Inhibitor Phase by Alastair Reynolds

First published in Great Britain in 2021; published by Orbit on October 12, 2021

Over the last 20-plus years, Alastair Reynolds has set several books and stories in the Revelation Space Universe, a troubled place where humanity is always at risk of extinction. Inhibitor Phase is the most recent of four novels, beginning with Revelation Space, that tell an ongoing story within that universe. Reynolds claims that Inhibitor Phase can be read as a standalone, but I think a reader who at least reads Revelation Space will find more meaning in Inhibitor Phase. For example, the significance of Conjoiners (humans with neural implants) and the role that Nevil Clavain played in a war between Conjoiners and non-enhanced humans might be puzzling to someone who isn’t familiar with at least some of the novels. For readers who want to begin at the end and don’t mind spoilers, Reynolds includes a chronology at the end of the book that will catch the reader up on Reynolds’ future history of humankind, including events that occur novels outside of this sequence.

Inhibitor Phase begins in the late 28th century with a fellow named Miguel who doesn’t realize he was once a different man, a man named Warren. Now he’s leading a community of humans living beneath the surface of a planet, trying to protect them from Inhibitors by keeping the humans hidden and quiet. Inhibitors, a/k/a Wolves, are machines that want to destroy and assimilate raw materials used by organic races, very much like the Borg of Star Trek fame. Miguel faces an early moral dilemma (is it acceptable to kill more than 5,000 people to keep 5,000 people hidden and safe?) before he’s taken against his will by a formidable woman named Glass. After Glass tweaks Miguel’s brain, he begins to recall that he was once a soldier (a Sky Marshal, actually) who took on the Conjoiners before he battled his brother. That part of the plot isn’t exactly Antigone, but if a writer is going to borrow ideas, borrowing from the classics is usually smart.

Glass has a plan to take the fight to the Wolves. The plan requires traveling to one planet to gather some stones, to another planet to acquire information, and to another planet in search of a ship that carries a secret weapon. Like much space opera, Inhibitor Phase is sort of a Homeric Odyssey (borrowing from the classics again) as each segment of the journey introduces new perils that the hero must overcome.

Some chapters flash back to Warren’s time as a soldier, when he participated in a clandestine invasion of Mars to free his brother, back when they seemed to be on the same side, before Warren became someone else. Later in the novel Warren becomes someone else still before making a final transformation. Identity is a fluid thing in the Revelation Space universe.

Reynolds gives space opera fans the kind of futuristic action they enjoy while adding enough science to make the action plausible. When a ship flies into the “molten shallows” of a star, Reynolds explains how manipulating “the basic informational granularity of local spacetime” to “swindle the incorruptible bookkeeping of classical and quantum thermodynamics” prevents the ship from melting. For all I know (and I don’t know much), this is gibberish, but gibberish is better than ignoring the unendurable heat of even a star’s photosphere. Other imaginative moments include a weapon concealed in blood that the heroes release by bleeding; a water planet inhabited by entities that function collectively as information storage devices; biologically engineered weapons called ninecats (just as fast and even more fierce than regular cats but a lot less cuddly); and a variety of alien races, the most interesting of which builds nests.

The universe is a big place and it’s been around a long time, even if humankind has not (relatively speaking). Inhibitor Phase is a long book, but a small part of a larger story. It doesn’t complete the story of humanity’s clash with the Wolves, or even advance it much. It does provide the surviving characters with an opportunity to take the fight to the Wolves, something that might happen in the next installment.

Still, Inhibitor Phase does the things that space opera should do. Reynolds offers the usual space opera menu of courage, sacrifice, perseverance, and fighting against long odds because that’s what it means to be human. Perhaps because the themes are so familiar in classic science fiction, the story does not seem particularly fresh. Yet Reynolds occasionally makes the story relevant to the reader’s life, as when he describes an alien race that justifies its atrocities by pretending they never happened (or, in the jargon of modern America, by dismissing their transgressions as “fake news”).

Characters are inclined to give inspirational speeches, as is the custom of space opera heroes. The speeches themselves are too predictable to be meaningful, but I did appreciate the development and evolution of Warren’s character. Before or soon after he became Miguel, he blocked his memories of the horrors of war that he endured and inflicted. When he returns to himself, he must confront moral judgments that he made and ask whether they were correct, whether he can find a path to redemption. That’s the kind of dilemma that science fiction, by stripping away the constraints of realism, can confront more directly than most literary fiction. The story works as an action novel, but it also builds depth from the arc of Warren’s life.

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The Pessimists by Bethany Ball

Published by Grove Press on October 12, 2021

The Pessimists takes a satirical look at an expensive private grade school in Connecticut and the white suburban parents who send their kids there. Petra School values cooperation over competition (sports are bad), regulates the children’s diets (dairy is bad), doesn’t allow students to look at cellphones or television (screens are bad), and doesn’t seem to teach kids anything, particularly reading (Harry Potter is bad) and math (memorization is bad). The school seems more interested in teaching parents about the school’s philosophy of simplicity than in educating children. The school indoctrinates parents as if they were part of a cult.

This is a novel of relationships, with a primary focus on the interactions of three couples and their varying ties to Petra School. Tripp and Virginia are keeping secrets from each other, although they find it impossible to keep secrets from their 11-year-old daughter Charlotte. Tripp isn’t paying Charlotte’s tuition at Petra because he’s buying guns and combat knives, paying for Krav Maga classes, and taking survivalist seminars. Virginia has breast cancer but refuses to be treated for it or even to mention it to Tripp. “Tripp has never gotten over the fact that stay-at-home mothers stayed at home, even after their kids were old enough to attend school.” That’s one of many reasons they have drifted apart.

Virginia misses the days when she and Tripp liked each other. Only late in the novel does Virginia tumble to the realization that Tripp is more interested in dealing with the apocalypse to come than the apocalypse that is already here. By that point, Virginia is contemplating affairs and ready for a dramatic change. Drama does, in fact, come, although its arrival feels like an arbitrary choice to provide a climax rather than a considered resolution of the issues that drive the story.

Virginia and Rachel used to work together. Rachel does freelance work in the digital world. She’s married to Gunter, a successful and well-paid architect, who reluctantly moved to the US from Stockholm at Rachel’s request. Rachel convinced Gunter to adapt to suburban living. Gunter’s version of adapting is to buy a huge Mercedes and to enjoy the cheap gasoline that Americans regard as a God-given right — although not the environmentally conscious parents who send their kids to Petra.

Gunter initially believes that Petra School is a typically American waste of money, while Rachel initially loves it. When Gunter is later influenced by a parents’ meditation group (he starts to believe he is capable of mysterious things), their positions are reversed. Gunter is strangely attracted to the woman who operates Petra School, despite (or because of) her family’s relationship with the Nazi party.

Margot wants her kids to attend Petra but the kids and her husband Richard resist her decision. Richard is Tripp’s oldest friend. Margot and Richard come across as props who add little to the story, apart from a clever scene in which Margot’s child has to remind her that she already cleaned the cabinets that she is obsessively scouring.

Gunter accuses Americans of being pessimistic, a response to seeing Tripp’s basement full of guns. Tripp likes to show them off when he’s drunk, making it odd that so much time passes with no character alerting Virginia to their existence. The three featured couples are far from a cross-section of America, but most of the adult American characters do seem pessimistic about their futures, and with good reason.

The Pessimists suffers from the familiarity of its subject matter. As a well written and occasionally amusing examination of life in a financially comfortable suburb, the novel might appeal to financially comfortable suburban parents who struggle with choices about educating their children. The story didn’t resonate with me but I’m not in that demographic group. It does seem to be the favorite demograpic of many novelists.

Private schools that don’t educate kids are an easy target, as are survivalists who sacrifice the good of their family for their obsession with weaponry. Bethany Ball sometimes hits the target with her satirical portrayal of Petra School and the parents who treat it like a cult, but at other times she seems to want the reader to take the school seriously. Her attempt to straddle the line between satire and a serious look at private schools isn’t quite satisfying, in part because Ball never asks the reader to engage in more than superficial thought about the merits of private versus public education.

Most of the characters are also unsatisfying. They come across as stereotypes rather than real people. Virginia is the exception. Her struggle and growth during the novel seem authentic. Virginia’s characterization, Ball’s engaging prose style, and a few savage moments of humor account for my recommendation.

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Just Thieves by Gregory Galloway

Published by Melville House on October 19, 2021

Rick steals things for a man named Froehmer. Rick’s father was corrupt. Rick accepts dishonesty as a way of life. Froehmer was his father’s good friend and Rick trusts him. Trusts him enough, anyway. Rick isn’t cut out for a nine-to-five job so stealing helps him support his daughter. Denise, Eva’s mother, doesn’t want anything to do with him, but Rick gives money to Denise when he has some to spare. He spends time with Eva when Denise allows it, which isn’t often. Rick accepts his situation just as he accepts the other circumstances of his life.

Rick started small, stealing from construction sites, working his way up to residential burglaries. As Rick made progress in his craft, Froehmer asked him to steal more valuable items that were usually within easy reach, like a rare coin displayed on a desk. Rick doesn’t ask questions about the object’s value or destination because it’s not his business. Nor does he care who the victim might be because, in his view, stealing doesn’t really hurt anyone. We’d all be better off if we weren’t so focused on acquiring and keeping property, wouldn’t we? The morality of crime, and the deeper question of what it means to be moral, pervades the novel, but Gregory Galloway doesn’t hammer the reader with the philosophy of larceny.

At a meeting for recovering addicts, Rick meets Frank, a counselor who gives life and morality more rigorous and intellectual thought than Rick can muster. They are living together when the novel begins. The text is never explicit about their relationship, but when Frank’s sister mentions that Frank’s mom doesn’t know, it becomes clear that they are lovers. Frank steals watches and knows how to disable alarm systems. He helps Rick steal for Froehmer because he doesn’t want Rick to be caught. Frank is cerebral, which is both a benefit and a curse. Frank plans, Frank takes precautions, Frank makes sure they don’t get caught. But Frank also needs to figure things out. When a dead horse appears and disappears in front of the hotel where they’re staying, Frank can’t let it go.

If you added an intelligent plot to a Liam Neeson movie and gave it the tag line “People who have everything fighting over nothing,” you’d get something like Just Thieves. Galloway tells the story in the first person from Rick’s perspective. The narrative style is simple and plain spoken with the elegance of noir. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. So like every other idiot, I bought a gun.” “We spend all our time waiting for one thing to stop and waiting for something else to start.” In addition to crafting his own memorable lines, Galloway borrows a few choice phrases from classic works of literature and noir; he credits them in the end.

The action heats up when Frank is apparently troubled by something that Froehmer asks them to steal, something that seems entirely valueless to Rick. Toward the end, Rick thinks he’s being set up for crimes he didn’t commit, leading to a surprising reveal of the person who committed them. To get himself out of a messy situation, Rick makes his life messier, straining his self-image as someone who does no harm to others.

The story jets along from key moment to key moment, sometimes flashing back to establish Rick’s character in greater depth. The simplicity of the story and of its few characters is appealing, although the simplicity masks the deep questions that Rick ponders as he considers his life with and without Frank. Just Thieves is a smart, compelling story told from the perspective of a person who regards himself as uncomplicated, as portrayed by an author who understands that every person is complicated.

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This Thing Between Us by Gus Moreno

Published by MCD x FSG Originals on October 12, 2021

As Halloween approaches, publishers release horror novels. This one asks the reader to consider whether their Alexa might be haunted.

The protagonist of This Thing Between Us, Thiago Alvarez, has a device called Itza that is obviously Alexa by another name. Itza begins to turn itself on, answers questions it hasn’t been asked, plays bad music, orders unwanted products (including swords and sex toys), and behaves like an unwelcome guest. Mostly Itza wants to be pulled out of the wall, a phrase that only makes sense later in the novel. Returning Itza to the seller seems like a good solution, but Thiago takes more decisive action.

Perhaps it is not Itza that is haunted. Perhaps the former occupant of Thiago’s condo put a hex on the place. The floorboards squeak at night, as if someone is walking on them. There are scratching noises in the walls and spots in the home that are inexplicably cold. Yet Thiago’s worries about Itza and hexes fall to the wayside when his wife Vera is killed after being pushed down a flight of subway stairs by a fleeing criminal.

The criminal is an undocumented alien, a status that sends certain parts of the media into a frenzy while the remaining media devotes its time to covering the frenzy. Thiago writes: “My life was a series of disasters, and the aftermaths only attracted scavengers who picked the rubble for parts they could use for their own means.” Thiago doesn’t want his wife’s death to become a political football, so he says goodbye to his late wife’s mother (Diana) and moves into the woods to hide from his inability to comprehend life or death or meaning.

After that setup, the story ratchets up the creepy. Thiago finds a dog who seems sweet until, perhaps in a reincarnated form, it turns into Cujo. A wall appears in the woods and then moves into the yard. Words appear in books that shouldn’t be there, asking for release from the wall. Someone seems to be possessed. When Diana shows up for a visit, she walks into a nightmare.

This Thing Between Us is written as a communication from Thiago to Vera after her death. The purpose of the communication is revealed near the novel’s end. In the twisted logic of horror fiction, writing to a dead wife makes perfect sense.

Gus Moreno hides the ball for a while. Is this a novel about demons? Is the person wo behaves like a zombie possessed by evil spirits? Have the ghost stories that pervade Mexican culture taken root in Thiago’s family? Is Thiago delusional? The ending leaves most of the reader’s questions unanswered.

Still, the plot is really a device that allows Moreno to consider more important questions. The story asks whether people believe in the afterlife as a way of avoiding loss. At some point, Thiago is invited to join an afterlife that offers the illusion of Heaven, perhaps as a literary suggestion that Heaven is an illusion for all living people who embrace its reality.

Culture and individualism play a big part in the story, from the social schism over undocumented aliens to the cultural knowledge that informs Diana’s effort to exorcise evil from Thiago’s dwelling. Thiago is ashamed that he doesn’t speak Spanish, but Diana was born in Mexico and accepts the supernatural as a given. Thiago is antisocial, a burnout who takes odd jobs in the gig economy, part of America’s culture of loners. He resisted Vera’s preference for social connections, although Vera was also different from her friends in that she preferred museums to clubbing. Perhaps opposites attract, but Thiago feels guilty about “the times we argued because you felt you couldn’t invite people to the condo on account of me hating to be ‘on’ all the time, or me wishing you put half as much effort into taking care of yourself as you put into your job.” He regrets using his mother’s cancer as a tool to manipulate Vera into staying with him when she couldn’t deal with his failings.

I’m not a big fan of horror fiction — reality frightens me more than the supernatural — but I am a fan of insightful writing. Moreno gets into Thiago’s head to explore the universal experience of grief and loss. “In this world we struggle and bitch and fail and hurt and then weep over someone checking out of it all.” “It’s like being at a party and the one friend you knew is suddenly gone.” “When you died I mourned you, but also the version of myself I was with you. So then there were two deaths.”

The story is bleak and the ending is both unhappy and unsatisfying, but it has the advantage of pulling no punches. Moreno blends supernatural horror with the horrible impact that loss has on survivors. I’m not sure that all of the horrific elements make any kind of unified sense, but I am sure that the story would be powerful even without its supernatural foundation.

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Damascus Station by David McCloskey

Publsihed by ‎ W. W. Norton & Company on October 5, 2021

Damascus Station does what a spy thriller should do. It engages the imagination with tradecraft, appeals to the intellect with political intrigue, and excites the senses with action scenes. Some of the action takes place in the bedroom (or other convenient locations). More violent scenes play out in the streets and buildings of Damascus.

Much of the story takes place in Syria, where a brutal dictatorship is fighting a war against rebels. Samuel Joseph works for the CIA. His Levantine Arabic is flawless. He begins the novel in Damascus, where he has been sent to exfiltrate an asset, as well as Val Owens, the asset’s handler who is in Syria under diplomatic cover. The mission does not go well, particularly for Val.

A well-educated woman named Miriam, a Syrian general’s daughter, secretly opposes the government that employs her. Miriam’s cousin Razan makes no effort to hide her disdain for the Syrian president. She gets away with it because her father has a position in the government that allows him to shield her.

Sam is sent to Paris, where Miriam is attempting to coerce a brave Syrian woman into returning to Syria and renouncing her criticism of the Syrian regime. Miriam must threaten harm to the woman’s family to carry out her mission, threats that cause her to despise herself. Sam’s task is to recruit Miriam as a double agent for the CIA. The task is easy to accomplish, both because Miriam hates the ruling regime and because she feels an immediate sexual attraction to Sam. The rules prohibit Sam from acting on that attraction, but rules have never stopped fictional spies from hopping into bed with assets. Sam puts his career at risk and, as is the custom in novels of this nature, falls in love with Miriam.

Miriam is the kind of character a reader might love, as well. She’s intelligent, a fierce warrior, and willing to take risks to fight the leaders she serves. Sam is your prototypical spy, stalwart and loyal and an all-around good guy apart from his inability to keep it in his pants. My favorite character might be the tough chief of station in Damascus. She’s vulgar, lethal with a shotgun, and proclaims herself (with some justification) to be the Angel of Death.

The plot takes Sam to Damascus, where he follows Miriam as her handler, using the usual diplomatic cover for his spying. Spy novels are all about betrayal, and the time comes when Sam must question whether Miriam is playing him. That’s the kind of plot point that makes espionage novels so addictive.

Word gets the US that the Syrian president intends to use sarin gas to wipe out a city in rebellion. That’s a step too far for the US, as is the capture and beheading of an American. The US intends a targeted assassination in retribution for the murder and selective bombing to prevent the use of sarin. The story eventually brings the US and Syria to the brink (or slightly over the brink) of war. By the end, Sam and Miriam are both in peril. Quick thinking and sacrifice offers the only hope of averting disaster.

The story features the usual tradecraft — a good thing, because tradecraft establishes a spy novel’s identity — including dead drops and (perhaps too many) surveillance detection routes, all taught to Miriam in a frenzy. The theme of a spy breaking the rules by getting sexually involved with a source that he’s running is familiar, but it’s a credible theme that works well in the context of the story. The action scenes in the novel’s second half justify the novel’s categorization as a thriller. The balance between action, political intrigue, and relationship drama is just about perfect. And the ending, without being artificially happy, is at least hopeful.

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