The Tzer Island book blog features book reviews written by TChris, the blog's founder.  I hope the blog will help readers discover good books and avoid bad books.  I am a reader, not a book publicist.  This blog does not exist to promote particular books, authors, or publishers.  I therefore do not participate in "virtual book tours" or conduct author interviews.  You will find no contests or giveaways here.

The blog's nonexclusive focus is on literary/mainstream fiction, thriller/crime/spy novels, and science fiction.  While the reviews cover books old and new, in and out of print, the blog does try to direct attention to books that have been recently published.  Reviews of new (or newly reprinted) books generally appear every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Reviews of older books appear on occasional weekends.  Readers are invited and encouraged to comment.  See About Tzer Island for more information about this blog, its categorization of reviews, and its rating system.

Monday
Mar092020

New Waves by Kevin Nguyen

Published by Random House/One World on March 10, 2020

A young woman named Margo is hit by a car and dies. She is something of a phantom character for the rest of New Waves, carried in memory by two of her friends who bond with each other through their discovery that they both knew her.

Margo had dark skin and a Haitian background. She worked as a software engineer. She could see patterns that others missed. Often at night, because she “was happiest when she was drinking,” she got buzzed and dictated short science fiction stories, typically in dystopian settings, into her phone. A few of those stories appear in New Waves.

Margo had few friends, but she developed two friendships online. One was on a website that archived music (not entirely in conformity with copyright laws). She was a fan of Japanese music. She traded music with Lucas Nguyen, who is a fan of bossa nova.

By coincidence, at some point after the music website is shut down, Lucas and Margo discover that they are both working at the same messaging app company — Margo in development, Lucas in customer service. They eventually leave the company and go to work for a different messaging app company (Phantom), a startup developing an app that allows covert messaging. The app is intended for whistleblowers but is embraced by teens who use it for sexting. The perils of working for (or doing business with) a tech company, particularly a startup, is a theme to which the story frequently returns.

As a lark (or so it seems to Lucas), before quitting and moving to Phantom, they steal some user data, prompting an eventual discussion of the morality of stealing from a company that doesn’t care about its employees. Margo does it to get back at all the male employees who don’t take her seriously because she’s a woman, and all the white employees who want to discuss hip-hop with her. Lucas does it to get back at all the non-Asian employees who assume he’s an engineer because he’s Asian, and all the Asian employees who look down on him because he’s not an engineer. Margo is particularly offended when a survey finds that the app appeals to nonwhite users, and the company instantly focuses on making the app more “white friendly” rather than working on features that would appeal to its black customer base.

All of that gives a taste of the carefully consructed background to New Waves. The story really begins with the introduction of Jill August, Margo’s other online friend. Jill wrote a novel, sort of a downbeat family drama, that found a publisher. She began working on a book with a science fiction setting and joined a science fiction message board to get a sense of the genre. There she met Margo, who critiqued Jill’s writing.

Lucas takes it upon himself to close Margo’s Facebook account, where he discovers unanswered messages from Jill. He lets Jill know that Margo died, and they eventually meet and begin something that might be a friendship-with-benefits or a deeper relationship, depending on their changing perspectives.

New Waves is an engaging novel on several fronts. Lucas’ relationships with Margo and Jill are complex. Both involve something that might be love, although it is clear that neither Margo nor Jill feel about Lucas the way he feels about them. Lucas’ assumption that Margo doesn’t want to have an intimate relationship with him because she doesn’t want to be intimate with anyone sets up a surprising revelation — surprising, at least, to Lucas, but foreshadowed to the reader.

Different approaches to confronting (or ignoring) racism and sexism are a key theme. Another is the difficulty of connecting with people. All the technology that connects us, the novel suggests, might paradoxically push us away from each other in the offline world.

Another theme is the human desire to fix things — relationships, ourselves, other people — even when they might not be fixable, or might not need fixing at all. One of the characters thinks that “all we need to do is trust that time and space sort everything out.”

But the novel’s larger message is that having a certain kind of friend can change your life in profound ways. Even after your friend dies, even if the friendship was brief, an honest friend who calls you on your bullshit, who inspires you to see the world in a different way, can guide your future. “What would Margo think about this?” is a question that Lucas constantly asks. He imagines answers that make him a better person, the kind of person Margo would admire.

New Waves is a surprisingly quick and easy read, given the complexity of the themes it explores. The characters are young, still finding their way into the adult world, trying to make sense of their lives. Kevin Nguyen writes with empathy and compassion as he steers his characters through a multi-layered story that, despite its subject matter, never becomes maudlin or preachy.

RECOMMENDED

Friday
Mar062020

The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich

Publlished by Harper on March 3, 2020

The Night Watchman is inspired by Louise Erdrich’s grandfather, who served as chairman of the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa Advisory Committee in the 1950s. Erdrich’s focus is upon a congressional attempt to terminate the Turtle Mountain Band in 1954, one of many shameful episodes in America’s history of broken promises. The government wanted to break up the reservation so it could “relocate” Indians, a blatant land grab by white people at the expense of Indians who farmed the miserable land that the government agreed would be theirs forever.

As is customary in an Erdrich novel, her story showcases Indians who go about their business, faintly amused by the ways of white people. The Indians maintain their culture and dignity as they make the best lives they can. A key character is Thomas, who farms and works as a night watchman, where he sometimes chats with the ghost of a boy who was his friend before he died. Thomas leads a delegation of the Turtle Mountain Chippewa to Washington in the hope that they can educate Congress about their mistaken claim that the Turtle Mountain Band is self-sustaining and no longer needs government assistance.

The delegation needs to cover travel expenses, so Wood Mountain participates in a fund-raising boxing match against his rival. Wood Mountain is sweet on Patrice, a virgin who is curious about sex but can’t decide whether she should try it with Wood Mountain or one of the other men in the tribe. Patrice is smart and independent, representing the future of Native American women as they blend the best of native and non-native cultures.

Another key woman is Millie, who has already left the tribe to pursue an education. Millie authored an economic study of reservation life. Thomas wants her to present the study to Congress in support of the tribe’s objection to termination. Millie is shy, but leans on Patrice to help her overcome her fear.

A couple of Mormons add comic relief as they try to persuade the Chippewa to abandon Catholicism or their native religion and embrace what they refer to as the only religion that originated in America. Thomas, whose religious beliefs were passed down from Native Americans long before the land came to be called America, knows better. The Mormons make it their business to lecture others about sin until temptation leads them to pray “to bear the intolerable fire of life.”

Dark comedy comes from Patrice’s trip to the Twin Cities to look for Vera. She takes a job as an underwater performer, sort of like a mermaid except her costume is a blue ox. That job turns out to be dangerous in many ways, but she comes home with Vera’s baby, to whom Wood Mountain is instantly attached. What happens to Vera isn’t amusing at all, but she proves to be another strong, resilient woman.

The novel confronts the stereotypes and prejudices that led to the devastating termination and relocation of tribes during the 1950s. The congressional efforts drove some tribes to extinction. In Erdrich’s novel, as in history, Senator Watkins questions the morality and virtue of Indians, an ironic position for a man who wants to break a sacred promise that the government made to the tribe. Patrice notes that white people see Indians as savages, yet she sees more violence in Washington and in the Twin Cities than she ever saw on the reservation.

Erdrich’s novels have long confronted prejudice by telling personal, relatable stories about love and loss, laughter and sadness, all the qualities that humans share regardless of their birthplace or skin color. At the same time, her novels refuse to stereotype either whites or Indians. A selfless white man, for example, helps Vera in her time of need. Her strongest characters exemplify how all humans should treat one another.

Erdrich gives depth to a varying cast of characters and encourages readers to understand their fears, hopes, pain, and joy. The story is sweet and sad and funny. It reflects a reverence for nature, respect for ancestral history, and gratitude for a shared place on the Earth. The ending ties up all the plot threads in ways that are heartwarming without becoming saccharine.

RECOMMENDED

Wednesday
Mar042020

Into the Fire by Gregg Hurwitz

Published by Minotaur Books on January 28, 2020

The Orphan X series has evolved into an enjoyable interpretation of the tough-guy action thriller. The series began by combining two unoriginal premises. The first positioned the protagonist, Evan Smoak, as a hero in the Jason Bourne mold: trained from an early age to be a deadly force in the service of a shadowy program. The second had Smoak giving away his services to victims who find themselves in threatening situations, in the manner of the Equalizer and other vigilante heroes. Two eye-rolling premises is at least one too many.

Thankfully, Gregg Hurwitz laid the Bourne premise to rest, at least as a plot-driver. Smoak extracted himself from the clutches of his would-be masters in Out of the Dark, putting an apparent end to Smoak’s concerns about being assassinated by the conspiratorial forces of evil that created him.

What used to be a subplot — helping the unfortunate by smiting their oppressors — turns into the main plot in Into the Fire. The series benefits from the new focus.

The story begins with a fellow named Terzian (a/k/a “the Terror”) bringing Grant Meriwether to the hospital for treatment after torturing him. He resumes the torture after killing the doctor who patches Grant up. Terzian wants a name from Grant, which he finally gets: Max Meriwether, Grant’s cousin. In an effort to avoid the same fate as Grant, Max contacts Smoak, who goes by the name The Nowhere Man.

While Smoak started the series as a fairly standard action hero (the kind of tough guy who isn’t known for depth), he has become a contemplative, self-questioning tough guy, giving him a more interesting personality than someone like Reacher, who has never had a moment of self-doubt in his life. Smoak became the Nowhere Man to seek something like redemption, an “imperfect word” to describe his need to confront the world “with his own code, illuminating the darkness with the guttering light of his own morality,” a process of becoming “less sharp. More human.” To that end, he is thinking that helping Max might be his last mission.

Smoak is attracted to a neighbor named Mia, although she is appalled when she learns just how much violence he exercises to solve the problems he confronts. Mia is a law-and-order prosecutor, but she becomes more forgiving of Evan after he does her a violent solid involving her endangered son.

The attention that Hurwitz gives to characterization does not shortchange the action. The story moves crisply as Smoak unravels the mess that Max inherited from Grant. After stumbling upon the corpse of a journalist who had been communicating with Grant, Max gives Smoak an envelope that contains an object the Terror would like to retrieve. Smoak successively battles Terzian’s thugs, a dogfighting ring, Terzian’s boss, a couple of bent cops, and the top boss, who is safely imprisoned and not easily killable. Each time Smoak solves one problem (violently), another pops up. Along the way, he sustains a concussion, and then another, creating the practical problem of which bad guy to shoot when he’s seeing double.

Smoak’s young hacker friend (and former Orphan) Joey Morales adds some youthful snark to the story, while a dog rescued from the dogfights softens the characters of both Smoak and Joey. I always say that the addition of a dog makes every story better. Of the various ways to manipulate readers into caring about characters, portraying a character as a dog lover is the best.

Will Smoak give up being the Nowhere Man and retire to a life that doesn’t require him to kill people every day? It looks that way until Smoak gets a startling call in the last chapter. I assume that means the series will continue. In my judgment, that’s a good thing.

RECOMMENDED

Monday
Mar022020

Apeirogon by Colum McCann

Published by Random House on February 25, 2020

Colum McCann tells us that an apeirogon is a “shape with a countably infinite number of sides.” In a book that examines the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians, the title is apt. There are more than two “sides” to the conflict; everyone has an opinion. The novel is a balanced attempt to do justice to all the opinions by cutting through the politics and focusing on the deaths of two children, one Israeli and one Palestinian. Apeiron explores how the aftermath of those two real-world deaths illuminates the larger issues that Israel and Palestine face.

McCann tells the reader that Apeirogon is “a hybrid novel with invention at its core” that weaves together “speculation, memory, fact, and imagination.” The novel is remarkable because it is based on two remarkable people. Rami Elhanan, an Israeli, lost his daughter to suicide bombers when she was thirteen. Bassam Aramin, a Palestinian, lost his son to a Border Patrol guard when he was ten. Both men traveled on a complex internal journey before arriving at the realization that their grief was not their own, but was the same grief shared by all parents of children who die violent deaths. The realization that your enemy has feelings, the same feelings that engulf you, sparks the understanding that this person isn’t your enemy at all. A parent who lost a child is not an enemy.

The two men arrived at the same conclusion — ending the Occupation is the only way to achieve peace and justice, to prevent the senseless deaths of more children. They started Combatants for Peace to spread that message. Their position is unthinkable to people who believe they have something to gain from the Occupation. They hope to change minds, one at a time, knowing that some of their audience will refuse to listen. Both men are routinely threatened with violence because they spread a message that entrenched minds cannot bear to hear.

To oppress others is to invite violence. The truth of that statement is evident in the history of countries across the globe. Apeirogon illustrates that truth with two violent deaths. Smadar was blown to unrecoverable pieces by a Palestinian suicide bomber. The rubber bullet that crushed Abir’s skull was fired at the back of her head through a slot in an armored car from a distance of fifteen meters, an act the Israeli military first lied about (claiming she was hit by a rock) and later justified by claiming Palestinians were placing soldiers in mortal danger by throwing stones at their impenetrable vehicle. Abir likely died because the Palestinian hospital in Anata is underequipped and the fifteen-minute ambulance ride to Jerusalem was delayed by two hours at a checkpoint.

In the absence of the Occupation, neither death would likely have occurred. Arguments about the justification for violence on either side can rage until the end of time, but Rami and Bassam (and many others) have come to understand that violence will not end until the Occupation ends. Only then can a political solution be negotiated. Only when Palestinians and Israelis are equally regarded as worthy of life and liberty can peace be achieved.

The story documents the hatred with which both Rami and Bassam are routinely greeted. Some people are more comfortable feeling hatred than living without it. McCann repeatedly quotes François Mitterand’s adage, “The only interesting thing is to live,” in contexts that suggest a refinement: the only interesting thing — to live purposefully — is also a dangerous thing. Both Bassam and Rami place themselves at risk by calling for an end to the Occupation. The irony — people consumed by hate respond violently to calls for peace — is just one “interesting” aspect of living.

But Apeirogon is a novel, not a work of nonfiction. McCann imagines connections between the men that might only be apparent in a novel. A common theme in Colum McCann’s fiction is that we all share a world that connects us in many ways. In Apeirogon, an author’s note attributes to Rilke the notion that we live our lives “in widening circles that reach out across the expanse.” Apeirogon suggests some of the more violent connections. The concoction that the Israeli military sprays onto crowds from water cannons is manufactured in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The M-16 used to kill Abir was manufactured in Samaria, North Carolina. Samaria was the ancient kingdom of Israel; now there are cities and towns named Samaria in many nations. Flying over those towns are migrating birds that know no boundaries.

McCann’s novels often reach out in multiple directions for facts that, until they are assembled, might seem unrelated to the story. Apeirogon addresses, among other topics: falconry, amicable numbers, Sinéad O’Connor, tear gas delivery systems, Borges, the Kaballah, Sir Richard Francis Burton, methods of torture used in the Crusades, Einstein and Freud, swimming pools, Gandhi, German cinema during World War II, the ascetic practices of Saint Simeon, religious scrolls, Philippe Petit, the etymology of “riot” and “dextrose,” Munib Rashid al-Masri’s mansion, pomegranates, the music of John Cage, olive groves, birdsong, and Mossad’s revenge killings of poets and playwrights. The novel also pays tribute to One Thousand and One Nights, both by reference to the famous stories and by breaking the novel into 1,001 chapters (some as short as a sentence).

In the end, a novel like Apeirogon might not change the minds of people who are wedded to a position, but it manages to do something that novelists are positioned to do more skillfully than political writers: it instills feeling. It is impossible for an open-minded reader not to be moved by both Bassam and Rami. Bassam’s life changed in prison and changed again when his daughter was killed. Rami visited the site of his daughter’s death and asked himself what could be done to save other children. McCann makes palpable the suffering of both parents. The story is both moving and inspirational. If only the right people would read it and take it to heart, Apeirogon is a book that could change the world.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Saturday
Feb292020

Starship Alchemon by Christopher Hinz

Published by Angry Robot on November 12, 2019

Starship Alchemon combines five science fiction elements: space opera, first contact, cyborgs, time travel, and humans with psionic abilities. The plot does nothing particularly new or special with any of those elements. An old sf adage suggests that writers should only ask readers to suspend their disbelief in a single thing. Five elements may be too many — no single theme in the hodgepodge is explored in depth — but Starship Alchemon achieves limited sucess as an action story.

The science team of the Alchemon finds a living organism on a dead planet. The organism has been encased in a rocky shell that has been eroding for centuries. A spherical blue life form emerges, nicknamed Bouncy Blue by one of the science team members. The sphere seems to contain a humanoid fetus. A psychic crew member named LeaMarsa is a bit unsettled by the discovery, but the crew nevertheless brings Bouncy Blue on board, storing it in a secure lab.

Captain Ericho Solorzano commands the Alchemon, but the ship is operated by a cyborg called Jonomy Jonomy. Lt. Tomer Donner is obsessed with a corporate bigwig named Renfro Zoobondi, whose various activities include a plan to thwart chronojackers, the “temporal pirates” who steal vessels and send them forward in time, where the pirates hope to find a better future.

Donner’s unstable reaction to Bouncy Blue sets up the novel’s second half. The alien entity become less bouncy and more threatening as it sheds its shield, giving birth to Baby Blue, a gravity-defying entity that, despite its confinement to the lab, battles Jonomy for control of the ship.

LeaMarsa has psionic blackouts, causing her to float around in “the alternative universe of neurospace.” They also seem to give her a particular insight into, and perhaps a connection with, Bouncy Blue. LeaMarsa is carried away by her personal drama, which may be having a psionic impact on the rest of the crew. By the end of the novel, she’s so wrapped up in self-pity that Solorzano is worried she might become allied with Baby Blue, despite being their only hope of surviving Baby Blue’s machinations.

Christopher Hinz tells the story in prose that sometimes seems hurried and unpolished. I don’t recall his earlier work being so stylistically lackluster. The novel is apparently a rewrite of his second novel, Anachronisms, which might explain the prose issues, although I would have expected a rewrite to eliminate clunkers from the prose.

Hinz philosophizes about the “evolutionary development of the physical, emotional and intellectual components of the brain,” which he ties to “the heartland of superluminal interaction,” but it all seems like window-dressing for what is essentially an action novel: crew members struggle to survive against the alien menace that wants to take over their ship. It’s been done before, countless times, and Hinz does nothing to transcend the stale plot.

On the other hand, the story moves quickly and has some interesting moments. One aspect of the ending is predictable but the story does culminate with at least one surprise. The universe building is a bit more interesting than the characters who inhabit the universe. Starship Alchemon will appeal to sf junkies who can’t get enough space opera, but there are certainly better choices in the marketplace.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS