue involving stolen artwork. So why bother to open this book when it sounds like bad imitation of a Bond movie? A few reasons come to mind.

First, the virus is designed to infect cells but leave them intact, rather than destroying them as would a typical virus. The purpose of the infection isn't immediately clear, but once it was revealed I had to give Graham Brown credit for avoiding the obvious. His virus isn't unique -- I've seen the concept before -- but it isn't trite. Second, the terrorist group isn't one of the usual suspects (hint: it isn't Islamic!). Third, before it turns into a Bond film, the novel sounds like a Dan Brown story, complete with archeologists and a lost scroll written in a lost language that holds the key to .... something. The intersection of the two thriller subgenres produces an intriguing result, even if it's not quite new. Fourth, the novel has important things to say about overpopulation and torture and the inequities that result from making medical research largely dependent upon a market economy. There's also a useful theological message: Question authority, even (or especially) if the authority is biblical, but don't invite Armageddon to prove the falsity of divinity.

But enough of messages and plot points. The real reason to read The Eden Prophecy, despite its familiarity, is simple: it's a good book. In addition to the standard story about good guys saving humanity from bad guys, there is a more personal story about saving a child from a fast-approaching death, although it fades into the background until the final chapters. The good guys, National Research Institute operative Danielle Laidlaw and an ex-mercenary named Hawker, have been road tested in Brown's earlier novels, Black Rain and Black Sun. (Reading the prior novels isn't necessary to understand this one, but doing so would enhance a reader's appreciation of the secret revealed at the novel's climax.) Laidlaw and Hawker aren't complex characters but Brown gives them good chemistry. The story races along faster than a turbo-charged dune buggy. Brown's writing style is clean and direct, well-suited to an action-driven story. The "race against the clock" ending might be too predictable, too movie-like despite the insertion of a final plot twist, but it's consistent with the novel's slightly outrageous, cocky attitude.

The Eden Prophecy is well researched: in addition to the Old Testament (as suggested by the title), we hear about ancient languages and Gilgamesh and telomeres and Middle Eastern geography and the 5.9K event (a geological event, not a race). A surprising amount of information is packed into this novel. Still, I don't recommend The Eden Prophecy for its history or science lessons. I recommend it because it's fun.

RECOMMENDED

The Lost Saints of Tennessee by Amy Franklin-Willis

Published by Atlantic Monthly Press on February 7, 2012

In 1985, Ezekial Cooper is 42 and sufficiently depressed about his failed life to contemplate ending it. Having dropped out of the college life he loved and its promise of a rewarding future, Zeke returned to grunt work near his hometown in Tennessee. Years later, Zeke is experiencing something more serious than a midlife crisis. His ex-wife, Jackie, has recently remarried. He feels distant from his daughters. His mother has lung cancer. His twin brother Carter is nearly ten years dead and Zeke can't recover from the loss -- he wonders "how can there be me without him?" To show us why Zeke's life has gone so terribly wrong, Amy Franklin-Willis takes the story back to 1946, introducing Zeke and Carter as children. The story then alternates between past and present.

The chapters outlining Zeke's past focus on his relationship with Jackie and Carter. Zeke is bright enough to win a scholarship to UVA, which his mother pressures him to accept for her own vicarious pleasure, even though Zeke would be more comfortable attending UT. Carter is slow; he won't make it past eighth grade. Part one reveals little else about the past.

The 1985 Zeke is so in love with his old mangy dog Tucker that he's an easy character to like. His sister Rosie is equally easy to like: she's perceptive and sassy (his other sister is less endearing). Zeke's elderly cousin Georgia and her husband Osborne are hard-working and kind-hearted, although Osborne's poor health is affecting his behavior. Zeke eventually embarks on a trip to their Virginia home, where he stayed while attending UVA, a time when "life offered a thousand possible destinations." Journeying toward self-awareness by escaping to the past is a novelistic convention that's been done to death, but Willis offers a fresh take on a familiar plot.

The reader learns more about Carter in part two, which is told from the perspective of Zeke's dying mother Lillian, a woman who has experienced more than enough trouble to fill two lifetimes. Her tale of regret is often told in fiction: childhood dreams pushed aside by the consequences of poor choices, the burden of unwanted responsibilities, coping mechanisms that lead to equal parts of relief and grief, self-assigned guilt for tragedies beyond her control. Like her son, Lillian is ready to die. Her story is written in a distinctive voice that sets it apart from Zeke's, but -- perhaps because it lacks the immediacy of part one -- I found it less compelling.

Part two is merely a lengthy interlude, however, as part three returns the focus to Zeke. The novel has by that point lost some of its momentum, and the story of Zeke's present has lost some of its urgency, as well. The story of his past moves to the forefront in part three. It is dramatic and occasionally gut-wrenching. The flashbacks to Zeke's college years give meaningful context to Zeke's present. By the time the story brings us back to the present, when Zeke's potential new love interest (Elle) tells Zeke that "everybody's got a closet full of hurt tucked away somewhere," we are close to understanding the contents of Zeke's closet; we understand why Zeke might be just as incapable of growing his love for Elle as he was of sustaining his love for Jackie. We also understand why he rejects his mother's love, why he tells her "The way you love is like sucking all the air out of a person's lungs and then telling him you'll breathe for him."

The story of Zeke's present eventually turns into a fairly conventional portrayal of a man confronting (and coming to terms with) the demons that have tormented him for most of his adult life. The emotions displayed by Zeke and his family members come across as honest, the story isn't overtly manipulative or weepy, but it's the sort of family drama that has been written many times before. The novel builds to a climax -- the revelation of what really happened on the day Carter died -- that disappointed me; it isn't much of a revelation, and it certainly isn't climactic. Given the buildup, I expected a more powerful finish. It all wraps up too neatly and all the warm fuzziness in the last chapters is a bit much. For its strong characters and high points, this is a novel I recommend, but given its weak ending, I wouldn't put it at the top of anyone's reading list.

RECOMMENDED

Eternity Road by Jack McDevitt

First published in 1997 by HarperCollins

In the year 306 of the post-apocalyptic world as Silas Glote knows it, few things are as valuable as the only surviving copy of a Mark Twain novel.  How Karik Endine acquired A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, and why he kept its acquisition a secret, is a mystery.  An even greater mystery is why Karik bequeathed it to Chaka Milana, a young woman he barely knew, just before he killed himself.

Eternity Road is Jack McDevitt’s contribution to the enormous body of post-apocalyptic fiction.  The apocalyptic event, identified only as “the plague” until an epilogue sheds a bit more light upon it, occurred in the distant past.  Among the other legends and rumors that captivate the imaginations of those who live in the Mississippi Valley is the existence of a place called Haven, a repository of knowledge somewhere to the east.  Karik once led an expedition to find Haven; he returned alone.  Years later, shortly after Karik’s death, a new expedition is mounted.  This one includes Silas, Chaka, Karik’s son, a woman who renounced her priesthood, a woodsman, and a couple of others.  They confront danger and hardship, encounter wondrous remnants of the forgotten technology left behind by “the Roadmakers,” meet people who are friendly and some who are not, and generally experience the sort of adventures that are common in quest stories.

McDevitt is one of the best storytellers in science fiction so all of this is interesting and entertaining, but the story isn’t nearly as exciting and the characters not nearly so compelling as those in his Academy or Alex Benedict novels.  Character development seems half-hearted and the obstacles the characters encounter on their journey lack the imaginative brilliance that characterizes McDevitt’s best work.

A minor gripe but one that bothered me:  Everyone of importance in the novel is able to read English.  They have no difficulty, for instance, understanding A Connecticut Yankee.  They can even read a translation of Tacitus.  It is difficult for me to believe that the ability to read and write survived for so many generations but an understanding of science and technology did not.  It seems to me that literacy would vanish at least as quickly as the knowledge required to repair an internal combustion engine or to build a steam locomotive.  If books on paper did not survive the centuries, why were parents passing along to their children the ability to read but not the ability to generate electricity?  Did the plague wipe out engineers but spare English majors?

Illogic notwithstanding, a weak McDevitt novel is still a better effort than many sf writers can produce:  the writing is fluid, the pace is swift, and the story is capably crafted.  The novel’s best moments require the reader to puzzle out where the characters are and what they’re seeing, provoking fun little “aha” experiences (as in, “aha, they’re looking at a satellite dish!”).  Eternity Road should appeal to fans of quest and adventure novels and post-apocalyptic fiction, although readers familiar with McDevitt’s better novels may be disappointed.

RECOMMENDED