The Flowers of War by Geling Yan

First published in 2006; published in trnaslation by Other Press on January 31, 2012

The Flowers of War takes place during the 1937 Nanking Massacre.  Fleeing the fighting that accompanies the Japanese occupation of Nanking, women from a brothel climb the walls surrounding the church compound maintained by Father Engelmann.  With hungry schoolgirls in the attic and sassy prostitutes in the cellar, the missionaries become desperately short of food, water, and patience. Hiding in the compound’s graveyard is Major Dai, wounded after a skirmish with Japanese soldiers.  When two more wounded Chinese soldiers arrive at the gate, Dai emerges and demands that they be sheltered.  Father Engelmann faces a dilemma:  if he turns them away, they will be captured and killed by the Japanese; if he gives them refuge, he will be compromising the neutrality of the church and placing the schoolgirls at risk.  The story that follows touches upon the lives of those within the compound’s walls as they try to avoid being victims of the war crimes committed by the Japanese Army.

Given the dramatic setting, much of the novel is surprisingly weak.  The characters are well constructed but familiar; the prostitutes are similar to the other prostitutes who make regular appearances in Asian novels (including Geling Yan's infinitely superior The Lost Daughter of Happiness), while Father Engelmann channels the standard American priest serving in a distant land.  We learn bits and pieces about the lives of various members of the ensemble cast, prostitutes and soldiers and students and missionaries, but not enough to appreciate any character completely.  A schoolgirl named Shujuan is often spotlighted but we know little about her beyond her petty jealousies in matters of friendship.  A prostitute named Yumo gets more attention than the rest but she’s an empty outline of a character.

The Flowers of War has substantial merit despite its relatively undistinguished cast of characters.  As is generally true in a novel that describes the atrocities of war, it would be difficult to remain untouched by the narrative.  The story produces some tender moments as groups of clashing characters -- very different in their upbringings and attitudes -- are forced to interact with each other.  Geling Yan creates palpable tension whenever Japanese soldiers make an appearance.  The ending and its karmic message is sensational; it is nearly enough to redeem the novel as a whole.

Yan writes (or is translated) in an undistinguished style, notable only for its plainness.  That doesn’t mean the writing is bad or unpolished; the prose is bland but serviceable and the story is easy to read.  It’s a shame, however, that such a powerful story was not told in more powerful language.  Ultimately, I recommend the novel for the story it tells rather than the way it is told.

RECOMMENDED

Ark by Charles McCarry

Published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media on November 22, 2011

For reasons having to do with the faster rotation of the planet's core than its surface, the Earth will soon experience an apocalyptic event leading to "an interruption of civilization" -- or so predicts Henry Peel, a ultra-wealthy, reclusive genius who rarely errs in matters of science. His solution -- his plan for the salvation of the human race -- is to put a ship in orbit around the Earth before sending it on a thousand year voyage, carrying a few hundred humans and a particular cargo (the precise nature of which isn't revealed until a quarter of the novel has gone by). Henry's solution leads to an ethical debate about the degree to which man should play god, a common theme of science fiction.

For reasons that never seem persuasive, Henry recruits the novel's narrator, a female author, to act as his amanuensis. She faces a more personal threat than the coming apocalypse: a stalker who, having victimized her once, now intends to kill her. At a later point, she encounters (and beds) a somewhat more benign stalker. When she isn't being stalked, she follows Henry and doles out occasional dollops of advice.

I am a fan of Charles McCarry's spy novels. His craftsman-like storytelling ability shows in Ark: steady pace, fluid prose, sharply defined characters. He brings the elements of a thriller to this science fiction novel. In fact, the novel is better as a thriller than as sf. As a political thriller, Ark excels; McCarry's imagining of governmental responses to the private construction of a vast orbiting ark, of Henry's preemption of the less favorable responses, and of the media's coverage of it all, is intelligent and convincing.

As science fiction, however, Ark is acceptable but unexceptional. McCarry tosses out an occasional clever idea -- like using robotic hornets as a defensive weapon -- but the story itself isn't original: both the crisis and the solution are rehashes of concepts familiar to science fiction fans. Henry has visions -- they may be chemically induced or he may have a pipeline to God -- that seem out of place in a technology-driven story. To a large extent, the various concepts that McCarry cobbles together seem unfinished, never cohering into a focused whole.

Still, I enjoyed the story despite its flaws. Among those is McCarry's perpetuation of the myth that any time the police forget to read a suspect his rights the suspect automatically goes free -- a minor plot point that I nonetheless found grating. The suspect (one of the narrator's stalkers) turns into a significant character -- a serial rapist, no less -- whose contribution to the story is minimal despite its intended importance. A better subplot involves the narrator's mysterious lover, but his eventual disappearance from the story left me wondering why he was ever part of it. The larger plot leads to an ending that is in some respects anticlimactic but reasonably satisfying. On the whole, Ark isn't a bad attempt at science fiction, but the reading public will likely be better served if McCarry sticks to the spy novels that are his true forte.

RECOMMENDED

The Underside of Joy by Seré Prince Halverson

Published by Dutton on January 12, 2012

Before finishing the first page, the reader learns that The Underside of Joy will be about a life-changing event.  Something will happen to cause the narrator to learn that her three years of “doing backflips in the deep end of happiness” was transitory, that “the most genuine happiness cannot be so pure, so deep, or so blind.”  When the blissful life she has created with her husband and his two children comes to an abrupt end with her husband’s death -- a part of “life’s never-ending track of goodbyes” -- Ella must pick up the pieces.  Her husband has left behind a debt-ridden business and a meager insurance policy.  That’s bad enough, but then an unexpected piece appears:  Paige, the children’s biological mother, returns from her self-imposed exile.

Will Ella be able to save the family store?  More importantly, will she be able to keep her remaining family intact in light of Paige’s desire to resume her role as the children’s mother?  Ella concocts a plan that might do both, but will it succeed?

This is the kind of plotline that rarely appeals to me because it so easily descends into mawkish melodrama.  Unimaginative authors are often tempted to manipulate readers with the cheap, ready-made sentiment of a trashy movie on the Lifetime network.  Seré Prince Halverson surprised me with her deft handling of this family drama.  On a few occasions Halverson came very close to going over-the-top, but I never felt that the main storyline was contrived or unrealistic.  Even the ending, which is considerably neater than true life usually manages to be, is comfortably plausible.

It’s easy (and too common) to paint an absentee parent as an evil threat to her children when she suddenly reappears in their lives, but life is rarely that simple.  Halverson deserves credit for her nuanced depiction of a difficult domestic situation:  Paige may not be quite as bad as she first appears and, under pressure, Ella may not be the supermom she once believed herself to be.  The story works its way toward an ethical dilemma, one that forces Ella to make a difficult choice between her self-interest and what might be in the best interest of her children.  Ella’s contemplation of that choice leads to understandable conflict with Joe’s family and a deeper understanding of Paige.  It’s the sort of choice that will inevitably cause a reader to ask:  What would I do?  I’m not sure that any answer is the “right” answer; that’s what makes the problem so interesting.

To some extent, The Underside of Joy is about the value of honesty, of living without the comfortable concealment of facades.  But honesty can backfire.  Is there such a thing as being too honest?  Again, Halverson avoids simplistic answers to life’s difficult questions.

Two weaknesses mar this otherwise fine novel.  One is a subplot involving Ella’s father (who died while she was young under circumstances that made Ella blame herself for his death).  The other is a relatively minor plot point involving Paige’s childhood.  Those are the only aspects of this domestic drama that seem artificial.  The first is meant to illustrate the lesson that neither Ella’s dead father nor her dead husband were perfect, and that “perfection is a weight none of us can bear,” but the way it unfolds is too improbable to ring true.  The second is meant to humanize Paige but its introduction interrupts and distracts from a moment of drama that feels much more genuine.

A much stronger plot thread involves Joe’s grandfather, an Italian-American who was confined to an American internment camp during World War II for the crime of being Italian.  That loyal Americans were treated as “the enemy” because of their birthplaces is shameful, although that tendency continues even in the current century.  Halverson explores the issue with sensitivity and compassion.

Halverson writes with refined rawness, manufacturing prose that is elegant yet powerful.  Her loving descriptions of nature make forests and rivers come alive, as do her renditions of the novel’s characters.  The quality of the writing kept me turning the pages even in moments when I thought the plot was becoming a bit too sappy.  The Underside of Joy reads like the work of an experienced novelist, not a first timer.  I look forward to her next effort.

RECOMMENDED

The Spy Who Jumped Off the Screen by Thomas Caplan

Published by Viking on January 10, 2012

“It’s as though Matt Damon really were Jason Bourne” says one of the characters in The Spy Who Jumped Off the Screen.  That pretty well sums up the plot.

The novel begins with the shooting of a banker by a credit card holder who is understandably miffed by the bank’s unconscionable 30 percent interest rate.  The true motivation for the murder remains a mystery while the rest of the story unfolds.  The plot is standard James Bond fare:  the theft and sale of nuclear weaponry must be thwarted.  This time the thief is an American providing disarmament expertise and assistance to the Russian government.  Thomas Caplan deserves credit for designing an interesting plan to steal the nuclear material that appears to be credible (having no such expertise of my own, I don’t know if the plan is realistic or sound, but I had no trouble accepting it at face value).  The bad guys are a banker turned diplomat named Philip Frost and a wealthy but unscrupulous financial wizard named Ian Santal.  The good guy is a military intelligence officer turned superstar actor named Ty Hunter.  Unlikely though it may seem, the president himself recruits Hunter to spy upon Frost and Santal.

Early on, the novel compares Hunter’s lodgings to those that might be favored by Sean Connery or Cary Grant.  Hunter is clearly in that mold:  sophisticated, good looking, charming while remaining a bit aloof.  He is, of course, irresistible to women, except (initially) for Isabella Cavill, the elusive romantic interest he can’t have and therefore desires (he has a similar experience with the “very delicious” Maria Antonia Salazar).  Sadly, characters crafted from a mold tend to be unoriginal, unimaginative, and uninteresting, all adjectives that apply to Ty Hunter.  The other characters are equally bereft of personality.

The plot is somewhat more entertaining than the shallow characters who propel it.  Caplan is either well-traveled or good at faking it; as Hunter bounces around the globe, Caplan’s descriptions of terrain, customs, and local libations add color to the story.  There isn’t much in the way of intrigue or suspense:  Caplan tends to tell the reader what the bad guys are doing (and why) as they’re doing it, shortly before the good guys intuit the answers on the basis of scant information.  This leaves little room for the reader’s imagination to exercise.  Fortunately, the story becomes more interesting as it progresses, becoming moderately engaging as it moves into the home stretch.  Unfortunately, it culminates in a surprisingly dull ending.

Caplan’s writing style is serviceable if sometimes ponderous.  Dialog is occasionally stilted and often banal (a screenwriter will need to step in and smooth it out when the book is filmed -- and it practically screams “film me!”).  Romantic scenes are sappy.  At least initially, the pace is slow for a thriller/spy novel.  It’s never dull but it doesn’t begin to sizzle until the second half.  Even then, action scenes are lackluster; they read as if they were copied from a tae kwon do training manual.  Characters engage in unrealistically glib conversations while trying to escape from explosions and fires.

The conclusion seems to set up another novel featuring Ty Hunter and some of his supporting cast.  If Caplan writes it, I intend to skip it.  The Spy Who Jumped Off the Screen isn’t wholly unlikeable but it didn’t leave me in eager anticipation of its sequel.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

The Liminal People by Ayize Jama-Everett

Published by Small Beer Press on January 10, 2012

The Liminal People oozes atmosphere from the first tense scene, as Taggert, doing a drug deal for his boss, is double-crossed in an unfriendly environment. Fortunately, Taggert can take care of himself: he has the ability to read and alter bodies; he swims in the biorhythms of the people who surround him. He can induce sleep, inflict pain, grow tumors, cause death. He can produce the same changes in his own body: increase muscle mass, boost adrenalin, toughen skin, deaden nerves, heal wounds. He isn't Superman but he's a tough dude. He can also manipulate his cellular structure to alter his appearance.

When Taggert returns to his Moroccan home, he finds a message from Yasmine, the woman he loves even though she rejected him as a freak. Yasmine needs help and Taggert is soon jetting to Marseilles to find her. Taggert's quest takes him to London in search of Yasmine's child, Tamara, who turns out to have powers of her own -- as do other people he encounters on his journey. Some of them are equally anxious to find Tamara, setting up action-filled fight scenes that are at least a notch above standard thriller fare.

In his ambition to locate and cultivate individuals gifted with unusual powers, Taggert's boss is like a criminal version of the X-Men's Professor Xavier. Yet The Liminal People doesn't have the feel of a comic book; this is serious science fiction. While Ayize Jama-Everett isn't the first novelist to write about people with extraordinary abilities (A.E. Van Vogt, Larry Niven, and Joan Vinge all come to mind), parts of this novel are completely original.

Liminal people are (according to the text) those who are always on the threshold. The empowered people envisioned by Jama-Everett are, in a sense, apart from "normal" humans -- not just in their powers and experiences but in their attitudes. In another sense, however, they are very human, craving what we all crave, the things that come more easily to "normal" people: love, trust, friendship, family. Jama-Everett's point, I think, is that no matter how far some people are from an established norm of attractiveness or intelligence or sociability, they remain fundamentally the same as everyone else. Paradoxically, they can also be monsters, as can those who more closely adhere to society's definition of normal. This isn't a new lesson, by any means, but Jama-Everett found a fresh and entertaining way to convey it.

The Liminal People is a short novel, in part because it isn't padded. Jama-Everett makes every word count. The plot is suspenseful; the writing is poignant and powerful. Jama-Everett writes with barely restrained, seething energy. The story proceeds at a rapid pace but Jama-Everett doesn't skimp on characterization, particularly in his complex rendition of Taggert. Taggert is more intelligent, more philosophical, than the typical empowered character in a science fiction novel. A conflict with his brother that shaped Taggert's personality is a smart addition to the story, as is the defiant attitude of Yasmine's daughter.

A warning: many of Jama-Everett's characters are from the streets; they speak accordingly. Readers who are timid about profanity might be offended by some of the language in this novel. Readers who appreciate that a foul mouth is sometimes necessary to give credibility to a character won't be bothered. There is also a mildly steamy scene that is more likely to turn readers on than off. Of greater concern is that Taggert can be a bit sadistic; the descriptions of his ability to inflict pain aren't for the squeamish. But then, there probably aren't many squeamish people reading adult sf.

The ending of this dark novel leaves open the possibility of redemption and hope. Perhaps more importantly, it sets up a second novel featuring Taggert and other liminal people. I hope Jama-Everett writes it.

RECOMMENDED