The Curve of the Earth by Simon Morden

Published by Orbit on March 19, 2013 

Samuil Petrovich is back. A rather quiet decade has passed since the events described in Degrees of Freedom. The evil Americans are still ruled by religious fanatics, but the Freezone is cooking along with a proto-democracy. Major decisions are made by a consensus of individuals chosen by computer who serve on small committees organized on an ad hoc basis -- a nifty idea. Despite the abilities Petrovich has gained by virtue of his cybernetic components and his connection to the Artificial Intelligence named Michael, Petrovich follows the Freezone rules -- as he should, since the Freezone is pretty much his creation.

Petrovich's adopted daughter Lucy has lost contact with the Freezone. Petrovich nominates himself to find her. Since Lucy was doing research in Alaska when she disappeared, a hapless FBI agent named Joseph Newcomen is assigned the frustrating task of assisting Petrovich -- a man who requires little assistance and desires even less. Petrovich and Newcomen spend the first half of the novel sparring until, at about the novel's midpoint, Petrovich begins to get a handle on the reason for Lucy's disappearance. She's seen something, or learned something, that involves the apparent destruction of a satellite that was blown out of the sky. Just what Lucy found is the mystery that drives the novel. Are the Chinese and/or the Americans up to something nefarious? The answer is interesting, a little surprising, and a clear set-up to more Petrovich novels.

Petrovich hasn't exactly mellowed as he's aged, but what fun would a mellow Petrovich be? He spends much of the novel berating Newcomen who, in Petrovich's view, doesn't think or fend for himself and has committed the unpardonable sin of being an American. At times Petrovich becomes wearisome in his bullying self-righteousness. He's often having a tantrum. That's amusing for awhile but it wears thin by the end of the book, particularly since he has the same tantrum over and over and over. Apparently near-omnipotence has made it difficult for Petrovich to get over himself. At other times he's surprisingly insecure about being a science geek (apparently the kids at school picked on him) and takes it out on others by belittling anyone whose knowledge base consists of subjects that require more subtlety than the rote memorization of "the value of the gravitational constant." It was good to see Petrovich growing up a bit in the trilogy that introduced him. Clearly the dude needs to grow a bit more, starting with a lesson in humility. I'm hoping that happens in future novels.

The dystopian America Simon Morden envisions, a government controlled by the religious right, also wears a bit thin, only because it is an underdeveloped, one-note song. The novel's premise that Americans would willingly give up their right to curse suggests that Morden has never visited Texas ... or Chicago ... or the East or West Coasts. On the other hand, his satirical look at American excesses when it comes to airport security and immigration queues are spot on, and Evil America serves as a counterpoint for Freezone values -- openness, governance by consensus -- that make the Freezone seem like an appealing place to live.

Morden peppers the swiftly moving story with high energy action scenes, some of which are impressively original. To the extent that The Curve of the Earth feels like an extended set-up for the next novel in the series, it at least whets my appetite for whatever might be coming next. There are passing references to earlier events that might befuddle a reader who hasn't read The Petrovitch Trilogy, but The Curve of the Earth should be enjoyable for readers who haven't read the earlier novels.

RECOMMENDED

The Andalucian Friend by Alexander Söderberg

First published in Swedish in 2012; published in translation by Crown on March 12, 2013

Jens Vall is an arms dealer in Stockholm. While trying to deliver a shipment of weapons, he's thrust into the middle of a turf war between two organizations of drug dealers. One is headed by Ralph Hanke and the other by Hector Guzman. While Hector is in hospitalized, he forms a bond with a nurse, Sophie Brinkmann, and invites her on a date. Gunilla Strandberg, who runs a unit of misfit police officers, notable only for their loyalty to her, is after Hector and wants to use Sophie to spy on him. The police use threats and blackmail to make Sophie and others cooperate with their investigation. In fact, it's difficult to find a difference between the police and the criminals. If anything, the police are more brutal. Readers who are looking for a clear distinction between the good guys and the bad guys should give this novel a pass.

In addition to the crime family showdown and the arms delivery gone wrong, the plot features a blackmail scheme involving a midlevel manager at Ericsson. The plot never crosses the line from complex to confusing, but with so many characters entering and leaving the story, concentration is required to keep it all straight. Sophie remains the novel's focus, a strong, relatively innocent widow caught in a nightmare.

The plot is interesting but the characters make the story worth reading. They are authentic, filled with contradictions, nagging doubts and hidden emotions. Sophie comes from a background of family discord. (As you might expect in a Scandanavian novel, the family members view Sophie's sister, Jane, with suspicion because she's happy.) Sophie is transformed by her experiences with Hector and the police but, at the same time, remains grounded in her relationship with her son. Gunilla is ambitious, ruthless, and as much a criminal as the thugs she pursues. Hector, on the other hand, is capable of gentleness and sensitivity, at least in his interaction with Sophie. One of the officers Gunilla recruits, Lars Vinge, a man with some serious pharmaceutical issues, is unhappy with the limited role Gunilla has given him and decides to do something about it. If there's anyone in the novel worth cheering for other than Sophie, it's Lars, despite his problems, which include an unhealthy obsession with Sophie. Unlike the other police officers, Lars has a conscience. His motives are never purely altruistic, but he's not evil, as are the novel's most thuggish characters.

The Andalucian Friend blends action (and blood) with intrigue and suspense. It moves at a steady pace, not so quickly as to short-change character development, but not so leisurely that the reader's attention wanders. Alexander Söderberg doesn't invite the reader to make a deep emotional investment in any of his characters; readers who have that desire will probably find the novel unappealing. Some might also be displeased with the novel's ending -- it leaves lives unsettled -- but I thought it was satisfying. It isn't exactly a happy ending, but the unexpected karmic twists are true to the story that precedes it.

As the first novel in a trilogy, I have to expect the next story to go in a different direction, since not many of the characters introduced in this one are alive when the novel ends. I look forward to seeing where the next installment takes the survivors.

RECOMMENDED

The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards by Kristopher Jansma

Published by Viking on March 21, 2013

Whether The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards is a novel (as the title advertises) or ten connected short stories (plus versions of a preface and epilog) isn’t entirely clear -- the structure (each story has its own title and is complete within itself) and the changing names of the characters suggest the latter, while the unitary themes (and a wristwatch that appears in nearly every story) imply the former -- but I don’t think it matters.  Kristopher Jansma plays with form in a way that reminds us he’s writing about creators of fiction, inventers who shape and reshape reality to suit their own ends.

Although Jansma pokes fun at the writer’s life and at literary criticism, his stories are serious dissections of recurring characters at various stages of their lives.  The stories share the same narrator, a writer who rarely writes, and who has lost every book he’s ever written.  The first story describes a seminal event in the narrator’s young life, one to which he often returns in subsequent stories, although a key detail eventually changes.  What begins as a cornball tale of class-defying love becomes an insightful story about fleeting moments and the impact they make on our lives.  The next four stories revolve around the narrator’s friendship with two other characters.  The narrator meets Julian in Freshman English and they bond over their mutual love of writing.  Julian eventually finds success that eludes the narrator.  Julian’s friend, a beautiful girl who becomes a successful actress, also bonds with the narrator, although not in the way the narrator would like.

Jansma uses those friendships to explore the role of a writer.  One story asks how much literal truth a writer should reveal in a work of fiction -- a vexing question that results from his decision to base a story upon his relationship with the actress.  Another poses the flip side of that question:  how does a writer, intent upon the creation of illusion, avoid hiding from the truth?  One story, purportedly the only story the narrator managed to get published, casts the narrator as a character in his own fiction.  The fifth story, in which the narrator contemplates ruining the actress’ wedding, asks whether he is motivated by love or by the desire to control her like a character in a story.

If the first five stories (collected under the subtitle “What Was Lost”) highlight the hope, promise, and angst of youth, the second five (subtitled “What Was Found”) display the down slope of life’s arc.  The narrator is now a failed writer who has managed to find a job teaching at a second-rate university by assuming his more successful friend’s identity -- the latest in a series of lies the narrator tells about his name.  The narrator’s approach to teaching journalism is to teach the art of writing fiction -- the art of lying.  By arguing against the notion that art contains truth, he hopes to convince himself of the opposite.  Yet whether the narrator is capable of discerning the difference between truth and fiction -- whether, in the end, there is a difference -- is one of the book's central questions.

The narrator moves from his teaching job to ghostwriting term papers to writing the unauthorized biography of his successful friend, all the while making faltering steps to write meaningful fiction of his own.  His friend (Julian of the earlier stories becomes Jeffrey in the later ones) has disappeared (doing “a full-Salinger”) after producing a single novel, a work of genius that is both popular and critically acclaimed.  As he explores his friend’s life, the narrator begins to wonder whether he is his friend’s doppelgänger, but the reader suspects that the friend is the narrator’s alter ego (or vice versa).

The narrator visits Africa and Iceland in stories eight and nine, but the last story takes place in Luxembourg, a country that excites no expectations and therefore deprives the characters of the pleasure of feeling let down.  Perhaps that is a metaphor for the narrator’s life -- full of expectations and disappointment -- but it might be Luxembourg’s national motto that sums him up:  “We wish to remain what we are.”  For much of the book, the narrator is in motion, but he isn’t moving forward, while his friend is often moving in reverse.  The last story asks whether that’s something they can change -- whether they can find themselves.

Viewed individually, Jansma’s stories are fun and insightful and occasionally brilliant.  Viewed collectively, The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards has the heft of a serious novel, one that builds characters word by word until they become whole, then knocks them apart and rebuilds them -- as does life.  It is one of the best fictional explorations of what it means to be a writer that I’ve encountered.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Savage Boy by Nick Cole

Published by Harper Voyager on February 26, 2013

The Savage Boy is set in the same post-apocalyptic future as The Old Man and the Wasteland. We learn a bit more about the cause of the apocalypse than the first novel reveals, but that's secondary to the very personal stories that occupy the heart of these novels.

Before he died from radiation poisoning, Staff Sergeant Presley told Boy to go west, to find the Army, to tell them there's nothing left. But it's been more than twenty years since Presley set out from Oakland to search for the remnants of a government in Washington, D.C. Boy carries Presley's map, the word "Gone" written next to many cities, others marked with "slavers" and "plague" and "white supremacists." San Francisco and Reno belong to the Chinese. As Boy makes his way west, he hears Presley's advising voice as if accompanied by a ghost. Presley was his teacher, his mentor, the closest thing he had to a father.

During his journey, Boy meets a gang led by Rock Star and an army of salvagers led by MacRaven. Both leaders want Boy to help them fight the Chinese. Boy's own agenda is to carry out Presley's mission, although he wonders whether anything could be left of the American Army.

Boy's past, his life before Presley, is cloudy. The journey he takes is largely a search for his own identity, a search for meaning. The war that destroyed the country is long over and Presley is gone. It's time for Boy to pick his own battles, to choose his own allies, to make a life that is his own. It might even be time for Boy to think for himself, to reject some of Presley's teachings.

Although The Savage Boy lacks the degree of pathos that makes The Old Man and the Wasteland so compelling, in part because it is easier to relate to the Old Man than to the mostly silent Boy, the story is not without emotion. The last third of the novel develops an odd love story that isn't entirely convincing (although after an apocalypse, an exchange of glances might be all it takes to fall in love). I did, however, like the theme: to find his identity, the disabled Boy needs to find someone who makes him complete. The last several chapters send the story in an entirely different direction as Boy's life again changes course. Although I didn't feel the same affection for Boy that I felt for the Old Man, the unpredictable plot consistently held my attention.

The Savage Boy is written in the same stark, straightforward, fast moving style that characterizes The Old Man and the Wasteland. Like the first novel, this one blends action and philosophy. I think the first novel delivers a stronger message, but The Savage Boy has enough depth to set it apart from most post-apocalyptic fiction. Although it works nicely as a stand-alone story, the ending ties the second novel in with the first. The last few paragraphs will therefore be more meaningful to readers who are familiar with the first novel.

RECOMMENDED

Bear is Broken by Lachlan Smith

Published by Mysterious Press on February 5, 2013 

Bear is Broken opens with Leo Maxwell describing the scene as someone shoots Leo's brother, Teddy, in the back of the head. Teddy is a successful criminal defense attorney in San Francisco and Leo, having recently passed the bar, hopes to follow in his footsteps. True to form, the police make clear their hatred of criminal lawyers -- particularly Teddy, who successfully defended a man who killed a police officer -- and show little sympathy for Leo. Fed up with the police (and wondering whether they have something to do with his shooting) and with self-righteous prosecutors, Leo decides to conduct his own investigation of his brother's death. He also has the chance to step into Teddy's shoes, to be a "real lawyer" for the first time. As much as Bear is Broken is a legal thriller, it is also the story of Leo's evolution, his entry into adulthood, his transition from student to practitioner.

The unexplained shooting of Teddy may or may not be related to Leo's father, who is serving a sentence for killing Leo's mother, a crime that Teddy always insisted their father didn't commit. Leo's reaction to the shooting is further complicated by his feelings about Teddy, a mixture of love and resentment, and by his growing fear that Teddy was a supremely unethical lawyer. Teddy may have wronged a former client, providing a motive for murder. But there's no shortage of suspects, including the mysterious young woman who shoots Leo with a Taser and her mysterious brother and her mysterious father, and Teddy's mysterious investigator and his mysterious secretary, and a mysterious hooker ....

The plot isn't so much complex or convoluted as it is filled with red herrings, multiple suspects who may or may not have had anything to do with Teddy's shooting. Leo changes his mind about who shot his brother more often than most people change their underwear. In the end, although a couple of plot threads are left dangling, the story works its way to a satisfying conclusion.

Leo finds himself with multiple conflicts of interest as he (1) sleeps with a woman who might have shot his brother and (2) represents a man charged with shooting his brother (although only at an arraignment), even though (3) the principle witness against the charged assailant is Leo's father. I'm not sure I bought any of that, and I'm confident I wouldn't want to hire a lawyer who demonstrates such poor judgment, but it makes for a reasonably good story.

Lachlan Smith has a clear understanding of the dynamics of criminal trials and of the psychology of lawyers and juries. The trial scenes (of which there are few) are some of the best in the novel. At times the writing style is a little trashy ("I gave a cry of pain and astonishment. ... This cannot be. This simply cannot be."), indicative of a first time novelist. For the most part, however, Smith is a capable writer. The novel's pace is steady and his characters are believable. Bear is Broken is a reasonably good second-tier legal thriller from a writer who shows promise.

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