Unthinkable by Brad Parks

Published by Thomas & Mercer on July 27, 2021

Unthinkable is a suspense novel/thriller that employs themes often explored by science fiction writers: the nature of time, whether the future is predetermined (perhaps because there is no meaningful distinction between the future and the past), and whether the exercise of free will makes it possible to change the future. Brad Parks splits the baby in half by positing that it is, in fact, possible to change the future, but only if the change is made by someone who can see the future. The rest of us are powerless and must accept that our futures are already written and whatever we do is what we were always going to do.

The nature of space-time and the question of free will are fascinating topics that Parks dances around with just enough dance steps to set up his thriller plot. Don’t expect the novel to be informed by a deep (or even coherent) theory of time. This isn’t a science fiction novel. If it were, it wouldn’t be a good one. This is instead a thriller that makes use of a science fiction theme. Just as it isn’t a good science fiction novel, it’s a mediocre thriller.

An accomplished lawyer named Jenny Welker is pursuing her career while the less accomplished lawyer to whom she is married stays home and raises their two kids. Jenny is bringing a massive lawsuit against a power company based on statistical evidence that the company’s air pollution is responsible for a pocket of cancer victims. Since lawsuits of that nature are expensive and difficult to win, her firm (which doesn’t seem like the kind of firm that cares about injury victims) is uncertain that she should continue to pursue it.

Jenny’s husband, Nate Lovejoy, begins the novel by being kidnapped. His kidnapper tells him that a wealthy man named Vanslow DeGange has the power to see the future. DeGrange formed a shadowy organization to carry out his various plans to change history. Thriller writers love shadowy organizations. This one is called the Praesidium. Nothing good can come of a shadowy group with a name like that. Nor is anything good likely to come from a novel that imagines the existence of yet another conspiratorial group with a pretentious name.

Nate is told that DeGrange has foreseen that Jenny will conjure up some brilliant new legal theory to win the case against the power company, creating a precedent that will allow every power company to be sued, a dire result that improbably makes global warming worse and leads to countless deaths. Naturally, the only way to save all those lives is to kill Jenny. And since DeGrange has seen the future, he knows that the world can only be saved if Nate kills Jenny. Why Nate? Because that’s how DeGrange saw it coming down. About half the novel is spent convincing Nate that DeGrange really can see the future and Nate really will kill Jenny. To give him an extra incentive, the Praesidium promises to kill his kids if he doesn’t kill his wife.

That tortured setup is supposed to explain why Nate doesn’t instantly go to the FBI and to Jenny to report this nonsensical threat. Instead, Nate tries to get to the bottom of the Praesidium because of course he does. That’s what thriller protagonists do. Eventually, Nate does get to the bottom of a conspiracy that proves to be easily unraveled and a little silly. But before that happens, we’re treated to the inevitable “will he or won’t he kill his wife?” moment. I won’t spoil it, but you know the answer already.

Brad Parks has written some decent books but he’s also written novels that, like this one, are just so contrived that they never create the sense of realism that is needed to generate suspense. I get the sense that he pitched this novel as “a man has no choice but to kill the wife he loves,” hears “that’s great, go for it” in response, and then writes himself into a corner to make it work. It doesn’t work. I have no problem with Parks’ writing style, but I have a huge problem with a concept that leads to a predictably climactic moment before fizzling out entirely over the last hundred pages.

NOT RECOMMENDED

The Last Act by Brad Parks

Published by Dutton on March 12, 2019

Many works of fiction ask the reader to suspend disbelief for the sake of enjoying the story. Some ask more than others. The Last Act asks too much.

Having said that, I hasten to add that I liked the characters and enjoyed some of the story. I am tempted to recommend The Last Act for the introduction alone, which asks why the drug war has resulted in the lengthy incarceration of impoverished people for petty offenses while the money laundering offenses performed by Wachovia Bank, which enabled Mexican drug cartels to do business in the United States, resulted in no sentences at all. Another part of the books lambasts prosecutors who seek jail sentences for Medicaid fraud that is committed to obtain healthcare that would otherwise be unavailable. The book’s heart is in the right place.

Here’s the plot in a nutshell. Former child actor Tommy Jump is now 27, too big for child roles, too small to be a leading man. A high school buddy who is now in the FBI hires him to pose as a federal prisoner so he can cozy up to an incarcerated banker and learn where the banker has stashed documents that he’s hidden as insurance against reprisals by a cartel. The FBI agent tells him that the documents will let them bring down the cartel. Tommy’s wife is newly pregnant, he has no job, and the chance to earn a large chunk of cash seems too good to pass up. After all, it’s only six months in a federal prison. What could go wrong?

Before we get to what could go wrong, let’s examine what’s wrong with the premise. The reader will quickly suspect that things are not as they seem and will wonder why Tommy doesn’t realize that. But setting that aside, the scheme requires Tommy to go to court and plead guilty to a bank robbery that never happened. Nobody in the system — not the judge, not the Marshals (who would tend to know about bank robberies within their districts), not Pretrial Services — questions why nobody has ever heard of this bank robbery prior to Tommy’s confession. No grand jury testimony, no FBI reports, no victim, no evidence that any bank lost a penny. Our system is flawed, but federal judges do not send people to prison for bank robbery in the absence of evidence that a bank was actually robbed, notwithstanding the alleged bank robber’s confession. Granted, the story eventually explains why things are not as they appear, but the plot never explains how Tommy could be sent to prison in the absence of any evidence that a crime actually occurred.

And the notion that Tommy can’t get himself out of this mess just by hiring a halfway competent lawyer is preposterous. An affidavit from the bank manager explaining that the bank wasn't robbed would persuade even the most hardened judge to ask why the government sent Tommy to jail.

Anyway, Tommy goes off to prison, and of course the plan goes awry. Fortunately, he quickly learns how he can come and go at will. I think it is doubtful that an 8-year sentence for bank robbery would immediately be served in a minimum-security prison or that security would be quite as lax as the novel imagines, but I gave up on the premise long before Tommy got to prison. The ending also depends on the unlikely coincidence of a particular person being in the right place at the right time. It's all too much to swallow.

I liked Tommy. I liked his cellmate. I liked the banker. I didn’t accept the premise, but I liked the humanity with which the story is told. I admired the fluid prose and appreciated that the story moves quickly. Readers who are less troubled by the plot’s impossibility will find reasons to enjoy The Last Act. Readers who expect verisimilitude from storytellers will be disappointed.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS