The Core of the Sun by Johanna Sinisalo

First published in Finland in 2013; published in translation by Grove Press/Black Cat on January 5, 2016

The Core of the Sun mixes two themes, both involving a repressive Finnish government in an alternate Finland. The first theme addresses the limitation of individual freedom in the guise of promoting the social good (as the American government did during Prohibition). The second addresses the control of women by a male-dominated society. The result is an interesting, although occasionally heavy-handed, story that sometimes has a dated feel.

Government surveillance in this version of Finland is ubiquitous. Modern technologies like smartphones, available in decadent western countries, are outlawed in Finland. The government refuses health care to people who are judged to have lived unwholesome lives. Girls receive a limited education. They may not refuse an offer of marriage unless the suitor is a criminal or physically violent. This law protects the constitutional right of males to enjoy regular sexual activity and has a calming effect on society. Thus does female subjugation (restyled as “domestication”) promote social order.

The government “gender tests” children to specify their final gender. Then the government changes the child’s name and decides which girls can breed, selecting for traits that the government deems ideal (submissiveness, a desire to please, a youthful appearance, etc.), a process that serves as a form of genetic engineering. Social and cultural norms also shape approved female behavior, as do husbands who follow manuals that explain how to train a wife.

The testing and name change happened to Vanna (formerly Vera) shortly after her mother moved to Finland in the 1950s. Vanna was classified as a “femiwoman” or “eloi” (a name taken from H.G. Wells), but only because she sensed that she should play with the doll instead of her first choice, the fire truck. Vanna should probably be classified as a “neuterwoman” or “morlock,” a classification given to women who are excluded from the mating market. Pretending to be eloi when a woman is really a morlock constitutes the crime of gender fraud. On the other hand, Vanna’s sister Manna (formerly Mira) is a true eloi. Manna has been missing for some time, providing the story with an undercurrent of mystery.

If that background had been written in 1985, when Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale appeared, it would have seemed fresh and relevant. Now the premise seems derivative and comes a few decades too late to be taken seriously as a commentary upon gender oppression. The gender theme of The Core of the Sun might appeal to fans of dystopian fiction who are lingering in the past, but it won’t do much for readers who expect an innovative genre to be … innovative.

Fortunately, the second theme, and the story set against that background, is interesting, although very strange. Finland shuns “decadent democracies” that allow people to make their own health choices in favor of maximizing the power of the Health Authority. Cayenne peppers and other sources of capsaicin are illegal in Finland, along with alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. The Health Authority classifies capsaicin as a nerve toxin and doesn’t want its citizens to develop a tolerance and seek hotter and hotter peppers. My brief internet research suggests that capsaicin raises endorphin levels and helps relieve the symptoms of opiate withdrawal, but outlawing jalapenos seems a little silly. It is, however, an interesting allegory for drug policies that limit the right to make choices about what drugs to take.

In 2016, Vanna is a capsaicin addict. Her friend Jare Valkinen (a “masco,” or masculine male) is a dealer. As an aggressive morlock disguised as a passive eloi, Vanna is in a position to feed her habit by helping Jare sell his peppers. Part of the plot centers on Vanna’s illicit activities. Another part focuses on the absence of Manna from Vanna’s life for reasons Vanna reveals in a series of letters that she writes but never sends. Another focuses on Gaian philosophy, which in this version of Finland has become focused on chili peppers (substituting Brother Chili for Mother Earth). Gaians are devoted to “bringing fire back to the people” – fire being chili peppers.

Some of the story is told from Jare’s point of view. The evolution of his thinking – his gravitation toward “decadence” as defined by the Finnish government -- is one of the book’s highlights.

I think The Core of the Sun is best read as a tribute to hot sauce. Abstract thinkers might view the story as a protest against governments that promote blandness because they know that bland people don’t ask much of their government. In the end, the manner by which Vanna discovers Manna’s fate is a bit silly, but it is true to the story, which demands a considerable suspension of disbelief from readers who doubt the power of the pepper. For all its flaws, however, I enjoyed the novel’s offbeat nature. I’m not sure it works as a cautionary tale, but it works as entertainment. Readers looking for more conventional dystopian fiction, however, might want to look elsewhere.

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Slade House by David Mitchell

Published by Random House on October 27, 2015

Too many horror novels are horribly dull. Moreover, horror fiction that isn’t well written (e.g., most vampire novels) can be excruciatingly awful. Slade House suffers from none of those faults. It is engaging, surprising, smart, and by the end, quite creepy.

Strange things happen in Slade Alley. A mansion, hidden on the other side of a small doorway in the middle of the alley, is difficult to find, perhaps because most of the time it isn’t there. The mansion is Slade House.

In the first of the novel’s five segments, Nathan Bishop’s mother takes him to Slade House. There he meets Norah Grayer and plays games with a kid who turns into a vicious dog -- unless Nathan imagined the whole thing. In the second segment, DI Gordon Edmonds (a lazy, racist representative of the Thames Valley Police), meets the mansion’s owner, Chloe Chetwynd, after traveling to Slade Alley to investigate a tip concerning the Bishops’ disappearance nine years earlier. Chloe denies any knowledge of Norah, leading the reader to wonder whether she is being deceitful, whether multiple mansions are hidden in Slade Alley, or whether there is some other answer to the mystery.

We learn something of what’s going on at the end of the second segment, before we move forward another nine years. This time a group of college kids decide to investigate the mysterious disappearances that seem to occur in Slade Alley every nine years. The segment is narrated by Sally Timms, whose sister, a journalist, turns up in the fourth segment.

The book’s structure makes the first four segments come across as linked short stories, each with its own cast of characters. Tying all the segments together is Fred Pink, who knows something about Slade House but, since he appears to be a raving lunatic, cannot get anyone to listen. The final segment again features a new character, but that segment twists the story in the direction of a satisfying conclusion.

Horror is a traditional vehicle for exploring themes of good versus evil. Slade House defines evil as the belief that it is fine to improve or extend one’s own life by taking the lives of others, a belief that is expressed in slogans like “might makes right,” uttered by “those who voluntarily amputate their consciences.” There is evil aplenty for the reader to enjoy in Slade House. The imaginative story, told in praiseworthy prose, is more often fun than frightening, but its best moments are at least mildly chilling.

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Even the Dead by Benjamin Black

Published in Great Britain in 2015; published by Henry Holt and Co. on January 12, 2016

Quirke begins Even the Dead on extended sick leave, suffering from hallucinations and forgetfulness that, according to his brain specialist, are caused by stress and boredom, as well as an old scar on his temporal lobe. Quirke is a composite of old scars; that a scar explains his current predicament is no surprise to him. Yet Quirke’s lethargy, his indifference to life, seems to him not to be caused by brain damage but by life damage -- he has the sense that something has “gone out,” that his life is over and done, or never began.

Quirke’s assistant, David Sinclair, who happens to be dating Quirke’s daughter, solicits Quirke’s opinion concerning a suspicious bruise on the corpse of a man who is believed to have committed suicide. The suspected murder victim is the son of a well-known scofflaw, the kind of man who “makes a point of being awkward.” Eventually Quirke takes an interest and tags along with his friend, Inspector Hackett, as the death is investigated.

Meanwhile, Quirke’s daughter is asked to help a former classmate who is fleeing from a menace she refuses to identify. The menace, of course, is related to the death that Quirke is investigating. That might seem like an unlikely coincidence but Dublin isn’t huge and the coincidence is therefore not so improbable as to hurt the story’s credibility.

The deceased is a young civil servant, an unlikely candidate for murder. Benjamin Black develops the mystery slowly, dangling potential motives for the reader to consider. The novel features a return to Mother of Mercy Laundry, which played a key role in a couple of earlier novels in the series.

While the story is built upon a murder mystery, the plot is secondary to Quirke’s plotless, aimless life. Although “a stranger to himself,” Quirke is an introspective man, a thinker who can’t quite make sense of his existence. To say Quirke has been a disappointing father would be to understate, but Black does not cheat the father-daughter relationship of its complexity. All of Quirke’s relationships are ambiguous and complex, despite Quirke’s efforts to keep them at a comfortably superficial level.

As a pathologist, Quirke is used to confronting death, but in these novels, he often confronts the deaths (or impending death) of people he knows. Even the Dead is no exception. Yet for all his melancholy and sense of mortality, there are glimmers of happiness and hope in Quirke’s life during the course of the novel. Rebirth or a fresh start would be unrealistic in Quirke’s gloomy world, but Black seems to suggest that even the gravely burdened might find a sort of renewal as their lives progress.

Quirke lives in a world where the rich and powerful can do as they please, without consequence. In other words, he lives in the real world, rather than a fictional world where justice always prevails. The murder mystery and its byproducts resolve in a straightforward way; whether the resolution represents justice must be left to the reader’s judgment.

Black’s prose is, as always, elegant. The lives of Quirke and other characters evolve in Even the Dead -- Quirke most of all -- as lives should in the hands of a capable writer. I don’t know if this is meant to be the last Quirke novel, but it ties up story threads so deftly that it reads as if it might be.

This isn’t an action novel or a suspenseful thriller, but the story moves quickly. Even the Dead doesn’t feature the best plot in the Quirke series but it is sufficiently sturdy to carry a work of character-driven fiction.

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Keep Mars Weird by Neal Pollack

Published by 47North on January 5, 2016

Keep Mars Weird begins in Austin, which undoubtedly contributes to the playful title. Mars was weird once, but now it’s just “a lie propagated by the sinister real estate industry.” Perhaps Neal Pollack intends Mars to be an allegorical Austin. Not living there, I have no clue.

Doing his part to keep literature weird, Pollack imagines a future in which inequality and greed (along with a good bit the Earth’s population) have been eliminated. Everybody has Enough and nobody needs more (or so they are taught). Food production is sustainable, the right to consume marijuana is protected by the Global Constitution (Austin is home to the Willy Nelson School of Natural Pharmaceuticals), and a twenty-hour workweek is viewed as grueling. This is a future to which I am looking forward. Unfortunately, this all takes place 500 years from now, a bit beyond even my most optimistic life expectancy.

Jordan Kinkaid, having just completed his five years of mandatory government service, is now free to do what he wants with his life, if he can decide what that might be. Jordan has a slacker friend named Leonard and a wealthy friend named Dave. Dave lives on Mars, where men still brawl and women are chill. Circumstances send an unwilling Jordan to New Austin on Mars. Having nothing better to do, Leonard goes too. The story follows the divergent paths along which Jordan and Leonard drift.

Things are different in New Austin on Mars. The drugs are better, but maybe they are too good. Trendy consumerism is rampant (not everybody has Enough because the rich have More). Life on Mars does not live up to the hype. The difference between hype and reality drives the plot, as conflict arises between people who prefer the old Mars (the one that really was weird) and those who benefit from the current version.

Much of the novel’s humor depends on an extrapolation of politically correct trends and on a world where the current generation has grown up pampered. Lampooning political correctness can be tricky but Pollack does it with good-natured, rather than mean-spirited, humor. The future generation he depicts is obviously based on a recent generation of young people who were raised to believe they are the greatest creatures ever to roam the planet and should not be burdened with undignified tasks like work. Again, a writer needs to be careful when taking potshots at people (even those who are “a walking id”), but Pollack’s humor is never offensive. At least, it wasn’t offensive to me. Your mileage may vary.

In an even-handed approach to satire, Pollack also lampoons people who aren’t politically correct, particularly real estate developers who base their lives on greed and exploitation while extolling the economic virtues of inequality. And then he lampoons militants who protest against greed and exploitation. And then he lampoons police/military agencies that try to suppress the militants. From libertarians to socialists, from young people to the elderly, from fashionistas to the fashion-phobic, from Uber to manga, Pollack skewers pretty much every group and every trend.

Satire wears thin quickly but Keep Mars Weird is too short and fast-moving to become tiresome. I would say that the novel ends with a couple of unexpected plot twists but the reader should expect nothing but plot twists. The final revelations are a little silly but they fit the tenor of the novel as a whole. Keep Mars Weird isn’t profound but it doesn’t really try to be, despite the sociopolitical lesson that pops up at the end. It tries instead to be funny, and in that it succeeds.

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Three Brothers by Peter Ackroyd

First published in Great Britain in 2013; published by Nan A. Talese on March 4, 2014

The Hanway brothers, born on the same day in three consecutive years, grow up in a London neighborhood. Their mother absents herself from the home when the oldest, Harry, is ten. Their father, a failed writer working as a nightwatchman, allows the boys to fend for themselves. Harry is athletic and adventurous; Daniel is scholarly and gay; Sam is melancholy, considers work to be a form of death, and might not be entirely connected to reality. In middle school, the brothers begin to drift apart ... or rather, they flee from each other and from the institution known as family. Each chapter that follows tends to focus on a single brother -- Harry pursues a career in journalism; Daniel pursues an education; and Sam drifts into an interior, quasi-religious life -- although their lives occasionally intersect.

What initially seems like a meandering character study (or perhaps a family study) eventually blossoms into a tightly woven story with an amusingly twisted plot. At some point, all three brothers become entangled with a notorious slumlord named Asher Ruppta, although no brother realizes that either of his other brothers also knows Ruppta. The brothers' lives intertwine in other ways that they don't realize. The cleverness of the plot assures a steady supply of surprises and the writing is full of wit and whimsy, although some aspects of the ending are incongruously bleak.

The tongue-in-cheek story consistently amuses. Three Brothers is not entirely without substance but the brothers are superficial and the targets of Peter Ackroyd's arrows (including wealthy hypocrites, sex-starved cougars, and literary academics who are jealous of younger or more successful writers) are fairly obvious. Three Brothers seems like a somewhat paler version of a novel Kingsley Amis might have written half a century ago, but that didn't stop me from enjoying it.

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