Home by Harlan Coben

Published by Dutton on September 20, 2016

The last couple of Harlan Coben novels I read were stand-alones. They were enjoyable but not fully satisfying. In Home, Coben returned to the Myron Bolitar series. He has also returned to form.

Win Lockwood is searching for two boys, kidnapped in New Jersey, who have been missing for ten years. He’s related to one of them. When he finally spots the other boy, three thugs get in his way. Three dead thugs later, the boy is gone, prompting Win to call Myron Bolitar for help.

Harlan Coben doesn’t usually write jaw-dropping prose, although he occasionally comes up with something clever (“a purple top so tight it could have been sausage casing”). Coben does, however, knows how to keep a story moving, and that’s good enough for a thriller, provided the story is interesting. “Interesting” isn’t a sufficiently forceful word to describe the plot of Home. The captivating story keeps the reader emotionally involved while pondering the fate of the two boys.

The parents of each boy are believable characters. Each parent is obviously the victim of tragedy, but the full nature of their respective tragedies isn’t known until the story concludes. The strongest characters, of course, are Win and Myron, each of whom evolves a bit by the time the story ends. Mickey Bolitar, Myron’s nephew (and the central character in a young adult series), plays a supporting role, along with his friends Ema and Spoon. Win’s cross-dressing buddy Zorra adds a note of comic relief to the story when he isn’t causing mayhem.

The plot needs that comic relief because it is quite intense. Coben builds suspense until he delivers a startling conclusion that resolves the mystery. The climax is emotionally satisfying.

Unlike most modern thrillers, Coben managed to tell a compelling story without overreaching, without relying on implausible coincidence, and without following a formula. I’m glad to see that Coben got his groove back in Home.

RECOMMENDED

The Best of John Russell Fearn vol. 1, edited by Philip Harbottle

First published in 2001; revised digital edition published by Endeavour/Venture Press on December 31, 2015

Over the years, I’ve managed to read quite a bit of early science fiction. Like modern science fiction, much of it is dreadful, but some of it is quite good. This story collection was my first exposure to John Russell Fearn. The stories were first published between 1934 and 1939. I would put three of these stories in the “quite good” category. While the stories have a 1930s feel, they have retained their entertainment value. An introduction to the volume explains how and why the content and style of Fearn’s stories evolved over time.

The seven stories are:

“The Man Who Stopped the Dust” - A renowned inventor who is past his prime resolves to put an end to dust. Rather than making a huge vacuum cleaner, he invents a gadget that destroys the electrons in dust molecules. The effects of his little experiment are unfortunate. This is a clever story about a well-meaning scientist who screws up, a seeker of vengeance who causes more harm than he desired, and an amateur scientist who ponders the problem that threatens to devastate the planet -- to whom no one will listen, particularly his vacuous wife. The ironic ending caps an enjoyable story about hubris and unintended consequences.

“Deserted Universe” - Alien visitors to Earth discover an unpopulated planet. Their investigation reveals that a psychologist who kept his brain functioning after his body’s death was able to answer the ancient question of “is there life after death”? An apparatus allowed an engineer to perceive the psychologist’s view of the afterlife, revealing the true and unexpected nature of humankind. This is a clever story, a twist on Rapture stories that is a good deal more thought-provoking than a large chunk of what passes for modern science fiction. In a way, it is another story of hubris, envisioning the consequences that come from striving to know the unknowable.

“Experiment in Murder” - Not really science fiction but with a paranormal introduction, this is a fairly ordinary story about a man who does a dastardly deed under the influence of hypnosis. It is the shortest and least satisfying story in the collection.

“Wings Across the Cosmos” - A very heavy alien the size of a walnut plunges into a man’s garden, apparently having fallen from outer space. The alien behaves like an ill-tempered snapping turtle. When the gardener begins to experience an evolution of his physical form, he also comes to appreciate the walnut turtle. There isn’t much depth to this short, forgettable story.

“The Circle of Life” - Volcanoes, earthquakes, and storms are crippling the Earth. The explanation has something to do with a girl’s ring and an ancient race. The story has less literary merit than some of the others. It’s tainted by melodrama and has a dated feel.

“Thoughts that Kill” - The last 500 humans, highly evolved, decide to invade Venus and wipe out its native life. While told in overwrought prose, the story teaches another good lesson about the danger of hubris.

“Debt of Honor” begins with the first human space traveler’s death on Mars. He unwittingly causes a catastrophe. Twenty years later, his son has an opportunity to reverse the fate of Mars -- although the opportunity may be more of an ultimatum. Does the young man have a duty to travel to Mars, leaving Earth behind forever? His attraction to a young woman interferes with rational thought (doesn’t it always?), leaving love versus duty as the moral dilemma that the young man must confront. The twist ending doesn’t come as a surprise, but it’s fun.

The first, second, and last stories are quite good. The sixth is pretty good. The others are mediocre. Readers with an interest in the history of science fiction will find this collection of greater value than readers who are only interested in reading entertaining sf stories.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Face Blind by Lance Hawvermale

Published by St. Martin's/Minotaur Books on August 23, 2016

Gabe Traylin suffers from face-blindness (prosopagnosia), a rare condition that mostly afflicts protagonists of crime fiction. Gabe is a geeky astronomer working in Chile. In a very dark desert just outside the observatory, he witnesses a man’s death, presumably by shooting although he hears no shot. What is the victim doing in the middle of nowhere? Who killed him? Could it be the mythical creature known as Gigante?

By the time the lights are turned on and Gabe goes back outside, the body is gone. The police find blood but whether they will investigate is unclear. Gabe decides to conduct his own investigation, a decidedly foolish course of action that can only be explained as the kind of implausible conduct that lays a foundation for modern thrillers. Gabe makes a gruesome discovery that sets up the ensuing mystery. Gabe, of course, feels compelled to solve it, which only arouses the suspicion of the local authorities and the ire of his employer.

Meanwhile, Mira Westbrook and her twin brother Luke have traveled to Santiago in search of a science fiction writer named Ben Cable. Luke has Down’s Syndrome and dyslexia. He can’t read -- except that he can easily read Cable’s only book, as well as anything Cable happens to jot down. Mira’s quest to unlock that miracle animates the novel’s second plotline, which takes Mira, Ben, and Luke to find Ben’s brother Jonah, who is working on Mars experiments in Chile, not far from the place where Gabe works. That’s an unlikely coincidence, but modern thrillers thrive on unlikely coincidences, and it gives Luke a chance to get excited about visiting Mars.

There is evil in the desert, the nature of which I won’t reveal. Suffice it to say that creepy things happen in the Chilean desert. Gabe’s desire to solve the mystery of evil launches him on a journey that nearly gets him killed (several times) before he receives a perplexing clue from an inmate in a Chilean prison. Gabe’s ability to confront the evil he discovers is predictably hampered by his prosopagnosia. Of course, there’s no reason to give a character face blindness unless the plot makes use of it, so a measure of predictability is to be expected. I was, in fact, surprised that the story didn’t make greater use of Gabe’s disability, which ultimately comes across as a gimmick.

The characters have better-than-average development for a thriller of this nature and the story is told in better-than-average prose that keeps the plot in steady motion. I’m not sure how much of the story I bought and I wasn’t happy that a key plot device was left unexplained, but the characters are likable and the story is fun.

RECOMMENDED

As Good as Gone by Larry Watson

Published by Algonquin Books on June 21, 2016

It’s 1963, but Calvin Sidey seems to be living in the 19th century. His trailer lacks electricity, refrigeration, or indoor plumbing. He rarely sees his son but, without understanding why, agrees to Bill’s request to spend a week taking care of his grandchildren while Bill’s wife is having an operation. Bill later wonders whether his father agreed to help him or whether he is helping his father.

Calvin abandoned his children after his wife died. The circumstances under which he left town are the subject of dark rumors. When Calvin moves back into his house (where Bill now lives with his family), the tension between family members is palpable. What Bill and his wife don’t know is that their daughter Amy is living in fear and that their son Will hates his friends and wants to run away.

After that setup, I thought I knew the direction the plot would take. I was wrong. As Good as Gone is not predictable or formulaic. It builds tension and suspense like a thriller, but this isn’t a novel about heroes battling villains. Nobody in this book is a hero. Nobody is a true villain. Most of the key characters, like most people, blend their virtues and vices into a complex mix that defines them only as human.

The major characters in As Good as Gone are made real by the turmoil of daily existence that occupies their minds. Calvin struggles with emotions that he can’t express and probably can’t understand. He’s in the late years of his life and it isn’t clear that he will ever really understand or tolerate himself, much less another person. The elements of a love story develop but again, it’s realistic, not the idyllic dizzying love envisioned in romance novels. Whether love will endure or be reciprocated, whether it even makes sense, are among the true life questions that certain characters must face.

As is true in real life, most of the threats and acts of violence in As Good as Gone (and there are quite a few of them) are fueled by misunderstandings. Calvin may not have been a good father, but he has the sense that he should stand up for his family. He’s a tough guy, a cowboy who spent his life working as a ranch hand as a means of avoiding responsibility. Unfortunately, he’s impulsive and a bit hotheaded. He doesn’t know what’s going on in his family and some of his assumptions are disastrously wrong. That dynamic gives rise to drama that resolves in unexpected ways as the story reaches its climax.

With its high-quality prose and depth of characterization, As Good as Gone could probably be classified as a work of literary fiction that borrows the form of a thriller, but classifications don’t matter when a book is good. This one is.

RECOMMENDED

Nutshell by Ian McEwan

Published by Doubleday/Nan A. Talese on September 13, 2016

The only likable character in Nutshell is a fetus. Fortunately, he’s an exceptionally bright fetus with a rich vocabulary. His mother and father separated after his conception. His father, a poet, has a relationship of some sort with a student. His mother is sleeping with his father’s brother. His mother and brother have a murderous intent, which provides Nutshell’s plot.

In prose that celebrates the richness of the English language, Ian McEwan tells the story from the unborn child’s point of view. The narrator has traditional notions of how parents should behave and is distressed that his own are not up to the task, but while residing in his mother’s womb, he cannot help but love her. Unfortunately for him, occasional kicks when his mother is misbehaving are an ineffective method of influencing her behavior. Yet even a fetus is not without resources.

As always, McEwan’s prose is a treat to be savored. Nutshell also showcases his wit. The narrator has extensive insight into the ways of the world, thanks to the knowledge he has absorbed as his mother listens to talk radio and self-improvement tapes. In addition to parenting, the fetal narrator shares his wry opinions about hope and faith and hatred, as well as current events, culture, sex, and the merits of the wines that his mother consumes.

An inspector with Columbo-like mannerisms adds to the humor. Nutshell is a short novel, not as substantial or dramatic as most of McEwan’s other books, but brevity assures that every word counts in a fun novel that works its way to a satisfying conclusion that manages to be both surprising and inevitable.

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