The Uninvited by Liz Jensen

First published in the UK in 2012; published by Bloomsbury USA on January 8, 2013 

Around the world, reports are surfacing of children killing their relatives for no apparent reason.  When a seven-year-old girl makes the news by shooting family members with a nail gun, Hesketh Lock views the story through the lens of an anthropologist, as “a parable of dysfunctional times.”  Perhaps that is the best way to read The Uninvited.

Many dystopian novels begin with the world in a dystopian state.  They may or may not explain how the world’s condition came about, but when they do, the explanation tends to be cursory.  The Uninvited takes a different approach.  The story begins in a normal world.  The reader watches as that world collapses.  The cause of the crisis, when it is finally revealed, is more imaginative than the zombie plague that has become the hallmark of apocalyptic fiction.

Hesketh is an isolated man, a sufferer of Asperger’s Syndrome.  He is a compulsively honest, concrete thinker who lacks people skills.  He managed to live with a woman for awhile but Kaitlin had an affair so his isolation is again complete, despite his desire to maintain a relationship with Freddy, Kaitlin’s seven-year-old son.  Hesketh works as a corporate troubleshooter, targeting anomalies in behavioral patterns in the workplace.  He undertakes a series of assignments involving corporate saboteurs in Taiwan, Sweden, and Dubai who, after contending that they were controlled by spirits or trolls or djinns, kill themselves.  Hesketh believes there has been a global outbreak of hysteria fed by indigenous superstitions, although he has trouble explaining why all the dead guys had developed cravings for salt.  Nor can he explain why, just before he watched a man plummet from the top of a building, he saw a little girl urging the man to jump.

I expected The Uninvited to be a conventional horror story.  It isn’t.  The Uninvited is a hybrid of the science fiction, horror, and mystery genres, but it is also a commentary on how society addresses disaffected children.  What is the real horror:  kids who kill or the tendency to forget that they are kids, to treat them as inhuman creatures?  Particularly unsettling, because it’s so close to reality, is the public’s willingness (as the crisis intensifies) to label children as terrorists, to concentrate them in camps and drug them, because a desire for safety trumps compassion and understanding.  The public will always prefer to act in ignorance rather than wait for knowledge if action instills an artificial sense of security.

Still, it isn’t necessary to read The Uninvited as a parable.  Taken at face value, it is an absorbing, nightmarish story.  I was pleasantly surprised by the elegance of Liz Jensen’s prose and by the depth of her characters.  Jensen exercises admirable restraint in her depiction of Hesketh.  Some writers would exaggerate his mental disorder to manufacture sympathy for the character.  Jensen is more subtle.  Hesketh is functional but a little off.  He’s keenly aware of numbers and time and colors and patterns.  He mentally constructs origami when he’s stressed.  Sometimes he rocks back and forth.  Jensen makes it clear that Hesketh is wired in an unusual way, but Hesketh likes the way he’s wired, enjoys the advantages that derive from his disorder (particularly his skill at pattern recognition), and scoffs when others pity him or assume he wants to be as “normal” as they are.  That’s an unusually insightful characterization of someone who would widely be pitied for his mental illness.

The Uninvited delivers a thought-provoking message but the message never overshadows the storytelling.  This is the way to write dystopian horror (and without a single vampire or zombie!). 

RECOMMENDED

A Case of Conscience by James Blish

First published in 1958

Set in 2049, A Case of Conscience begins with four humans on the planet Lithia. Ruiz-Sanchez is a biologist and a Jesuit priest. Cleaver is a physicist. Agronski is a geologist and Michelis is chemist. They are members of the Lithian Review Commission, tasked with deciding whether Lithia would be a suitable port of call for Earth. Each commission member arrives at a conclusion by a different process of reasoning, although the "reasoning" employed by Cleaver, and particularly by Ruiz-Sanchez, is shaky. Cleaver believes Lithia would be ideal for the development of weapons while Ruiz-Sanchez thinks the planet is literally a satanic creation. Since Ruiz-Sanchez has arrived at a conclusion that is consistent with Manichaeaism, a religious philosophy discredited by his church, Ruiz-Sanchez expects to be excommunicated. He nonetheless casts his vote on that basis and the Commission returns home. The humans take with them a gift from the Lithians -- an egg that will hatch in flight, giving birth to Egtverchi.

The second half of the novel takes place on Earth, where Egtverchi proves adept at exposing human hypocrisy and, in his words, "breeding dissension." Given his own television show, he urges viewers to be mad as hell and not take it anymore, a message that suits his "audience of borderline madmen," as one person characterizes it, or in Ruiz-Sanchez' view, "those who feel cut off, emotionally and intellectually, from our society and its dominant cultural traditions." In other words, they feel alienated, and they identify with the alien who goads them. Egtverchi wants his followers to become wrenches in the cogs, to tear up their identity cards and abandon the cities.

Long before "worldbuilding" became a science fiction buzzword, James Blish carefully created a truly alien world (described in scientific detail in an appendix). Houses are made of ceramic pottery, each one unique. A tree that emits radio waves is the basis for long distance communications. Lithians have no politics, no nations, no media, no celebrations, no religion. The Lithians' science departs credibly from Earth's, in part because it is based on the unique characteristics of the planet Lithia. Blish managed to give the aliens (who resemble tall reptilian kangaroos) a genuinely alien culture as well as a unique means of reproduction and (for lack of a better term) childhood development. It is, in fact, the gestation process, and its apparent confirmation that intelligent creatures are the result of evolution, that convinces Ruiz-Sanchez of Lithia's satanic nature.

The future Earth that Blish imagined is a product of his time. Most people live underground, in bomb shelters the size of cities. The "Shelter economy" that developed eventually produced widespread rioting, which prompted the United Nations to create a true world government. That should have ended the threat of nuclear war and obviated the need for a Shelter economy, but the Shelter economy still prevails, although members of the ruling class live comfortable, decadent lives. Egtverchi is seen as a threat to the continued existence of the class division that serves the leaders so well.

Egtverchi's televised call for civil unrest seems like small potatoes in the day of 24-hour cable pundits, the wackiest of whom urge their wacky followers to do all sorts of wacky things. Yet Egtverchi's message resonates with those whose lives are spent in service of the Shelter economy, meeting labor quotas, never leaving their underground bunkers. To the extent that the Shelter economy is seen as quasi-communism (a frequent theme of 1950s science fiction), Egtverchi points the way to individualism.

A Case of Conscience is notable as one of the first science fiction novels to consider the core beliefs of Christianity in a universe where humans are not the only sentient species. It raises theological questions that are echoed in The Sparrow and some of Philip K. Dick's novels. A Case of Conscience relies heavily on Catholic dogma, and much of that dogma feels dated -- not that the religion has changed, but the world has. Ruiz-Sanchez' belief that if God did not create the Lithians, Satan must have done so (because only Satan would replace divine creation with evolution) seems a little silly (and the silliness of dogma may have been Blish's point), but Ruiz-Sanchez' sincere spiritual debate, the angst he feels while wrestling with spiritual issues, makes him a sympathetic character.

Several other issues of conscience are at play in the novel that make it worth a reader's time. One faction on Earth wants to develop Lithia for the dubious benefit of Earth in a way that will surely harm the Lithians. What, if anything, to do about Egtverchi's rabble rousing poses another dilemma. As a priest, Ruiz-Sanchez must decide whether to carry out the Pope's wishes despite his fear that the Pope's reasoning is flawed, a fear that forces him to confront the heresy that the doctrine of papal infallibility might itself be flawed. All of these issues are interesting, as is the world that Blish creates. If for no other reason, A Case of Conscience deserves to be read by a modern audience for Blish's lush prose.

RECOMMENDED

Daddy Love by Joyce Carol Oates

Published by Mysterious Press on January 8, 2013 

Joyce Carol Oates writes about horrors that none of us want to imagine, and does it with such seductive prose we can't stop reading. Yet Oates' great talent is to find the horrific in both the commonplace and in the unthinkable. Daddy Love begins with a momentarily misplaced car that leads to a child's barely contained panic and a mother's sense of failure, a small horror that evolves into the larger horror of child abduction.

Part one takes place in 2007. Dinah Whitcomb has invested "all of her volcanic Mommy love" in her only child, Robbie. She strives to make every moment a learning experience for her five-year-old son. She faults herself when she feels tired, because a happy mother should always feel strong. Later she will blame herself for letting go of Robbie's hand when Robbie is snatched from her. Although she is faultless -- the abductor strikes her, first with a fist and then, when she runs after him, with a van -- Dinah feels "the defeat of her life as a mother."

The first four chapters tell the same brief story, each from a slightly different perspective, adding or subtracting facts, revealing more of Dinah's life, her sense of connection with her husband and son. In chapter five, time again begins to move forward. But can life really move forward for someone who has been as badly damaged, both physically and emotionally, as Dinah?

In the chapters that follow, Oates changes the perspective, allowing the reader to follow Robbie and his kidnapper. Oates reveals the demented mind of Daddy Love with the same skill that makes her portrayal of Dinah's tormented mind so convincing. It is nonetheless disappointing that Oates chose to make the character so purely evil, when a more nuanced approach -- a sex offender who struggles against urges he can't control, as is usually the case -- would have been less obvious.

Part two takes the reader to 2013. Robbie, now known as Gideon Cash, is in sixth grade. His true history, unknown to the teachers who believe he is Daddy Love's autistic son, is reflected only in his macabre drawings. Perspective changes again as the reader sees the world through Robbie's eyes. And as she does with Dinah, Oates enters Robbie's mind with uncommon insight. She presents a more subtle view of Robbie than is typical in fictional portrayals of abuse victims. Robbie's personality and behavior provide some of the novel's most thought-provoking moments.

Although Oates' prose is always first-rate, it doesn't soar to the same height in Daddy Love as it does in her best work. The story isn't particularly innovative. It is, in fact, too predictable to have the impact Oates probably intended. After the strong opening chapters, I felt let down by the pedestrian path that the plot follows.

The characters, as a reader expects from Oates, are fully developed and completely convincing. On the other hand, while Oates often paints portraits of victims, the characters in Daddy Love are not as memorable as those some of her other fiction: they evoke sympathy in ways that are just too easy, too predictable. To her credit, however, Oates avoids coating her characters in sugar. She understands that people rarely respond to tragedy in ways that make them noble and likable, as so many writers would have us believe. Dinah wouldn't be the ideal spokeswoman for mothers of abducted children; her connection with reality is tenuous, her fragility is unnerving. Dinah's husband realizes that he's lost perspective, that he's defined his entire life by a single catastrophic event, but he's powerless to change. Although these aren't Oates' best creations, it is for the characters rather than the plot that I recommend Daddy Love.

Be warned: Some scenes involving Daddy Love and Robbie are disturbing, and while none of them are described in graphic detail, sensitive readers should be cautioned that child abuse is very much a part of the book's content. There are also a couple of chapters that will make dog lovers cringe. Oates has never been a writer who shelters her readers from the darkest realities of life.  She does not do so here.

RECOMMENDED

White Dog Fell from the Sky by Eleanor Morse

Published by Viking on January 3, 2013 

White Dog Fell from the Sky begins with a startling scene.  A hearse stops on a dusty road.  Isaac Muthethe’s body is removed from a coffin and laid on the ground.  When Isaac revives, a white dog is sitting next to him.  He is relieved to discover that he is in Botswana.  Formerly a medical student in South Africa, Isaac became a follower of Stephen Biko’s movement to end apartheid.  Isaac fled after officers of the South African Defense Force murdered his friend.

In Botswana, Isaac searches for work in an affluent neighborhood where foreigners hire servants and gardeners. The white dog follows faithfully as he goes from door to door. He eventually finds employment as a gardener for an American woman named Alice, whose marital woes seem inconsequential compared to Isaac's problems. Isaac understands that "the bitter heart eats its owner," but he cannot forget the hardships endured by his family. Early in the novel the reader wonders whether Isaac will join the armed resistance against the South African Defense Force, particularly after its members enter Botswana and kill people who are close to him. Unfortunately, some choices are out of Isaac's hands.

The novel shines when it focuses on Isaac. He is a remarkable young man, caring and selfless, forced into a life of hardship and confusion. The novel's shine is tarnished when Alice's mundane problems come to the forefront. Alice is something of a twit. She feels no desire for her husband ("her body felt nothing for his") and tells him so, but seems surprised when he has an affair. She spends a good deal of the novel fretting about her life while showing little inclination to improve it.

Unfortunately, Isaac all but disappears for a large part of the novel and Alice's story becomes the dominant one. Alice meets a fellow named Ian who wants to cut the fences that are harming the nation's wildlife   Despite her generally low opinion of men, she immediately falls for Ian, then falls away in an overly sensitive reaction to something she overhears, then is madly in love with him, all within the space of 24 hours. Why Ian thinks she's worth pursuing in unclear, but after being with her for a day he can't live without her. Their love story is predictably chaotic. Ian is no prize, as he quickly proves, but by working to document the vanishing culture of the San, he is at least trying to accomplish something meaningful while he's in Africa. Had the entire Alice and Ian section been excised from the novel, nothing of value would have been lost. When Alice (minus Ian) resumes center stage, there is very little left worth reading about. After Isaac finally resurfaces, he reignites the story's spark, but it comes too late to redeem the novel.

Although it is obvious that Eleanor Morse once lived in Botswana, descriptions of the country read as if they were cribbed from a Rough Guide. Despite Morse's fluid writing style, the country doesn't come alive; the atmosphere isn't vivid. The historical information about the San is interesting but it reads like an article in National Geographic. The discussion of the San comes across as academic, rather than the passionate, first-person account we would expect to hear from Ian if he were a real person.

The image of the white dog is interesting ("White Dog knew things from the other world, things that most dogs don't know") but the symbolism of White Dog's steadfast devotion and patience is a bit forced. I think the novel is trying to deliver a message but I'm not sure what it is. Good things come to dogs who wait? Life is tragic for everyone? Love is complicated? It's better to be in love than to try to save the world? Ian's revelation in a moment of danger -- "without love, there's nothing" -- is awfully trite. The attempt to equate Alice's life with Isaac's, because they both "lost something" and feel empty, is ludicrous.

Ultimately, White Dog Fell from the Sky strikes me as a marvelous novel married to a mediocre novel.  Since the mediocre novel dominates, I cannot recommend the work as a whole with any enthusiasm.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Happy New Year!