Shetani's Sister by Iceberg Slim

Published by Vintage/Black Lizard on August 4, 2015

Shetani's Sister is the creation of Iceberg Slim (the street name of Robert Beck). According to Justin Gifford's introduction, Iceberg Slim spent much of his life as a pimp. His autobiography and crime stories were culturally influential in a way that mirrors gangster rap in the evocation of life on the street. In fact, Gifford credits Iceberg Slim for influencing early rappers, including Snoop Dogg, whose voice I kept hearing in my head as I read the novel. Previously unpublished, Shetani's Sister is Iceberg Slim's final novel.

Shetani's Sister tells a story of pimps, whores, and crooked cops. The primary character, a New York pimp named Shetani (whose name means Satan in Swahili), doles out heroin and cocaine to assure that his whores continue to worship him. Shetani is a Master Pimp and the police are no match for him. Yet Iceberg Slim's portrayal of police officers, while not ignoring LAPD's tendency toward brutality, is surprisingly sympathetic.

Shetani sends his bottom girl, Petra, to LA to expand his empire of whores. There she meets Jerry Crane, a vice cop with a coke habit who helps her avoid arrest in exchange for a regular supply of coke, sex, and cash. Crane finds himself with a problem (one of many) when his honest partner, Russell Rucker, begins to suspect that Crane has traveled to the dark side.

Shetani's Sister tells a compelling story despite its shortcomings. The novel has moments that are too melodramatic. The prose is unpolished and occasionally clichéd (although less clichéd than the prose of some established authors I've encountered). Iceberg Slim's similes sometimes stretch too far over-the-top in an effort to be luridly descriptive, but the same could be said of Mickey Spillane, whose writing I enjoy as a product of its time. The treatment of women is also the product of a time and subculture, although the tone is much more respectful when it addresses older women and faithful wives.

The story's glorification of Shetani (presumably as a stand-in for the author) is laughable, but I had the same reaction to Lou Dobbs' novel that glorifies an obvious stand-in for Lou Dobbs. A key difference between the two novels is that Iceberg Slim's struck me as honest. Shetani doesn't hide his flaws. He makes mistakes and he isn't afraid to admit them. In fact, being the baddest pimp on the planet clearly has an adverse impact on Shetani's mental health (or maybe it's the constant drug use).

At one point, a vice detective comforts another character by saying "nobody bucks fate." At a funeral, the same detective says "don't judge him harshly, for a victim lies within us all." Those may be the points Iceberg Slim intended to make in this novel. The pimps, the whores, the drug addicts, the crooked cops ... all suffered personal tragedies that played a role in shaping their lives. Yes, they made choices, and yes, they told themselves a lot of lies to justify their actions, but fate might still be the best explanation for their tragic lives. In any event, Iceberg Slim's exploration of that topic -- the thin and oft-crossed line between good and evil -- demonstrates more insight than many crime writers who wield more sophisticated prose are able to manage.

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Ultima by Stephen Baxter

First published in Great Britain in 2014; published by Roc on August 4, 2015

Ultima sounds like a sports drink but it is actually the sequel to Stephen Baxter's Proxima. You should read Proxima before reading Ultima if you want to understand all of the novel's references to past events, but enough of those are summarized that Ultima can be read as a stand-alone novel.

Ultima is a novel of big ideas -- or, more precisely, it is an exploration of one big idea. It won't appeal to science fiction fans who think that sf should always include Wookiees or Vulcans. It won't appeal to fans who crave action. It might not appeal to sf fans who think that an "idea" novel should consist of ideas piled on top of ideas (the kind of novel that usually treats plot and characterization as unimportant).

I give Baxter credit for creating the Dreamers, a Machiavellian alien race that differs from other science fiction aliens in imaginative ways. Saying more about them would spoil the fun. I will say, however, that while the enigmatic Dreamers are at the novel's core, the novel focuses upon the consequences of the Dreamers' actions rather than the Dreamers themselves.

Proxima introduced an old idea, portals (or "hatches" in this incarnation) that take people to different places in the universe, or different universes, or different times. Hatches are coupled with transitional events that change the nature of the universes that key characters inhabit. In one alternate history/universe/timeline, there are three space-faring Terran powers: the Romans, the Xin (Chinese), and the Brikanti (Brits allied with Scandinavians). The civilizations have mastered a crude form of interstellar travel (combining power sources known as kernels left by the Hatch builders with "point and shoot" navigation) despite their failure to develop computers.

War is brewing and one of the ships has undertaken the mission of saving Earthshine, an AI that serves as a repository of information designed to allow human civilization to survive, or to rebuild it if necessary. Earthshine has its own agenda. It is, in its own way, as Machiavellian as the Dreamers. Earthshine "hatches" a plan of itsown that bears fruit in another universe/alternate history, one in which Incas dominate. That plan puts Earthshine, another AI, and several human characters in a position to understand what the Dreamers have been up to and what purpose all the Hatches serve. It is, as I said, a pretty cool idea.

The rest of the story fills up space with (alternate) historical and political developments and character building. I didn't think any of that was bad or boring (although that might be the reaction of readers who lack interest in history and politics), but I did think those parts of the book could have been profitably shortened. To the extent that Ultima is read as a mystery novel -- with Earthshine serving as the detective who unravels the mystery of the Dreamers -- everything else comes across as padding that keeps the story from delivering the suspense that a mystery should have. On the other hand, I liked the characters and I enjoyed Baxter's speculation about what alternative histories might be like, so I had no difficulty hanging in until the end. Readers who suffer from ADD or wookiee-mania might have a different experience.

The best part of this novel of the future takes place in the far far far distant future. It is wonderfully descriptive and even a little enthralling. Even if it takes quite a long time for the reader to get there, the destination is worth the effort of the journey.

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The Marriage of Opposites by Alice Hoffman

Published by Simon & Schuster on August 4, 2015

When writers choose to write fictional accounts of the lives of real people, the novel's success depends in part on whether they are writing about interesting people. I was more interested in the characters who appear in the second half of The Marriage of Opposites than those who appear in the first half, so I judged the novel as only a partial success. Although the most interesting character is the painter Camille Pissarro, we see very little of his artistic career in a novel that centers upon the lackluster life of Camille's mother.

In search of religious freedom, the Pomié family settled in St. Thomas in the late 1700s. Rachel Pomié begins her story in 1807. She grows up feeling oppressed by a mother who believes no purpose is served by her education. She longs for a civilized life in France, the country of her grandparents. Ten years later, as a dutiful daughter, she saves her family from financial ruin by consenting to an arranged marriage.

Rachel's childhood friend is Jestine, whose mother was a slave and who, like her mother, works as a maid. Jestine has a child, fathered by a lover who has been more-or-less adopted by Rachel's parents. The novel eventually turns into an extended family history that traces the lives of Rachel, Jestine and her illegitimate daughter, and Jacobo, one of Rachel's many children. Jacobo later adopts his middle name, Camille, while attending school in France.

Rachel has the qualities a modern author values in women -- emotional strength, intelligence, independence, courage -- making her seem a bit like the archetype of a modern woman who has been transplanted into early nineteenth century soil. Rachel's mother chastises Rachel for failing to accept that she is "a woman and nothing more," a fairly obvious device that Alice Hoffman uses to inspire sympathy for Rachel in her twenty-first century readers. Rachel is also kind, unprejudiced, passionate, level-headed, a loving mother to her children and step-children, a friend to servants, an opponent of slavery -- all admirable qualities that make her a little too perfect (at least until the end, when she begins to demonstrate some of her mother's inflexibility).

Rachel is headstrong and willing to defy convention in the name of love, which makes her a stereotypical romance novel heroine. She becomes something of an outcast, particularly among the gossipy members of her religious community. To the extent that The Marriage of Opposites is about the conflict between a community's judgment of a woman's moral values and a good woman's desire to follow her heart, it is an old story. Absent a fresh approach that is lacking here, the story just isn't very interesting. Adding a ghost (who is probably in Rachel's head) and a wise old herbalist simply accented Hoffman's use of literary devices that have been used many times before.

The first part of the novel, detailing Rachel's first and second marriages, cover familiar ground. Thanks to well-polished prose, events whiz along, but I was more taken by the descriptions of life in St. Thomas than by the various dramas with which Rachel must contend. At the novel's midway point, the story shifts to Jacobo, an artistic lad with the soul of a peacemaker. The novel later shifts to Paris, where Jestine's daughter lives and where Jacobo (now Camille) is trying to be an artist. All of this is easy to read but none of it grabbed me.

There is nevertheless much about the novel to admire, in addition to its faultless prose. The Marriage of Opposites illustrates how patterns learned early in life tend to shape us even when we despise those patterns. Rachel, for instance, cannot abide her mother's meddling in her life and resents all that she has been forbidden from doing, yet as she ages, she imposes her own prejudices upon Camille. Much of the story is about confronting the past, discovering roots, and coming to terms with heritage or family. To a lesser extent, it is about the destructive insularity of only befriending or doing business with members of the same race or religion. Those are worthy themes but they are not wrapped within a compelling story.

Love stories are scattered throughout the novel, providing occasional dramatic peaks, generally advancing the theme that love overcomes differences of class and race and (perhaps) religion, although characters tend to have more difficulty overcoming religious prejudices than others. Camille's struggle with romance might be the most interesting but it is relegated to only a few pages toward the novel's end. Other ordinary dramas of life -- births out of wedlock, snubs, spats, jealousies -- round out the story without contributing much in the way of energy. While the novel, like Rachel, sort of fizzles out in the end, there is enough to admire in this fairly dull story to earn it a guarded recommendation.

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The Other Side of Silence by Bill Pronzini

First published in 2008; published in digital edition by Open Road Media on May 19, 2015

Too many noir writers adopt a style that reads like a parody of noir. Bill Pronzini's style is understated but definitely noir. I always enjoy his books because the plots are believable, the story moves quickly, and the characters have a reasonable amount of depth.

After Rick Fallon's son dies, so does his marriage. He leaves the urban stress of Encino for the emptiness of Death Valley. While hiking, he comes across a woman in distress. Fallon helps her because it feels like the right thing to do.

The woman's son has been taken. Fallon's efforts to find him take him on a tour of the Southwest, from Death Valley to Vegas to San Diego and places like Laughlin and Indio. Pronzini always creates a sense of place without bogging the story down in unnecessary detail. Fallon comes across a mix of believable characters during his travels, most of whom are a mixture of good and bad, as people tend to be.

This isn't so much a "whodunit" as it is a "who did what?" story. The Other Side of Silence is a quiet little novel. I wouldn't call it a thriller or even a suspense novel. The Other Side of Silence is a throwback to the days when crime fiction focused on characters and motivations rather than loving descriptions of weapons, martial arts moves, and ridiculous plots that are meant to be heart-stopping.

To the extent that this is a novel about a man who saves himself by saving others, it might be a little hokey, but by telling a believable story, Pronzini convinced me that the novel is more uplifting than hokey.

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The State We're In by Ann Beattie

Published by Scribner on August 11, 2015

The stories in The State We're In are snapshots of women at different stages of life. Nearly all of the action takes place in New England (mostly in Maine) although some memories and peripheral events occur in California and New York. Several of the stories are linked by characters or events. Each can be read without reference to any other story, but reading them together gives them additional weight.

Some stories are about young girls who are unraveling the mysteries of life. The first entry delves into the mind of Jocelyn, a high school student who can't quite wrap her mind around the future, isn't terribly engaged with the present, and doesn't know what to make of magical realism. "What Magical Realism Would Be" is one of my favorites in the collection. Jocelyn is still wondering about magical realism in "Endless Rain into a Paper Cup" but the perspective shifts to third person and the story -- more eventful than the first -- broadens to include her ill mother, the kindly uncle and batty aunt who are taking care of her, and a friend who tried who commit suicide. Jocelyn also narrates the last story, "The Repurposed Barn." She still can't pull a "B" on her English essays (punctuation puzzles her) and her aunt is upset that Jocelyn's mother, freshly out of the hospital, is dating a recovering addict, but Jocelyn has an epiphany that helps her make a connection between life and literature while she watches Elvis lamps being sold at an auction.

Other portraits of youth involve a girl who ponders what to do about a baby bird that fell from its nest ("The Fledgling") and a girl who learns that life is "a rocky road to death" from an aunt who attends Gatsby-like parties and wears the wire baskets that hold champagne corks in place under her bra to enhance her nipples ("Aunt Sophie Renaldo Brown").

Two of my favorites deal with older women. In "Yancey," a 77-year-old poet discusses poetry, her annoying family, and her aging dog with an IRS agent. The 74-year-old writer in "Missed Calls" has a gossipy lunch with a young writer who interviews her about her brief encounters with Truman Capote, but the woman's glimpse of the young man's anguish over his goddaughter's odd behavior provides the story's drama, showcasing the difference between a woman starting adulthood and a woman nearing the end of hers.

The narrator of "Duff's Done Enough" is an author who explains the pinprick of inspiration after her landlady, a woman of 74, introduces her to a story-filled neighbor of 82 who just changed his name from Chip to Duff. The narrator of "Elvis Ahead of Us" ponders the life of the neighbor who moved away after putting his house on the market, leaving behind his collection of ... you guessed it ... Elvis lamps.

Some stories are about the power of memories. A woman reflects upon the summer she turned 21, finding symbolism in a pair of deliberately overturned Adirondack chairs ("Adirondack Chairs"). Another woman looks back at a summer in her younger life and the casual friendship she had with her male roommate ("Major Maybe").

"Silent Prayer," a sweet story told in the third person, is largely a coded conversation between a husband and wife -- the kind married couples have that only make sense to them. Another strong story, consisting almost entirely of dialog, is a bedroom conversation by aging parents who are glad that their children do not visit too often ("The Stroke").

Rounding out the collection are two stories that felt less substantial. In "Road Movie," a woman who checks into a motel with a man who is cheating on his girlfriend can't get the man to talk about their relationship and, on the telephone, can't get her mother to stop talking about it. "The Little Hutchinsons" introduces a woman who feels guilt when her refusal to do an odd favor for a friend has unintended consequences.

None of these stories are duds and the best of them are masterful. Exquisite prose and startling observations make the entire collection worth reading.

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