The Evening Hour by A. Carter Sickels

Published by Bloomsbury USA on January 17, 2012

Cole Freeman grew up with the Bible and little else.  Now almost thirty, he’s the only one of his friends who feels no inclination to escape from the mountains of West Virginia -- not by moving or joining the military or using the drugs he sells to supplement his income as a nursing home aide.  Cole feels a connection to the land despite the explosions that ravage it as mining companies destroy the mountain tops that surround him.  He has no connection to his mother, condemned as a harlot by his grandfather before she walked out of Cole’s life.  How will Cole respond when a death in the family brings her back to the mountain?

The strength of The Evening Hour lies in the careful construction of its central character.  Cole is a man of unvoiced thoughts, a man who rarely uses more than three words and a grunt to answer a question.  He nonetheless has complex feelings:  about growing up without a mother; about the serpent-handling, scripture-spouting grandfather who raised him; about his former best friend, Terry Rose, who left the mountain before returning to take a job at Wal-Mart; about the women with whom he has on-and-off relationships; about the government and the mining company and the environmentalists he can’t bring himself to trust.  He wants to be a nurse and likely has the aptitude and intelligence to attend college, but can’t muster the belief in himself that he would need to change his life.  His grandfather told him many times that he needed to be saved, that he should surrender himself to the Holy Ghost, but salvation eludes him.  He understands the appeal of religion but doesn’t have much use for it.  He’s frustrated and isolated, confused and tired.  He’s nearly thirty but he’s still growing up … or maybe he’s stuck, unable to grow beyond the crabbed, stifling life he’s always known.

Carter Sickels writes vividly of Appalachia:  dirt poor people living hardscrabble lives, powerless to contend with the mining companies that poison their water and flood their land; the defiant pride that keeps them rooted in their homes; the lies and threats that mining companies wield to induce landowners to sell their property; their silent fears and fading hopes.  The environmental devastation and human suffering inflicted by mountaintop removal (or, more aptly, mountaintop destruction) is movingly depicted.  Sickels’ portrayal of the media is insightful:  when national news teams arrive to report a catastrophe on the mountain, they focus not on the problem’s cause but on the impoverished state of the mountain’s residents.  “See how they do us?” one of the characters asks.  “Any time we get attention, it’s to show how backward we are.”

While it is never dull, The Evening Hour is not an action-filled, plot-driven novel.  It is the story of one man learning about and coming to terms with his life, a man faced with difficult decisions who is trying to make peace with himself.  That’s not to say that the story is uneventful.  Cole experiences a life-changing trauma a bit past the novel’s midway point, described in several chilling, unforgettable pages.  But the story is more about Cole’s reactions than his actions, more about his thoughts than his deeds.  It’s sort of a delayed coming-of-age novel (some people take longer than others to crawl out of adolescence, to make the hard choices demanded by adulthood).  Dramatic tension builds as Cole faces a critical decision.  His grandfather regarded the mountaintop as proof of God, but the mountain is disappearing.  Will Cole share that fate?  That question drives the novel, and it kept me engrossed from the first chapter to the last.

RECOMMENDED

Voices of the Dead by Peter Leonard

Published by The Story Plant on January 17, 2012

Harry Levin and his father were at Dachau in 1942. Harry escaped; his father was executed. In 1971, Harry is a scrap metal dealer living in Detroit. His daughter is killed in Washington D.C. by a drunk driver who is released from custody because he has diplomatic immunity. When the State Department refuses to identify the diplomat, Harry does some snooping. Assisted by a D.C. police detective named Taggart, Harry learns that the German diplomat is Ernest Hess. Rather coincidentally, Taggart is also investigating the murder of a Jewish dentist and his wife. The reader knows (but Taggart doesn't) that Hess is the murderer. He goes on to commit similar crimes in Germany as Harry trails behind him, looking for an opportunity to avenge his daughter's death.

If you can swallow the premise -- a respected member of the German parliament who is expected one day to run for the office of chancellor is visiting the United States for the purpose of committing murders -- the story that Peter Leonard constructs around it is moderately entertaining. The premise itself is so implausible -- and for the sake of avoiding spoilers I haven't mentioned its least credible aspect, a coincidence so unlikely it made me laugh out loud -- that I found it impossible to suspend my disbelief. Thrillers often skate on the edge of credibility but this one skates out of the rink.

The story has the feel-good quality of a revenge fantasy and if that's what floats your boat, this one will certainly be satisfying. My preference for thrillers to be at least slightly grounded in the real world didn't stop me from cheering for Levin. Of course, I still cheer for Bugs Bunny as he outwits Yosemite Sam -- a fair comparison in that Voices of the Dead has about the same degree of depth as a Warner Brothers cartoon, and an even sillier ending.

Unfortunately, the weak premise isn't redeemed by strong characters. Harry, Hess, and an American soldier (dishonorably discharged) who turns up in Munich to give Harry an assist are all caricatures, predictable personalities substituting for complex characterization. In fact, Hess and the soldier are such obvious (and offensive) stereotypes (Hess as the sadistic German, the soldier as the jive-talking, drug-dealing African American who wears pastel leisure suits, has multiple girlfriends, and orders fried chicken as soon as he returns home) that it is impossible to take the characters seriously. (Why Leonard thought it was important to emphasize the race of the African American judge who gives the soldier a "get out of jail free" card at the end of the novel is beyond me. If Leonard seriously thinks that black judges give breaks to black defendants, he needs to spend some time hanging around courthouses.)

There are promising moments in Voices of the Dead but not enough to merit a recommendation. A quick pace is the best feature of Peter Leonard's writing style. Leonard randomly omits pronouns, definite articles and other useful words from sentences in an apparent effort to achieve a punchy style. I found the incomplete sentences more annoying than punchy. An introduction by Elmore Leonard claims that Peter has found his own voice but it sounds to me like Peter is trying to find Elmore's voice. I haven't read Peter's other novels but nothing about Voices of the Dead encourages me to do so.

NOT RECOMMENDED

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

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