Perfect Hatred by Leighton Gage

Published by Soho Crime on February 19, 2013

Perfect Hatred is the sixth in a series of police procedurals featuring Mario Silva, Chief Inspector for Brazil's Federal Police. He would like to be investigating an act of terrorism in São Paulo, where a baby carriage, pushed by a Muslim man disguised as a woman, explodes in front of the American consulate, killing dozens. For political reasons, that investigation is left to Hector Costa, who heads the São Paulo field office of the Federal Police, while Silva is sent to Curitiba, where Plínio Saldana, a political candidate for a governorship, has been assassinated by a man who seems to have no motive. Shortly after the candidate's bodyguard kills the assassin, the bodyguard is murdered. A third storyline involves a wealthy landowner named Orlando Muniz. Having killed a priest, Muniz needs to eliminate the prosecutor as well as the primary witness (who happens to be Mario Silva) if he wants to avoid prison.

The assassination story is couched in political and family intrigue. It seems unlikely that the incumbent governor would have orchestrated the killing, given the probability that Saldana's wife would step into his candidacy and ride the sympathy vote to an easy victory. Could Saldana's father or brother, who resented Saldana's anti-corruption platform, have hired the killer? Could his wife or his lover be the culprit? Perhaps a staff member? As in any good police procedural, the list of suspects grows as the novel progresses. The reader will suspect a connection between Saldana's death and the terrorist bombing (on the ground that interweaving plotlines always grow together), but what could it be? The answer is both surprising and satisfying.

An interesting issue arises from a character's belief that terrorism suspects forfeit their right to a fair trial by engaging in acts of terrorism (a view that, of course, assumes the authorities never err in their identification of terrorists). When a Mossad agent commits a double murder (in a fashion that echoes an act of terrorism), nobody who might be regarded as a "good guy" seems particularly troubled. Silva's sensible position (in the abstract, at least) is that the police should try harder to find the evidence needed to prove guilt rather than fretting that the guilty might go free. Yet, when a murder suspect is in a life-threatening situation, Silva must make a difficult choice whether to save him. Whether Silva makes the right decision is the kind of moral question that spells the difference between a thriller that is ordinary and one that makes the reader think.

A number of characters (many of them police investigators) circulate through the novel. Except for Muniz, who is "a psychopath with the morals of a feral cat," the characters don't have much personality. Still, this is a plot-driven novel, and the plot is entertaining if unlikely. The twin investigations are methodical, but they move the story forward at a steady pace. Occasional scenes of violence are written in vivid language, heightening the drama, and the South American settings are described in colorful detail. Despite the plotline involving terrorism, Leighton Gage is careful to avoid stereotyping or denigrating Muslims. The terrorism story is nevertheless unoriginal, featuring caricatures of terrorists, while the effort Muniz makes to kill Silva is uninspired. The best parts of Perfect Hatred kept me guessing and, since that's what a police procedural should do, I recommend it to fans of the genre.

RECOMMENDED

The Burning Air by Erin Kelly

Published by Pamela Dorman Books on February 21, 2013 

I was prepared to abandon The Burning Air in its early stages, thinking the story was the sort of clichéd family drama that just doesn't appeal to me. I'm glad I stuck with it. The plot is anything but clichéd, and the drama is both powerful and convincing.

Lydia has a tumor and expects to die soon, a fact she has concealed from her husband and children. She has been keeping journals all her life, and now feels compelled to write about the shameful event she has long kept hidden. This device is a familiar start to a novel, a suspense builder that leaves the reader wondering about Lydia's dark secret. The next sections follow Sophie, Lydia's daughter, as she copes with Lydia's hospitalization and death. Lydia's secret lurks in the background -- or has it disappeared altogether? -- as the story evolves into the saga of the MacBride family.

The first quarter of The Burning Air seems to foreshadow a mundane story about a dysfunctional family, complete with resentments and infidelity and Sophie's mental health issues. All of this is familiar territory, but the story takes on a new dimension when Sophie's baby goes missing, along with her brother's new girlfriend. The missing child energizes the story while giving the reader cause to feel sympathy for Sophie, whose litany of woes threatened to make her too tedious to bear. But how, the reader wonders, does this missing child relate to Lydia and her terrible secret?

Erin Kelly leaves the reader with a bit of a cliffhanger as the focus suddenly shifts from the present to the past and from Sophie to a new character, Darcy Kellaway, whose story is told in the first person. It is an engrossing psychological study of a life gone wrong. The characterization of homeschooled Darcy and of Darcy's domineering mother is detailed and convincing. Kelly makes it easy to understand why Darcy develops a twisted, life-dominating obsession, and watching him dedicate his life to revenge is fascinating. Kelly teases the reader with occasional reminders of Lydia's secret and rather dramatically reconfirms its existence, even dropping a hint as to what it involves, but it remains a mystery as the story circles back to Sophie's missing baby. The final sections of Darcy's story make it possible for the reader to reinterpret seemingly inconsequential events that take place earlier in the novel.

Just when the plot seems to be coming to a climax, the story again changes point of view, this time focusing on Lydia's husband, Rowan. Picking up with the discovery of the missing child, the story moves forward at a furious pace, ending only after another shift of perspective, this time to the person responsible for the baby's disappearance (and for whom it is impossible not to feel sympathy). We finally learn Lydia's secret, and it ties up a dangling plot thread in a satisfying conclusion to a skillfully crafted story.

In short, a book I nearly quit reading in its early stages became increasingly intense as the story neared its midpoint and absorbed my attention in its second half. The Burning Air is a family drama but there's nothing mundane about it. The characters are believable and Kelly's prose is elegant. The story takes unexpected turns but never strays from the path of plausibility. In fact, it's the "this could really happen" vibe that makes the story so chilling. After a slow start, The Burning Air turned out to be an intelligent thriller.

RECOMMENDED

Ex-Heroes by Peter Clines

First published in 2010; republished by Broadway Books on February 26, 2013

Ex-Heroes was originally published in 2010 by Permuted Press, an independent publisher specializing in zombie apocalypse fiction. The novel developed something of a cult following, leading to its republication by Broadway Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, which is a subsidiary of the world's largest publisher, Random House. That's quite a step up the literary ladder.

In the crowded house of zombie apocalypse novels, Ex-Heroes adds a twist. The apocalypse is set in a universe where superheroes live (with a demon thrown in for good measure). George Bailey was the first superhero, and he's conventional: super strength, bulletproof skin, the ability to fly (or, more accurately, to glide), coughs fire. He called himself the Mighty Dragon, a bit weenie as heroic names go. After the Mighty Dragon appeared, superheroes started to pop up regularly. Gorgon transfixes people with his gaze and steals their strength. Zzzap enters an energy state that makes him sizzle like a sparkler. Cerberus is your basic armored warrior, a female Iron Man. Beauty pageant winner Stealth is a heavily armed version of The Batman. Cairax is a demon with questionable judgment. Banzai is a female Jackie Chan. Midknight does something with an EMP field. I never quite figured out what Lady Bee is all about.

The zombies (known as exes, for ex-humans, because it isn't politically correct to call them zombies) control Los Angeles. The superheroes protect the apocalypse survivors, who take refuge in a Hollywood movie studio. Some superheroes die fighting zombies. Some become zombies. Josh Garcetti, once known as the Regenerator, lost his ability to heal others at the start of the apocalypse. This forces him to do his doctoring the old fashioned way, but he's nonetheless integral to the story.

When the superheroes aren't fighting zombies, they're battling the Seventeens (a gang of bad guys) and the Boss of Los Angeles. Things go from bad to worse when zombies appear who seem to have retained their intelligence, allied (of course) with the Seventeens. As one of the heroes observes, "just when you thought the walking dead couldn't get any creepier," they do.

Peter Clines writes in a breezy style that lends itself to a fast pace and nonstop action. Yet Clines mixes action with emotion, never forgetting that stories are about characters, not just the things characters do. For a zombie apocalypse novel, the writing is impressively intelligent. Clines even supplies an explanation for the zombie apocalypse, and it's credible ... at least, it's credible if you accept the premise of superheroes. And zombies. And demons.

Clines' sense of humor assures that the story doesn't take itself too seriously. The way the studio's guards brag about the celebrity zombies they've killed, and compete for the biggest celebrity, is hilarious (they consider zombie Alex Trebek to be a huge score). It's necessary to overlook some gaps in logic and the absence of explanation for certain things that happen during the course of the story, but that's acceptable in a novel that isn't logic-based.

As you'd expect in a superhero story, there are superhero clichés, including George's moral reservations about killing evil people (the ones who aren't already dead) because that's what separates the good guys from the bad. In a story that depends on action and humor, however, clichés aren't terribly disturbing. In fact, George's idealism -- a throwback to the early versions of DC's heroes, before they became dark and gloomy and self-loathing -- is refreshing. It is without irony that George comes to be known as St. George. The return to idealism was one reason I enjoyed Ex-Heroes, despite my general befuddlement about the ever-expanding zombie apocalypse phenomenon.

RECOMMENDED

The Office of Mercy by Ariel Djanikian

Published by Viking on February 21, 2013 

Although the protagonist of The Office of Mercy is twenty-four, the writing style, themes, and plot are characteristic of Young Adult fiction. That's neither good nor bad, in my view, but it surprised me since the novel doesn't seem to be marketed as YA. (In that regard, the promotional comparisons to Margaret Atwood and Kazuo Ishiguro are unwarranted, although Suzanne Collins is more apt.)

Natasha Wiley works for the Office of Mercy, stationed in a wing attached to the Dome atop the underground settlement known as America-Five. The settlement is dedicated to "World Peace, Eternal Life, and All Suffering Ended," at least for those residing within its walls. Outside the utopian settlement live the (supposedly) starving and disease-ridden Tribespeople. Natasha's job is to monitor the nomadic Tribespeople who come within fifty miles of America-Five, using an array of cameras and sensors. Killing them (preferably with missile strikes) is the work of her colleagues in the Office of Mercy.

The Alphas, the generation that orchestrated the Storm (a genocidal extermination of nearly everyone not living underground), have the status of gods within the settlement. Why and how the Storm happened, and how the Alphas managed to convert underground bunkers into settlements, are largely unanswered questions, despite a cursory discussion of a failed past that seems to have been based on Marxism. In any event, Natasha is part of generation Epsilon; Jeffrey, her immediate supervisor (and romantic interest), is a Gamma. For reasons that are never adequately explained, new generations are grown on a schedule created by the Office of Reproduction. Cell replacement has all but conquered death while other technological advances assure an ample food supply for the settlement's inhabitants.

Like the other underground settlements, America-Five is governed by the Ethical Code, a book that has supplanted the Bible. Over the course of the novel, without the expository information dump that is prevalent in dystopian fiction, we learn how people like Natasha have been trained to think: their disdain for nature's beauty, their need to guard against empathy, their belief that those who live outside the Dome are not people but animals enduring hollow lives of suffering. As is common in dystopian novels, those who stray from correct thoughts are subjected to coercive "reeducation."

The novel's initial phases seem to set it on a predictable path, as Natasha struggles to cope with her hidden and forbidden doubts about the Ethical Code, particularly its insistence that, for the Tribespeople, death is better than pain. Like the plot, Natasha's immaturity, her insecurity about her abilities and her anxiety about whether Jeffrey reciprocates her romantic feelings, reminded me of YA fiction. Natasha's starry-eyed approach to Jeffrey is more indicative of a fourteen-year-old girl than a twenty-four-year old woman.

Midway through the book, a contrived plot twist that forces Natasha to redefine herself while forcing the reader to sympathize with Jeffrey left me rolling my eyes. Natasha's naiveté when dealing with the Tribespeople is flabbergasting. When the story reached a climactic moment that inexplicably shocks Natasha, I was muttering, "Well, what did you think was going to happen?"

Only the final chapter saves The Office of Mercy from mediocrity and predictability. For much of the novel, I thought the story would be about Natasha's moral growth, the story of a young woman in an insular society learning to think for herself. She seemed to be learning simplistic lessons like "killing the innocent is bad" and "empathy is good." In an unexpected twist, the story turns out to be something quite different. If The Office of Mercy is meant to teach a lesson -- and I think it is -- the teacher isn't Natasha at all, and the lesson is refreshingly ambiguous. I'm not sure every reader will appreciate the bleakness and uncertainty of the novel's last chapter, but I admired Ariel Djanikian's courage in telling a dystopian tale that has a dystopian ending. Perhaps that's why the novel isn't classified as YA when everything else about it, from the unchallenging writing style to the relatively unsophisticated characters, screams YA. In the end, I would recommend this to young adults (and, with some reservations, to older readers as well) just for its unconventional take on dystopian fiction.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Little Known Facts by Christine Sneed

Published by Bloomsbury USA on February 12, 2013 

Little Known Facts is a character-driven novel, of interest primarily for its structure. The focus is on past and present members of a family, one of whom is a famous actor named Renn Ivins. He has a son named Will and a daughter named Anna. Their mother, Lucy, is a pediatrician and Renn's first ex-wife. His second ex-wife, Melinda, has the novel's most distinctive voice. The chapters (some written in the first person, others in third person) provide differing perspectives of the family members.

Renn's son sets the stage. The less photogenic Will has always been a bit aimless, lost in his father's shadow. He might go to law school, might not. He doesn't need to work and shows little ambition to do so, but he doesn't want people to think of him as living off his father's wealth -- which he is. He worries (with good reason) that his girlfriend is with him only because his father is a celebrity.

We then hear from Lucy, who met Renn in college and, fifteen years after their divorce, can't get past her lingering bitterness about Will's infidelity. Fortunately, her resentment does not make her unlikable. Her honesty serves to humanize her, to gain the reader's empathy, as does her disappointment with, and concern for, Will.  Melinda resolves her own issues with Renn by writing a tell-all book, some of which turns up in the novel. At least superficially, Anna is the most well-adjusted character -- she's succeeding in medical school -- notwithstanding her interest in a married doctor.

We learn about Renn not just from his ex-wives and children but from an autobiography he's writing. Christine Sneed adds additional perspectives on Renn in a fairly inconsequential chapter written from a propmaster's point of view, a man who comes across as a harmless stalker, and in a chapter devoted to Elise, the young actress who the latest object of Renn's affections. Elise's perspective also encourages the reader to see Will in a different light.

The depth of the characters and the quality of Sneed's prose kept me reading Little Known Facts, but I can't say that the story is engrossing or even particularly noteworthy. The first third of the novel is interesting but uneventful. A moment of family drama is revealed near the midway point, another about two-thirds of the way in, and another near the end, but this isn't a plot-driven novel. It's a novel about people's lives, how they perceive themselves, and how they are perceived by others. Little Known Facts could have gone in the direction of Hollywood soap opera and melodrama -- it certainly has the plot elements that are associated with a cheesy soap -- but whenever it leans in that direction, Sneed uses the conflict to present perceptive views of troubled personalities.

With so many different characters commenting upon each other, the reader has the opportunity to sift through the perspectives, to draw conclusions about where the truth lies when opinions differ. Is Renn shallow and vain or is he worldly and caring? Some of the characters have a more flattering view of themselves than is held by those who know them, while other characters judge themselves more harshly than they are judged. Most of the characters suffer from at least a degree of hypocrisy. Little Known Facts reminds us that we rarely see ourselves in the way others see us, and that no two people see us in the same way.

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