The Unwilling by John Hart

Published by St. Martin's Press on February 2, 2021

The best thriller I’ve read in this young year will certainly be among the best of the full year. The Unwilling mixes the strong characterization of fine literature with an absorbing plot and the escalating tension that thriller fans crave.

The story is set during the Vietnam War. It focuses on two brothers. A third brother, Robert, was killed in the war. Robert’s death prompted his twin, Jason, to join the Marines. He became something of a legend but the military made him a scapegoat. Dishonorably discharged and addicted to heroin, Jason soon did a stint in prison, where his fighting skills caught the attention of X, a serial killer on death row who uses wealth and fear to control the warden and everyone who comes within his orbit. X employs killers of his own, including Reeves, who has a taste for young women.

Jason’s younger brother is Gibby. His father is a police detective and his mother, who has lost two sons (having written off Jason), is unbearably protective. Gibby is still coming of age and isn’t sure who he wants to be. When Jason comes back into his life after his release from prison, their parents fear that Gibby wants to become Jason. While Jason repeatedly tells Gibby not to follow in his path, he sends mixed signals, including bringing Gibby along to spend a raucous day with two young women, Tyra and Sara. Tyra teases prisoners on a bus during that trip, rude behavior that eventually brings Jason back to X’s attention.

When one of the women is tortured and murdered, Jason becomes the prime suspect, setting up the rest of the story. After the other woman disappears, some police detectives suspect Gibby’s involvement. Jason’s father is torn between his duty to the police and his love of his sons. Gibby never falters in his refusal to believe that Jason committed the murder. As Gibby and his loyal friend Chance begin a search for evidence to clear Jason, they face danger from the police and from the killer. Gibby’s father is then torn between his love of Jason and his need to protect Gibby from the man he fears Jason has become.

The story seems like it might be far-fetched, but John Hart makes every page seem real. This is a textured story, filled with small moments that evoke a variety of responses. The horror of discovering a woman who has been tortured and hung from chains is seen from the perspective of cops (and we’ve seen that before), but the aftermath is seen from the perspective of a troubled child who first discovered the body — a discovery that will likely shape his life. Those small moments help make the story memorable.

Hart’s ability to create conflict through the interaction of characters while avoiding melodrama is one of his strengths. The growing desperation felt by Gibby’s father, coupled with his growing realization that he’s not been a supportive father to Jason, is emotionally agonizing. Gibby’s internal struggle with his feeling about Jason and Chance’s struggle against life-defining fear are captivating. Hart deftly balances atmosphere and characterization with a plot that builds pace and tension until it races to a conclusion.

John Hart has grown as a writer over the years. Of the Hart novels I’ve read, The Unwilling stands as his best effort.

RECOMMENDED

Milk Fed by Melissa Broder

Published by Scribner on February 2, 2021

Milk Fed begins as a light novel about a woman struggling with an eating disorder. It becomes heavier and darker as it transforms into an exploration of sexual and religious identity. Add the eating issue and the novel is about self-acceptance in the face of societal or parental judgment.

Rachel works for a talent agency. She also performs one evening a week at a comedy club. In her dreams she receives wisdom from a rabbi. In her waking hours she sees a therapist to address her mother issues.

To her mother’s displeasure, Rachel indulged her sweet tooth as a young girl and got chubby. At sixteen, she compensated by eating too little and nearly becoming anorexic. Eventually she saw a nutritionist who balanced her so that she ate the right amount of healthy food. Now she counts calories obsessively. She also thinks about food (particularly sweets) obsessively. And she frets about her mother obsessively. Her therapist wants her to detox from her relationship with her mother because it is “emotionally unsafe.” That’s easier said than done.

Also to her mother’s displeasure, Rachel is either bisexual or a lesbian. She’s never had a sexual relationship with either gender that was completely satisfying. Early in the novel, Rachel develops a friendship with Miriam, who works in a yogurt shop. She’s not sure whether Miriam shares her interest in a physical relationship, but she allows Miriam to feed her decadent yogurt sundaes and high-calorie Chinese food. Rachel also consumes Shabbat meals at the home of Miriam’s parents. She thus experiences the pleasure of flavor but the frustration of weight gain, mixed with the pleasure of friendship and the fear of trying to move that friendship to a more intimate level.

Miriam is not by nature averse to having sex with a woman, but she resists her desire because her Orthodox parents will be less than pleased at her choice of partners. The relationship does eventually change. The later chapters are rather graphic in their description of that change, which I report not so much as a warning as an endorsement for readers who might enjoy graphic titillation. But Rachel eventually gets it on with a male client in violation of her employment agreement. That scene also leaves little to the imagination.

Sexual uncertainty might be a lesser conflict in the Rachel/Miriam relationship than religion. Rachel enjoys the time she spends with Miriam’s family, which seems more accepting of her than her own mother, but she also feels the need to avoid their judgment. She does not share their uncritical embrace of Israel and the occupation. When Rachel politely suggests that Palestinians might have legitimate grievances, Rachel’s mother reacts with knee-jerk hostility, accusing Rachel of self-hatred and betrayal. Rachel wonders what it means “to love a version of something that might not really exist — not as you saw it. Does this negate the love?” While she asks that question about Israel, it might also be asked about Rachel’s love of Miriam, a love that must be kept secret to avoid the judgment of Miriam’s mother.

Despite the novel’s exploration of self-image, sexuality, intolerance, and parental judgment, the story doesn’t bear an oppressive weight. This is journey of discovery. Rachel learns about herself by tasting the forbidden flavors of chocolate and sex. She lets down her barriers and becomes less uptight, less fearful of her desires. She doesn’t know if this new feeling is “surrender, freedom, or a total delusion that was ultimately going to hurt me.” It is certainly not without consequences, but experiencing consequences is a necessary condition of growth. The period of Rachel’s life that we see in Milk Fed is one of difficult change, but the Rachel who emerges is more confident and less fearful of the choices she will need to confront in the future.

RECOMMENDED

The Effort by Claire Holroyde

Published by Grand Central Publishing on January 12, 2021

The Effort begins as a pre-apocalyptic novel that images, perhaps correctly, humanity brewing its own destruction as soon as people fear the threat of destruction by an outside force. The novel is, in the end, the story of the Wayãpi, an indigenous people of French Guiana and Brazil. The ending is more interesting than the beginning. Unfortunately, The Effort takes too many dead-end detours before it finds a story worth telling.

The novel begins with a comet hurtling toward Earth, the premise of more than one “can the Earth be saved?” movie. The usual suspects, including scientists and a multi-lingual interpreter, gather on the equator to consider Earth-saving options, culminating in the usual plan to nuke the comet. Unfortunately, a rocket that can deliver the warhead can’t be developed before the launch deadline until, with an assist from left field, a rocket suddenly appears. That part of the story, involving a Chinese scientist who arguably betrays her country to save the planet, is too muddled to build dramatic tension.

In fact, the entire “save the planet” premise eventually fizzles out as the story follows other plotlines. One involves passengers on the final voyage of a Coast Guard vessel performing scientific research on a polar expedition. The ship is eventually recalled after everyone on Earth is panicking and killing each other in anticipation that the meteor will kill them anyway. Before it reaches port, however, the captain discharges a couple of passengers, allowing the lovers a chance to survive in isolation, for a time at least, if the meteor doesn’t kill them immediately. The ship’s captain ends up doing a survivalist bit in the Cascade Mountains as he searches for his family, but his character development is so belated that the reader has no investment in him when he finally becomes important. The captain encounters a legitimate survivalist but, thankfully, The Effort isn’t an addition to the horrid collection of survivalist novels. In any event, that story fizzles away as Claire Holroyde moves on to another plot thread.

The concept of mass panic should be exciting but Holroyde makes it into an abstraction. The story breaks the “show, don’t tell” rule by keeping food riots and hoarding in the background, usually reported on the news or, in one instance, observed by a kid using a telescope on the balcony of a high-rise that seems to have escaped looters. For the most part, it is easy to forget that the world is falling apart because the story is so unfocused.

Holroyde’s most interesting theme concerns the Wayãpi, rainforest dwellers whose habitat is threatened by global warming and other sources of pervasive environmental destruction. Not only are they well situated to avoid the rioting and loss of technology upon which the rest of the world depends, the meteor might actually save the Wayãpi by destroying all the corporations that were ravaging the rainforest for their own selfish interests. The possibility of karma adds an upbeat note to the story, although I wouldn’t call this an upbeat novel.

There is ample reason to be pessimistic about the world’s future and there’s no reason fiction shouldn’t reflect that pessimism. My complaint about The Effort is that the story is too scattered to carry any weight. The potential meteor strike is a springboard for story lines that go nowhere. The Coast Guard ship and its captain and the couple who strike out on their own all have their moments, but not enough moments to make it possible to care about the characters or their fate. Most of the characters who work to save humanity from the meteor eventually fade from the story and the effort to save the Earth almost becomes an afterthought.

My sense is that Holroyd's ambition exceeded her ability to manage the story. The novel’s drama is dispersed along storylines that make no contribution to a larger point, while the central drama — the hope of saving Earth from the meteor or the panic caused by impending doom — isn’t dramatic at all. In the end, only the story of the Wayãpi gives the novel a purpose, but all the other plotlines get in the way of the one that matters. I liked the Wayãpi story enough to give the novel a cautious recommendation but I didn’t like the novel well enough to recommend it without caution.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Prodigal Son by Gregg Hurwitz

Published by Minotaur Books on January 26, 2021

Prodigal Son is the sixth Orphan X novel. Gregg Hurwitz seems to have gained confidence in his material as the series has progressed. The early novels were a bit gimmicky, placing a routine, indestructible thriller hero in two overlapping roles: protector of the weak (along the lines of the Equalizer) and victim of a government plan to turn kids into deadly assassins (along the lines of Jason Bourne). The novels have steadily drifted away from those clichéd themes while developing the hero’s personality in greater depth. Prodigal Son is the best in the series so far and will probably be hard to top.

A man named Andre, working a dead-end security job at an impound lot, watches a man die in a way he can’t explain. The death is caused by an advanced military weapon. Andre doesn’t know that, but he knows enough to flee. Having been the only witness to a killing on U.S. soil committed with secret technology, Andre becomes a high value target of the weapon developer.

None of this should concern Evan Smoak, who has removed himself from the savior business he started while operating as the Nowhere Man. But Andre happens to know Evan’s mother, and Evan’s mother wants Evan to help Andre.

Wait, Orphan X has a mother? Yes, we learned that at the end of Into the Fire. Fans of the series will understand why Evan has some issues regarding his mother, but they reunite in Argentina and Even agrees to help Andre until he decides not to help him until he decides to help him again. Andre and Evan knew each other as orphaned children but Evan, who has an understandable coldness in his soul and an unfortunate superiority complex, views Andre as a loser until Evan’s ward Joey reminds him that compassion has greater value than smugness.

Other series characters return in Prodigal Son, including the formidable Orphan V, the dog who helps Joey embrace her soft side, and the neighbor who would like to be Evan’s girlfriend if he weren’t always running around the world and killing people. All of the collateral characters are growing into their individualized personalities (except fo the dog, who displays the constancy of a dog). I particularly enjoy Joey’s teenage snark. Andre promises to be a good addition to the cast.

It is Evan’s character development that sets Prodigal Son apart from most action novels. There’s plenty of action in a plot that has Evan infiltrating a military base (twice), dodging advanced weaponry, and using controlled violence to teach bullies that their actions have consequences. But the story is enhanced by Evan’s struggles to understand why his mother abandoned him, his recognition of the impact that abandonment had on his controlling and obsessive personality, and his realization that he needs to make some changes if he wants to live his best life.

Not all of Prodigal Son is credible, but that’s a charge that can be lodged against most modern thrillers. I was particularly unwilling to believe that the developer of secret technology for the military so easily consented to meet with Smoak (posing as a tech writer) and gave him a tour of classified projects. On the other hand, various technologies that appear in the story reflect impressive research by Hurwitz. They help the plot seem plausible.

The story ends with a cliff-hanger and with another link to Evan’s past that might be explored in a future novel. This is a series that I will continue reading regardless of cliff-hangers in the hope that Hurwitz can continue writing with the depth he has shown in recent Orphan X novels, and particularly in Prodigal Son.

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That Old Country Music by Kevin Barry

First published in the UK in 2020; publsished by Doubleday on January 12, 2021

Most of the nine stories collected in That Old Country Music are set in western Ireland. They are sweet and sad, funny and tragic. Many are stories are of people in transition surrounded by an unchanging landscape. When a Roma child who speaks no English runs away from Dublin, she loses her fear after meeting an aging hermit in the Ox Mountains and adopts his contemplative life of books and solitude.

Many of the characters are ungrounded. One narrator tells us: “Sometimes I’m not sure what century I’ve mistaken this one for and I wonder would I be better off elsewhere and in other times.” Others, like the hermit, know exactly where they belong.

One story tells of a song that the narrator hears an old man sing in a nursing home — a song of heartbreak and meanness that tells a story of “erotic wickedness and greed.” Another offers a bartender’s perspective on an overheard conversation between an elderly woman and her aging son — the latest iteration of the same conversation that they have been having for years, until it comes to a bad end.

It is difficult to pick a favorite from this variety of gems, but here are a few that are memorable:

A girl of seventeen (“She was almost eighteen and aching to have a fuck before it”) seduces an English junkie who has gone “astray in the head.” Despite the fierceness of her father’s judgment when word of the scandal leaks, she feels empowered by the knowledge that the man was made to leave the town and will think of her when he “seeks again the needle’s tip and solace.”

A garda, three weeks from retirement, fears that a young nemesis who has been spreading babies across the Ox mountains, not always with the consent of the women he impregnated, will feel no constraints after being diagnosed with a cancerous tumor. The garda senses that a killing is imminent, but who will the victim be?

A man in Limerick is a “connoisseur of death,” reporting the news of every local who dies, lamenting them all as his city disappears around him. He chats about celebrity deaths, points out potentially fatal hazards, causes people who do not want to confront the inevitable to cross the street when they see him. He is “impressed by death” and by the knowledge that the only death he will be unable to report to others is his own.

The most darkly amusing story is “Roethke in the Bughouse,” set in 1960 when the American poet Theodore Roethke was committed to a psychiatric hospital in western Ireland. Roethke was troubled by the “bits of sheep everywhere” on the island where he stayed, a “mutton necropolis.” The poet was tormented by long nights filled with occult music, but perhaps he was tormented most of all by the words that demanded escape from his body.

As is often true of Irish writers, Kevin Barry has a gift for language. His sentences are those of a skilled artisan. “He had the misfortune in life to be fastidious and to own a delicacy of feelings.” “To experience a feeling as deep as this raised only a specter of losing it.” “He had the hunted look of rural poverty.” “Anxiety folds away its arbitrary music.” A wandering man tells his life story to an unkempt dog, “a dog that has seen some weather.”

I loved Barry’s novel Night Boat to Tangier. I suspect he labors long over each sentence he creates. He may not be the most prolific Irish writer, but he’s among the most exquisite prose stylists.

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