The Boy in the Snow by M.J. McGrath

Published by Viking on November 8, 2012 

Edie Kiglatuk is an Inuit from Ellesmere Island; she thinks Anchorage is uncomfortably hot and crowded.  She’s there for the Iditarod, supporting her ex-husband’s participation in the race.  Before the race starts, however, Edie gets lost in the forest while following a spirit bear.  She encounters a couple who warn her that she is on Old Believer land while grudgingly pointing her in the direction of the road.  Making her way back to her snowmobile, Edie finds a frozen baby inside a small structure that resembles a dog house.  A cross has been marked on the baby’s body.  The police tell Edie that the small house she found is a spirit house used in Athabaskan religious ceremonies.  Soon another frozen baby is discovered in a spirit house.  The police clearly want to blame the deaths on the Old Believers, former Russians who, having separated from the official Russian Orthodox Church, cling to ancient liturgical practices.  Rumors abound that the babies were kidnapped by the Dark Believers, a Satan worshipping sect of the Old Believers that may not actually exist.  Perhaps to lay those rumors to rest, the police arrest an Old Believer who seems as likely a suspect as any.  Edie, of course, believes he’s innocent.

A second storyline concerns Alaska’s gubernatorial election.  Anchorage Mayor Chuck Hillingburg is running against a popular incumbent.  The reader knows that Hillingburg is tied to a lodge that has something to do with the deaths, but the nature of the connection remains a mystery until Edie puzzles it out.  A third storyline concerns the Old Believers’ theory that they are being framed by Tommy Schofield, a property developer who wants to acquire land that the Old Believers refuse to sell.

Edie is an annoyingly self-righteous character.  Her disagreeable personality makes it difficult to care when she finds herself in peril.  No other character offsets Edie; the others are uniformly bland.

The plot involves two different but related criminal enterprises.  One is unlikely and the other completely implausible, even by the standards of modern crime novels.  The ending is abrupt and the plots wrap up too neatly thanks to some improbably convenient revelations.

The story includes a couple of unnecessary plot summaries, in which characters explain to other characters what the reader already knows.  Perhaps M.J. McGrath thought her readers were too dim to remember the events that had already transpired, but any benefit these passages have as a memory boost is offset by their pace-deadening drag on the story.

Despite those complaints, some positive aspects of The Boy in the Snow are worth mentioning, as the novel might be of interest to readers who have an affinity for tales of the frozen tundra.  McGrath is a capable writer who paints striking images of the Alaskan wilderness.  Action scenes move quickly.  A scene that has Edie and two other characters stranded in a snow storm, fighting for survival, is so convincing I was shivering.

I like the novel’s message of religious tolerance, its condemnation of prejudice against nontraditional religions and its recognition that every religion has its fanatics.  McGrath has a sharp eye for Alaska’s politicians and those who control them, “the same bunch of old sourdoughs, bankrolling each other, glad-handing, swapping jobs, pushing their agenda and keeping anyone new out.”

The Boy in the Snow is the second novel featuring Edie Kiglatuk (I haven't read the first).  McGrath almost gets it right. I'll avoid further novels in the series, however, unless I hear that Edie has warmed up a bit, or at least developed a more interesting personality.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Janus by John Park

Published by ChiZine Publications on October 9, 2012

Most of us have a hidden side, a part of our personality or past that we choose (sometimes unsuccessfully) to bury. Janus plays with that reality (sometimes unsuccessfully) by introducing characters with a hidden past, albeit not hidden by choice.

Traveling through the Knot (which, though unexplained, is presumably something like a wormhole or a stargate) to the planet Janus seems to provoke amnesia in about 30 percent of the people who make the journey, a condition that technicians on Janus are trying to correct. Attempts to restore Elinda Michaels' memory have been unsuccessful; why she emigrated from Earth to Janus remains a mystery to her. Her lover Barbara suffers from the same impairment. New arrival John Grebbel is troubled by the scars on his hands and arms but does not remember their cause. He just knows that something feels wrong.

Shortly after leaflets appear suggesting that immigrants have come to Janus from asylums and prisons, Barbara disappears. Suspecting a connection between those events, Elinda tries to track down the origin of the leaflets. At that point, Janus takes on the flavor of a detective story. The elements of a thriller or a spy story are added when a bomb explodes, an apparent act of sabotage. Yet the novel isn't really a detective story or a thriller, and it has only the trappings of a science fiction novel. Fans of world-building won't find much here. Except for its longer nights and some unusual animal life, Janus is awfully Earth-like.  Maybe that's why the two planets are linked by the Knot, but we'll never know since none of the characters know what the Knot is all about.

Two aspects of Janus are moderately interesting. One, of course, is the mystery of the missing memories, the characters chasing their hidden pasts. The other is the colony's response to the bombing -- interesting because of its deeper political ramifications. The head of security behaves in a way that is typical of those who value security over civil liberties, invoking "emergency powers" that permit security forces to detain and question people on a whim. Other colonists worry that by sowing the seeds of distrust, the security hawks will destroy the colonists' sense of society. Had that theme been developed more fully, Janus would have been a better novel.

The mystery, unfortunately, is more interesting in its development than in its resolution. A troubling surrealism creeps into the story that left me asking, "Why is any of this happening?" When the novel's big moment finally arrives, the revelation that explains it all, it seemed so contrived and improbable that I was left scratching my head and asking, "But why is any of this really happening?"

John Park's prose style blends power with grace. At times, the writing is too fractured -- a paragraph about this character, a paragraph about that one, then on to someone else -- but it is the story, rather than the way the story is told, that left me vaguely dissatisfied. I can't say that I disliked Janus, but neither can I say that I'm enthused about the novel.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Fobbit by David Abrams

Published by Grove Press/Black Cat on September 4, 2012 

All wars are fought, in significant part, on the propaganda front. As warfare has become more sophisticated, so has news management. Fobbit (the term infantry grunts apply to soldiers who never leave the relative safety of the Forward Operating Base in Baghdad) ably captures the military's attempt to manage the news during the American occupation of Iraq.

Assigned to Public Affairs, Staff Sergeant Chance Gooding Jr. is doing his best to spin the war, a task made more difficult by officers like Capt. Abe Shrinkle, who blows up an American military fuel tanker with a hand grenade, killing a civilian Iraqi bystander in the process. As Gooding tries to prepare timely press releases, he is consistently beaten to the punch by CNN reporters who manage to compile a more accurate and complete story while Gooding's meddlesome superiors insert phrases like "enemies of democracy," debate the merits of referring to insurgents as "terrorists," and fret over the placement of favored adjectives like "heinous" and "brave." There is no bad news to report (at least according to the memos Gooding receives), a distortion of reality that challenges Gooding to recast disaster as triumph.

Despite its inevitable comparison to Catch-22, Fobbit isn't as split-a-gut funny, nor does it illustrate the folly of war as well as Heller's novel. David Abrams is a capable writer but his humor is often forced and he lacks Heller's literary flair. Abrams tips his hat to Heller when Gooding, reading Catch-22 on R&R, describes Heller's novel as "an owner's manual for this war." Shirkle, on the other hand, believes (in accordance with the views of his West Point professor) that Catch-22 is unpatriotic because Yossarian spends much of his time trying not to die for his country.

Unlike Catch-22, I sometimes felt that Fobbit consisted of a collection of characters in search of a plot. As a penetrating examination of the military's attempt to manage the news during the occupation of Iraq, Fobbit is a success. As cohesive comedy, Fobbit is far from perfect. The humor largely derives from two harmonic notes: the illusory attempt to control the news and the uniform incompetence of commissioned officers. When Abrams strays from those themes -- when, for instance, an officer sends self-aggrandizing emails to his mother -- the humor feels strained. While Abrams sets credible scenes within the Forward Operating Base and on occasional forays into Baghdad and Qatar, Fobbit rarely creates a visceral sense of men at war. Images of death and destruction lack power. Shirkle's transformation from flag-waving patriot to anti-military slacker is unconvincing. The novel's ending is more of a fade-out than a decisive conclusion, although I suppose that also describes the war itself.

Fobbit is an enjoyable novel despite its flaws. Abrams has a talent for spotting fools and for replicating their foolishness in his characters. He has a unique take on the war and on the public affairs writers charged with concealing the truth. When the novel focuses on propaganda management, it works well. Fobbit is worth reading for those golden moments.

RECOMMENDED

Luminarium by Alex Shakar

Published by Soho Press on August 23, 2011

At some points, Luminarium risked dragging me into the depths of depression. At others, it engaged my senses of wonder and humor. Sometimes it fascinated me; just as often it bored me. On occasion it made me pause and think. For that, and for a main character whose miserable life captured my fancy, I came to like it.

Fred's life has not gone well. His twin brother George lapsed into a coma following his cessation of treatment for lymphoma. Fred was ousted from a software business he founded with George. His brother Sam is still part of the business (its development of disaster simulations to train first responders is leading to lucrative government contracts) but Fred, having broken up with his fiancée, is living with his parents. On a whim, Fred participates in an experiment that prevents sensory data from reaching his parietal lobes. This is designed to induce a "porous, expanded, possibly even a limitless sense of self," creating a spiritual experience, "a faith without ignorance." The researcher, Mira Egghart, wants people to understand that "belief" has a neurological basis, that it consists of "an inner reality" that is unique to each individual and false to everyone else. Fred later participates in additional experiments involving other parts of the brain. He steps outside his body, and then outside "the stream of his life." Finally he feels a Presence and gets a "glimpse of a perspective outside the smallness of his own mind."

As if Fred's life isn't bad enough, he's confronted with a new set of worrisome events. When Fred receives cryptic emails and instant messages that appear to be from George, he assumes he's the victim of a hoax. Then he meets George's angelic avatar in a burning building during a computer simulation of a terrorist attack. George's reference to "the tenth avatara" spurs Fred to research the Hindu concept of an astral plane that is divided into realms, one of which is populated by the spirits of those who are not quite dead. As the novel winds along, Fred encounters other phenomena he doesn't understand and can't explain.

Technology meets spirituality in a novel that gives us a God helmet and a "prayerizer," not to mention the possibility of communing with the dead (or near dead) via text messaging. Yet the ancient question that pervades Luminarium -- what is the meaning of life and death? -- is profoundly personal rather than technological. Perhaps the secret to understanding the universe is science. Perhaps it is religion or, more broadly, spirituality. Or perhaps -- as I think Luminarium might be saying -- the starting point is to understand ourselves.

I appreciated the neurological and psychological information Luminarium conveys -- scientific explanations for phenomena like out-of-body experiences and the brain's perception of patterns where none exist -- in language that is easy for a nonscientist like me to understand. I was impressed by Alex Shakar's ability to balance science and spirituality in his descriptions of Reiki and meditation and energy fields. More importantly, I was happy that Luminarium didn't attempt to force any particular spiritual viewpoint down my gullet. Late in the story, Fred wonders "how things might look from a higher order in which faith and doubt were reconciled, in which God and no God, even, were one and the same." That thought fits with the overall theme of Luminarium, a novel that doesn't attempt to posit answers to unanswerable questions.

Still, this is a novel with problems. Pace is sometimes lethargic. Long sections that might be meant to be enlightening (or at least interesting) border on dull. The plot stagnates with the attention Shakar devotes to a magic act that Fred performs with his father Vartan. While the relationship between Fred and Vartan adds some depth to Fred's character, the ongoing focus on the magic act pays diminishing returns.

Ultimately, Luminarium is more intellectually satisfying than emotionally engaging. Fortunately, Shakar injects enough humor into Fred's hapless life to prevent his philosophical excursions from becoming overbearing. Had Luminarium been more tightly plotted, I would probably have liked it more. As it stands, I recommend it, albeit with less than full enthusiasm.

RECOMMENDED

The Summer of the Bear by Bella Pollen

First published in the UK in 2010; published by Atlantic Monthly Press on June 7, 2011

The Summer of the Bear tries to be many things at once: a mystery (involving possible espionage), a family saga, a children's adventure, a comedy, at least two love stories, a bit of a political/environmental story, and maybe a fantasy (the last could also be read as a story of spirituality). It succeeds at some of those ambitions more than others.

Bella Pollen's novel tells an odd but (mostly) charming story that focuses on young Jamie Fleming and his family. Jamie's father, Nicky Fleming, is a diplomat. When Nicky dies in Bonn after falling from the embassy's roof, he is widely believed to have committed suicide. Jamie's mother, Letty, doesn't quite have the heart to tell Jamie, substituting "he's gone" and "he's not coming back" for the stark language of death. Mildly irritated that his father won't be taking him to the circus to see the performing bear, Jamie becomes convinced that his father is away on a secret mission worthy of James Bond. Jamie's spoken belief that his father is a spy is unfortunately misunderstood; rumors are already afoot that Nicky was actually working for East Germany against the interests of the UK. The rumors stem from a partially written letter to Letty -- found crumpled on Nicky's desk after his death -- that mentions a secret he's been keeping from her. Embassy officials view the letter as a confessional suicide note. At some point Letty starts to wonder whether her husband's death was neither accidental nor a suicide, while at the same time fighting doubts about whether the man she loved did (as some additional evidence suggests) engage in an act of treason.

Nicky's death forces the family to return home to the Outer Hebrides. At about the same time, a bear arrives on the island, escapes from its owner, and takes up residence in a cave. The bear shares its thoughts with the reader (it's quite the philosopher) and has an almost telepathic connection to Jamie. There is also an apparent connection between the bear (which we're told has "a half human heart") and the deceased Nicky -- at least Jamie, having heard tales of reincarnation from the islanders, would like to believe there is.

The bear storyline required more suspension of disbelief than I could muster; I think the book would have been better off without it. The novel works best as comedy. Much of the story is wryly amusing and one scene (involving an incident that caused Nicky's kids to be banned from the embassy) caused me to burst into sustained laughter. I was taken by the island's colorful characters and by Jamie, who has a knack for inventing wild explanations for things he doesn't understand that, in their own way, make a silly kind of sense.

The story also works well as an exploration of a family dynamic following the death of a husband and father. The relationship between the siblings rings true. Each kid reacts to Nicky's death in a different, credible, well-defined way. Letty's two daughters are simultaneously endearing and maddening; that also rings true, as does their resentment of their mother's detachment after their father's death. Finally, the story does a reasonably sound job of building suspense as the characters edge closer to learning the truth about Nicky's actions. The conclusion of that storyline is quite satisfying. The ending of the parallel story involving Jamie and the bear was too over-the-top for my taste, although I'll concede that it was well done. While the result is a mixed review, on balance I recommend the novel because more elements work than fail, and even the elements that didn't thrill me were skillfully executed.

RECOMMENDED