The Survivors by Alex Schulman

First published in Sweden in 2020; published in translation by Doubleday on October 5, 2021

Three sons and two dysfunctional parents are the only significant characters in The Survivors. The sons reunite for their mother’s funeral, their father having died years earlier. The funeral requires a change of plan when the kids discover a note that their mother left behind. The reader does not learn the content of the note until the novel’s end, as it reveals a fact that Alex Schulman keeps secret until the novel’s late stages. The secret changes the reader’s understanding of the events that precede its revelation.

Much of the story consists of memories of unpleasant childhoods, scattered across the story that takes place in the present. The memories are “spread out like Lego bricks” for a therapist (and the reader) to examine. Transitions between time frames are not always clear. The story is sometimes disorienting, an effect that I assume Schulman intended.

The parents were educated and had refined sensibilities, but they lived in poverty. They gave their kids “an upper-class upbringing that somehow occurred below the poverty line.” The children’s “academic upbringing had been undertaken halfheartedly; it began with great to-do but was never completed.” At some point, the parents lost energy and their parenting project ground to a halt.

Mom was usually sullen but sometimes erupted in emotional outbursts. The kids found making Mom happy to be a hit-or-miss task at which they usually missed, although she did little to encourage their efforts. She seemed to have more affection for the dog than for her boys, although even the dog earned inconsistent attention. Dad had an anger management problem, compounded by a drinking problem that he shared with Mom. Dad spent time with the kids only when he felt a need to alleviate his loneliness.

The brothers are Nils, Benjamin, and Pierre. “Benjamin was always trying to get closer to his parents; Nils wanted to get away.” Nils, who had “special standing” with his parents because he was a good student, feels he was abused by his two brothers. Pierre feels he was abused by his parents and blames his brothers for not protecting him. Even before an electric shock induced visual disturbances, Benjamin had moments when he disassociated from reality.

The parents once encouraged the three bothers to have a swimming contest, then went inside for a nap, apparently unconcerned whether the kids were capable of swimming to a distant buoy. Nor were the parents particularly attentive when Benjamin nearly electrocuted himself at an abandoned power station. That event is significant not just to Benjamin, but to the plot that eventually unfolds. Benjamin felt “a deep love for his father in spite of everything,” but Benjamin lived in his own world. His memories, like his perceptions of the present, might not be reliable.

For much of the novel, the story feels true to its Swedish origins. Gloom overwhelms the characters and threatens to infect the reader. The therapist is a familiar fixture in Scandinavian literature. We only catch a late glimpse of a therapy session, but it is the breakthrough session that reveals the hidden truth, a truth that has been distorted by memory. The truth is known to the therapist, who wastes no time dropping it in Benjamin’s lap. Her hurry to get to the point comes as a relief, as the time the reader spends with this dysfunctional family is far from joyful.

Still, the lives of the depressive characters have some interesting moments and the story is nicely detailed. The woods, the lake, the power station, the cabin — all are easy to visualize, as are the sullen characters. The story is at times maddeningly ambiguous, and it is only at the end that the reader realizes how those ambiguities serve the story. My reaction to the big reveal was more “huh” than “wow,” but I admired the skill with which the story is constructed.

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When We Were Young by Richard Roper

Published by G.P. Putnam's Sons on July 20, 2021

Richard Roper used a familiar formula to create When We Were Young. He begins in the present and constructs the novel’s foundation from the memories of the two protagonists. The formula requires the protagonists to arrive at a dramatic moment in the present while the parallel story of their past explains how they came to be in their current position, revealing some secrets along the way. While excellent novels have been concocted using that method, the risk of following a formula is that the novel will feel formulaic. This one feels like Roper followed the formula for writing a soap opera.

As the story begins, Theo Hern’s parents are evicting him from their guest room as an act of tough love. Theo is pushing thirty. He aspired to be a comedy writer but settled for a series of marketing jobs, quitting the last one to chase the hope of a dream job that disappeared.

Theo’s old friend, Joel Thompson, suddenly reappears in Theo’s life after years of estrangement. When they were kids, Joel and Theo talked about walking the Thames Path. Joel proposes that they walk it now while using their time together to write scripts for a television series that they had envisioned before their friendship ended. Joel promises that a producer has agreed to back the series, a promise that more than stretches the truth.

Theo needs a gig so he overcomes his bitterness about Joel sufficiently to say yes. Joel’s actual motivation is to reconcile with Theo. Joel is dying from liver failure and the Thames Path walk with Theo is on his bucket list. The reader knows of Joel’s impending death but Theo does not. The reader also knows that Theo will tumble to the truth eventually because that’s part of the formula.

As the guys walk along the Thames Path, they tell the reader their backstories in alternating chapters. Joel was an awkward, friendless teen. Theo saved him from being bullied and they became best friends, bonding over a shared love of comedy. Joel eventually confesses to having worshipped Theo, which seems a bit much. In any event, Joel went on to have a career writing for television and began living with a childhood friend, Amber Crossley, who became a successful television actress. Joel messes that up with his drinking, putting an end to their relationship. The drinking is apparently motivated by Joel’s involvement in a traffic accident that put Theo’s sister Alice in a wheelchair. Alice, unlike Theo, has forgiven Joel, while Theo’s route to becoming a self-pitying loser caused Babs, the love of his life, to break up with him. Whew!

All of this is just too much. The dying protagonist who needs to come to terms with his life. The broken friendship that needs to be repaired. The abusive stepfather who comes between mother and son, creating another relationship that needs to be mended. The hidden truth that destroyed a friendship (I won’t spoil it but rest assured that a hidden truth exists because hidden truths and big reveals are part of the formula). The failed and failing romances. The alcoholic who is tempted to resume drinking. “I always suspected my husband was gay” is about the only soap opera theme that doesn’t appear in When We Were Young. Maybe that one has been reserved for the sequel.

The backstories are full of syrupy heartstring-tuggers, as if Joel’s upcoming death is insufficient. Characters frequently erupt at each other or share their feelings and hug it out. Readers who like to have a good cry might appreciate When We Were Young, but only if rolling eyes are capable of forming tears.

Blurbs describe the story as heartwarming. And it would be if it felt authentic. Instead, it feels like an exercise in obvious emotional manipulation. All of the contrived problems make it possible to bombard the reader with happy and sad endings. A good many readers like that sort of thing. Since I’m not one of them, I can only say that the story is well-constructed and has some enjoyable moments. The ending certainly could have been worse, but it’s a long walk to arrive at an ending that isn’t really a surprise. The story as a whole is just too predictable and formulaic to take seriously.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

The Night and the Music by Lawrence Block

First published in 2011; published in a deluxe edition by Subterranean Press on September 30, 2021

Lawrence Block has always been an observer of humanity. Much of his fiction fits within a softer, less hardboiled version of the noir tradition. Not long ago, Subterranean Press released a volume of Block’s stories about Bernie Rhodenbarr, the gentleman bandit. The Night and the Music collects short stories that feature Block’s best recurring character, Matthew Scudder. It concludes with Block's explanation of his history with Scudder and his memories of the collected stories.

Scudder began the series as a damaged man, not quite an antihero but far from a role model. Scudder is an ex-cop. When he was on the force, he shot at a murderer and one of his shots killed a little girl. End of his job, end of his marriage, end of his relationship with his children, end of his sobriety. “People go through changes and life does the damnedest things to us all.”

Scudder’s life has changed for the better over the years that Block has written about him. Over the course of 17 novels published between 1976 and 2011, Scudder stopped drinking and married a former hooker. Throughout the series, Scudder never lost his empathy for individuals who have lived unfortunate lives.

Scudder’s world is filled with corrupt and racist cops, newsstand gossips, and neighborhood residents who are panhandlers, drunks, homeless, unbalanced. Scudder tolerates the cops and treats the residents with dignity and respect. He sees the people on the street, even as wealthier residents pretend they don’t exist or want them chased away.

“A Candle for the Bag Lady” is the best story in the volume and one of the best short stories in crime fiction. A shopping bag lady on the periphery of Scudder’s existence is murdered. She leaves him $1,200 in her will. Scudder investigates both the murder and the reason she named him as her beneficiary. The story is about the ways that people touch lives without knowing the impact they’ve made. The moral of the story is that everybody matters. Whether we think about them or not, whether we notice them or not, they matter.

Most of the other stories are quite good. A man claims to be framed for his wife’s murder and asks for Scudder’s help. Scudder gives him exactly what he deserves. A waitress at Scudder’s gin joint dives out a seventeenth-floor window, naked. Her sister believes she was murdered. Scudder investigates the case, taking on a locked door mystery in the process. Years after Scudder sent a man to prison for murder, the man tells Scudder his life story. The story is interesting because of the unusual motive that the man had for killing his lover — and because of the gruesome way in which the killer achieved his objective.

In one of the most entertaining stories, Scudder recalls a time when he was a somewhat corrupt cop who was asked to help some poker players deal with a stabbing death. Scudder immediately sees through their lies but also sees how he can create an outcome that will do justice while making everyone happy.

In the collection’s most offbeat story, Scudder joins a crew that has been hired to confiscate unlicensed Batman products from New York street vendors. Scudder realizes he doesn’t have the heart to bully people who don’t speak English and don’t know anything about copyright law. Another story that breaks the pattern of private detective fiction is a sensitive contemplation of AIDS and death, a story that has Scudder looking for an angel of death who might be a mercy killer.

I love Block’s dialog, the way collateral characters ramble about nothing yet reveal something of their place in the world. For my money, Block has always written some of the best dialog in crime fiction.

A few of the stories failed to resonate with me. The title story and a couple of others seem designed to tie up loose ends in Scudder’s life; they don’t work well as independent stories. Most of the stories, however, will appeal to fans of the Scudder novels — which should include most fans of crime fiction.

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Dog Island by Philippe Claudel

Published in France in 2018; published in translation by Little, Brown and Company on August 10, 2021

The narrator of Dog Island tells us that the story “is as real as you might be. It takes place here, just as it could have happened anywhere.” The “here” to which the narrator refers is one of the Dog Islands, an imagined Mediterranean archipelago. Two of the islands form the jaw of a dog while others form its tongue and teeth, but only if you squint at a map and use your imagination. The particular Dog Island where the story takes place is sparsely inhabited, having little to recommend it to tourists, although a character known as The Mayor is negotiating with the Consortium to develop a Thermal Baths project from the island’s hot springs. He views the project as the “last opportunity for families to remain here, and their children, and their children’s children.”

A character known as The Old Woman is taking her daily stroll on a rocky beach when her dog begins to howl at the sight (or smell) of three dead bodies. The howl attracts the attention of Swordy (named for his proficiency at catching swordfish) and America (“a bachelor who produced a little wine and was something of an odd-job man”). They summon The Mayor who brings along The Doctor. The Teacher and The Priest round out the characters who know about the bodies. The Mayor assumes that the dead men, all black, were boat people who fled from a nearby African country and drowned on their journey to Europe. The Teacher is skeptical of that theory and in any event wants to summon the police from the mainland. The Mayor, fearing that adverse publicity will doom the Thermal Baths project, bullies the other characters into disposing of the bodies quietly.

The story takes an even stranger turn when The Teacher takes it upon himself to experiment by acquiring a boat and tossing dummies into the ocean at various points to see where the currents will take them. The Mayor, unhappy with the results of the experiment, devises a scheme to silence The Teacher. The scheme coincides with the arrival on the island of The Superintendent, who might want to investigate the bodies or The Teacher if he isn't pursuing some toher agenda. We eventually learn why the dead men died and how they are connected to the island.

Dog Island is a modern prose version of a morality play. The characters represent virtues or vices. They are identified by title rather than names because their individuality is less important than what they represent — greed, weakness, indifference, or (in the case of The Teacher) rectitude. The characters are presented with a choice between good and evil and, when they make the wrong choice, the island as a whole is punished, almost as if it has become cursed. A foul odor covers the island, growing worse by the day, while the inhabitants begin to live a strained life, losing “not so much the will to live, as their love and hope in life. All this was like a stain on a piece of clothing, on clothing that one had enjoyed wearing.”

Some of the characters are amusingly quirky (the Priest has befriended bees that follow him everywhere), as is much of the dialog. The story becomes increasingly dark but a dark ending is needed to teach the novel’s lesson. Like a morality play, the lesson is superficially simple, although in this postmodern world, it is also a bit ambiguous. I think it has something to do with women high jumpers who “attempt, in graceful and sensuous arched movements, to topple over death in order to enjoy life.” Readers who can figure out what that means, and those who appreciate the sentiment if not the meaning (I’m in that group), might find Dog Island to be a book worth reading.

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Civilizations by Laurent Binet

Published in France in 2019; published in translation by ‎Farrar, Straus and Giroux on September 14, 2021

Civilizations recounts an alternate history of European, Norse, Incan, and Mexican civilizations, a history that, by the Middle Ages, produced a different (and possibly better) world than the one that existed. Laurent Binet imagines a string of linked events that cause Incan sun worship to take hold in Europe, competing against the religion of the “nailed God” (as the Incans describe Christianity) and opening the door to tolerance, religious freedom, and universal peace until the peace is shattered by new conquerors.

The story is told in four parts, although the third part dominates. The first is centered on Freydis Eriksdottir, a bad-tempered woman who was fathered by Norse explorer Erik the Red after he founded Greenland. Freydis flees after committing a murder, bringing her husband, a few men, and some animals in search of a new home. Her entourage spreads disease in Cuba, wiping out most of the native population before she moves on to Panama and then to Peru.

The second part consists of fragments of a journal kept by Christopher Columbus. In this version of history, Columbus never returns to Europe. His explorations take him in search of gold and jewels, initially following the path of Freydis as he makes his way to Cuba. Things do not go well for Columbus and his crew, although they put up several good fights. Near the end of his life, he captures the attention of Higuénamota, the daughter of the queen Anacaona, who loves his stories of European monarchs.

The heart of the story is told in the third part. It begins when Huayna Capac, the Emperor of the Inca Empire, is felled by a red-headed traveler whose ancestry presumably traces to Freydis and her fellow settlers. Huana leaves the throne to his son Huascar but allows Huascar’s half-brother Atahualpa to govern the northern provinces that include Quito. After a time, Huascar declares war on Atahualpa, forcing Atahualpa and his army into a retreat. Hearing rumors of an island paradise, he travels to Cuba where he encounters and marries the naked princess Higuénamota. Using Columbus’ rotting ships as models, Atahualpa replenishes his army and supplies and sails to Portugal. Higuénamota becomes a key political adviser in the events that unfold.

Atahualpa brings the sun god to Europe, where he slowly amasses political power in a land that is torn apart by war, poverty, and fear of the Inquisition. Atahualpa establishes trade routes to Cuba, putting an end to poverty with a steady supply of gold and silver. Putting an end to fear of Moors requires Atahualpa to consult with Machiavelli, whose understanding of politics is unsurpassed. Ending the Inquisition takes a bit more time.

Confrontations with Luther and deal-making with the Pope (who tries to recast the Sun as a metaphor for the Christian God) place Atahualpa into the role of Reformer and Protector of the Poor. His reforms include religious freedom (because the Sun doesn’t care if people want to worship other gods), redistribution of wealth, promotion of foreign and domestic trade, acceptance of science, generous exemptions from the payment of tribute, and a form of welfare for the sick or injured. If Incan government is not Utopian, it is a more caring government than Europe had managed to provide before Atahualpa’s arrival. It is, of course, denounced by men who feel threatened by the prospect of having to share power with others.

Trade with Cuba and the Caribbean assures Atahualpa’s success until Mexico, under the emperor Moctezuma, goes to war with Huascar. The Mexicans have a formidable army, placing the Inca-led Europe at risk of invasion and conquest. Atahualpa’s response is practical if a bit Machiavellian, placing him at odds with Higuénamota.

The final part features Cervantes, who flees Spain after bedding the wrong man’s wife. Cervantes has a series of adventures (generally involving fleeing and being captured) and ends up hiding from the plague in Montaigne’s castle, where yet another comely wife gains his attention. The Cervantes section represents an enormous departure from the preceding story, as Cervantes is the only character whose goal is not power or conquest or glory, unless getting laid falls within one or all of those categories.

Civilizations is driven by politics and events rather than characters, although most of the characters are drawn from history. The key players are shown in broad outline. We learn little about their personalities and inner thoughts, if in fact they have any, beyond their drive to achieve their goals. In that regard, Civilizations is written in the style of a history textbook that was authored with literary flair.

In the place of characterization, the novel features intriguing questions of philosophy. It explores leadership and governance, the harms and benefits of competing religious beliefs, and the ease with which, but for a minor change of events here and there, the history we know could have been very different.

Religion is a driving force of history. It is no less so in this alternate history. An exchange of correspondence between Thomas More and Erasmus debates the merits of religious freedom. Atahualpa sees the differences between Catholic and Lutheran beliefs as too petty to merit burning people for holding one belief or the other. The Incan insistence on tolerance comes to benefit Lutherans, Jews, Muslims, and everyone who was branded as a heretic by the Pope.

The novel highlights cultural differences in ways that remind us how silly culture can be. The Incans are amazed that Catholic cultures place importance on female virginity while not caring whether males gain sexual experience. Believers in the “wrong” religion are scorned as infidels until they amass armies, and then are accepted as good neighbors, provided they leave their armies at home. All of this should be puzzling, but Civilizations reminds us that we often accept things as given that should puzzle us.

Civilizations is driven by ideas rather than characters, and the plot is driven by big events rather than the small stories around which most novels are built. For those reasons, Civilizations might not be to every reader’s liking, but history buffs who like to imagine “what if” should love it.

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