Sweet Tooth by Ian McEwan

First published in Great Britain in 2012; published by Nan A. Talese on November 13, 2012

Intellectually interesting more than emotionally engaging (until, perhaps, the very last pages), Sweet Tooth tells a languid tale before taking a surprising twist that alters the reader's perspective of everything that passed before.

In 1972, Serena Frome graduates Cambridge with an undistinguished third in maths. On the strength of some anti-communist essays she's written and a recommendation from a history professor with whom she is having an affair, Serena is recruited to work for the British security service. Although she's initially treated as a clerk and servant girl, her interest in modern literature draws the attention of her superiors, who are launching a new project to attract and fund young writers who reliably promote democratic ideals, as least as those ideals are envisioned by the security service. The goal is to create a counterweight against the left-wing bent of British intellectuals without overtly influencing the content of the writing. The project's code name is Sweet Tooth.

Serena's first task is to vet Thomas Haley, the only writer of fiction that Sweet Tooth is considering. Serena reads Haley's published stories, giving Ian McEwan the opportunity to tell those stories in outline form -- a sort of literary bonus for the reader, who is treated not just to McEwan's novel but to unrelated stories within the novel. Yet the stories are also a tool to open up Serena; while Serena examines Haley's stories, the reader examines Serena. The conclusions Serena draws from Haley's stories tell the reader as much about Serena as the stories tell Serena about Haley.

Serena has a tendency to become ridiculously attached to men she barely knows. Since she believes she knows Haley, having read his stories, it is in keeping with her character that she becomes obsessed with him, a process that starts before they meet. An earlier obsession led to an unhappy affair with the professor who introduced her to the security service, a man who initially seems to play a tangential role in the novel, only to resurface in a way that forces Serena to rethink their relationship. The need to rethink relationships is a constant in Sweet Tooth. It happens again when Serena flirts with her superior, and still again when she becomes attached to Haley, putting her career and Haley's integrity at risk.

Despite McEwan's customary winning prose, my initial reaction to Sweet Tooth was one of indifference. I was never able to warm up to the character of Serena. While that troubled me, by the novel's end I understood my reaction -- it is exactly the reaction McEwan intended. I suppose it is a mark of literary genius that McEwan was able to fashion a character who is full of insecurities, fearful (with some justification) that she is shallow and dull, easily manipulated, politically myopic, a bit judgmental (even snobbish), and ethically challenged -- in short, a less than admirable character who, for many small reasons, isn't easy to like -- while making it possible, at the novel's end, for the reader to view the character with a sympathetic eye. The misdirection that McEwan employs is quite remarkable. More than that I cannot say without spoiling the surprise.

Sweet Tooth gives McEwan the opportunity to address invention, the indispensable tool of both writer and spy. The novel's greater theme is the cultural cold war, the indecency of governmental attempts to manipulate (however indirectly) the content of fiction, film, or journalism, and the blow to artistic integrity that results when the government promotes art for propagandistic reasons. All of that is interesting, but it is McEwan's deft manipulation of the characters and plot that finally won me over. While it was difficult to set aside the chilliness I felt while reading most of the novel, in the end I admired the cunning way in which McEwan structured the story.

RECOMMENDED

The Rise of Ransom City by Felix Gilman

Published by Tor Books on November 27, 2012 

Harry Ransom made a brief appearance in The Half-Made World, as did his light-making apparatus. In the sequel to that novel, Ransom's goal is to build the city of the future, with parks and tall buildings, where freedom and democracy reign. The Rise of Ransom City, Ransom's autobiography, recounts his travels and exploits, his successes and (more often) failures. As you would expect, the stories told in this novel and in The Half-Made World overlap, but only slightly.

The Great War between the Line and the Gun has been ongoing for two decades when Ransom sets out to make his fortune. Agents of the Line serve the Engines and know the secret of electricity -- an expensive secret monopolized by the Northern Lighting Corporation -- but Ransom has created an Apparatus that produces light without cost, based on ideas he acquired (or stole) from the First Folk. He calls it the Ransom Process, and it is a work in progress that he doesn't fully understand. The Ransom Process creates heat and light and magnetism but it also has unpredictable (and sometimes violent) impacts on time and gravity. In its later versions, it seems to attract phantoms.

In search of investors, Ransom travels with his mechanic (the secretive Mr. Carver) and, along the way, picks up two fellow travelers who introduce themselves as Elizabeth Harper and her father. We eventually learn that these characters are not who they appear to be. Ransom later meets a feisty woman named Adela who invented the player piano. Ransom's journey brings him into contact with both the Line and the Gun, as both forces (and others) would love to weaponize the Ransom Process.

The Rise of Ransom City is an odd but intriguing novel. I appreciated the relative absence of expository writing. It might not appeal to readers who need to be spoon-fed but I think it's refreshing to find a writer who doesn't feel the need to explain every detail of the world the writer has created. Felix Gilman thrusts the reader into the world as Ransom knows it. Ransom, writing his autobiography in the first person, assumes the reader lives in that world and therefore doesn't bother to explain much about it. The reader is left to puzzle out the background, a task that becomes possible as more information comes to light over the course of the novel. In that regard, having read The Half-Made World would be useful but not critical.  The sequel stands nicely on its own.

The Rise of Ransom City incorporates a large dose of fantasy (or at least creates a world where the laws of physics as we understand them are a bit cockeyed) and a little bit of horror. There are echoes of post-apocalyptic fiction and of alternate histories. There are elements of steampunk and of westerns. The Rise of Ransom City is at various times an adventure story, a road novel, a romance, a political thriller, a comedy, a melodrama, and a twisted version of a rags-to-riches story. The novel's defiance of categorization is one of its most attractive features.

The book's success is largely due to the richness of Harry Ransom's personality. Part inventor, part philosopher, part con-artist, part adventurer, part dreamer, part schemer, Ransom is at times full of himself and at other times full of remorse. Often cowardly but occasionally brave, often confused but occasionally seized by a clarity of purpose, Ransom is engaging because, despite his all-too-common flaws, he is a good-hearted idealist who struggles (albeit with little success) to make the world better. His complexity is a welcome relief from the one-dimensional heroes who populate so many science fiction and fantasy novels.

Felix Gilman is an imaginative writer and a first-rate storyteller. In this wide-ranging story, Gilman pokes fun at religion by inventing one of his own (the Smilers), lambasts business tycoons, skewers the inclination of the judicial system to protect the powerful, and metaphorically comments upon Guantanamo-style interrogations. I'm not a fan of demons and spirits and supernatural characters of that sort, so I am happy to report that they play a relatively small role in the story (and the phantoms, at least, can be explained without relying on the supernatural). Ultimately, this enigmatic novel worked for me not just because the story is entertaining, but because it focuses on flesh-and-blood humans, with all their flaws, foibles, inconsistencies, and uncontrolled emotions.

RECOMMENDED

Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday! by Penn Jillette

Published by Blue Rider Press on November 13, 2012 

If you read God, No!, you know what you're in for with Penn Jillette's new book. Penn rambles. Digression should be Penn's middle name. He can't talk about Christmas songs without launching into an analysis of the lyrics to the "Theme from Shaft." The books are nonetheless noticeably different. Where God, No! has an organizing theme (not that the book is in the least bit organized), this one aspires to be nothing more than a collection of stories. In a strange way, however, that makes Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday a better book. If Penn is just sitting back and telling story after story without aiming for a broader point, it doesn't matter so much that he rambles. And on the whole, the tone of Every Day is an Atheist Holiday is less angry than the last book, seemingly written by a kinder, gentler Penn, although one who is still acerbic when the mood strikes. The stories are funnier, or at least more consistently funny. Some are brash, some are sweet, some are both at the same time.

The title notwithstanding, Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday is even less about atheism than God, No! One of Penn's longest and best riffs on religion examines Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech, pointing out that King reached out to all Americans, not just religious Americans, and included relatively little religious language in the speech. Penn suggests that the concept of inclusion has been lost in the rhetoric of those who incorrectly proclaim America to be a "Christian nation," a phrase that deliberately excludes every American who isn't a Christian. He then meanders into a biting discussion of evangelical politicians and of cynical politicians who aren't particularly religious but nonetheless make a big show of attending church (particularly when they get a chance to make a speech). He skewers Republicans and Democrats alike, and does so with sustained coherence. Every Day is an Atheist Holiday is worth reading for that chapter alone.

Apart from a concluding chapter that equates morality with atheism (rehashing an argument from God, No!), Penn returns to storytelling for most of the rest of the book. In that regard, Every Day Is an Atheist Holiday can be viewed as a celebration of life (as opposed to the celebration of a deity), particularly naked life. Penn likes to be naked, especially in public, and he likes to write about naked people and about his reproductive organ. A photograph of Penn receiving oral gratification resulted in a blackmail attempt that Penn turns into an amusing story. Other, seemingly random stories he tells focus on pranks he's pulled, mishaps he's endured, and celebrities he knows (no surprises: Donald Trump is a pompous a-hole, Clay Aiken is bitchy, Bob Dylan is a nice guy). He talks quite a bit about the history of Penn & Teller and a little bit about magic. Occasional stories pertain at least tangentially to atheism, including a dustup with Disney, a company that is no friend of freedom.

When he stays on track (which isn't often), he philosophizes -- and actually has interesting, carefully considered things to say -- about comedy and the art of performance, death and the passage of time, tolerance and friendship. He even devotes a brief chapter to denigrating atheists who insist on labeling all Christians as racist or sexist, thus indulging in the same sort of name calling to which religious extremists resort when they attack atheists. Fortunately, he tends to espouse libertarianism less in this book than he did in the last one. Despite his tendency toward redundancy (it's great that he loves his kids, but I got that the first twenty times he said it), much of what Penn says in this book provokes laughter and/or thought, and that's more than enough to make it worthwhile.

RECOMMENDED

Bibliomysteries by Jeffery Deaver and Anne Perry

MysteriousPress.com is publishing (in digital form) a series of stand-alone mystery stories by popular crime authors in which books, bookstores, libraries, or manuscripts play a central role.  I don't usually review individual short stories, but I'm making an exception for the Bibliomystery series because the concept is interesting and the authors are well known.  Four stories have been published to date.  These are the two I've read.

"An Acceptable Sacrifice" by Jeffery Deaver was published on November 12, 2012

A joint operation sanctioned by Mexico City and Washington, D.C., pairs P.Z. Evans with Alejo Diaz, two killers hired to take out Alonso "Cuchillo" Carillo, presumed leader of the Hermosillo Cartel. According to an informant, in two days the cartel will set fire to a bus full of tourists to protest Mexico's war against drugs. Why Cuchillo doesn't pursue the time-honored defense against such wars -- paying off the federales -- is unclear, but the story requires the reader to accept the unlikely premise that blowing up tourists has something to do with the drug trade. A more intriguing question is whether Cuchillo really is a cartel leader, as opposed to a legitimate businessman. As is so often the case, the intelligence pointing to Cuchillo's guilt might be faulty.

Since Cuchillo allegedly intends to remain in his compound until the bus is in flames, Evans and Diaz must find a way to gain entrance. Fortunately for them, Cuchillo collects first editions and rare books, a "weakness" that the killers hope to turn to their advantage. On the other hand, Diaz wonders whether such a pleasant book lover could really be a ruthless killer. What if they are assassinating the wrong man? Unfortunately, that question fades into the background as the story advances.

Point of view shifts from Evans and Diaz to their employers in D.C. to Cuchillo, giving the reader a variety of perspectives as the relatively simple plot unfolds. "An Acceptable Sacrifice" works because the characters are engaging, the dialog is amusing, the atmosphere is convincing, and the story moves quickly. The story's theme gives Cuchillo a chance to explore the relative merits of literature and crime fiction (not surprisingly, he extols the craftsmanship of popular novelists over the "pretentious artifice" of "so-called literary writers"). A couple of cute twists lead the story to a satisfying resolution. It's a bit disappointing that Jeffery Deaver didn't flesh out the "drug lord versus legitimate businessman" theme in greater depth, but that's my only serious complaint about the story. This isn't great literature (which, I'm sure Deaver agrees, isn't always pretentious, despite the views expressed by Cuchillo), but it is a fun, well-crafted crime story.

RECOMMENDED

"The Scroll" by Anne Perry was published on November 12, 2012

In a crate of old books purchased from an estate, Monty Danforth finds a scroll written in Aramaic. The writing on the scroll does not reproduce on the photocopies he tries to make or on the digital photographs he tries to take. Soon three bidders show up -- a scholar, a bishop, and an old man accompanied by a little girl -- seeking to buy the scroll and issuing dire warnings about its evil nature. Danforth decides it is time to consult his employer, the bookshop's owner, who has been home ill for a few days, but discovers that the owner has died in a fire. Now the decision to sell the scroll is Danforth's responsibility, but how can he decide which buyer deserves to have it?

The theme of "The Scroll" is a familiar one: Will an ancient scroll undermine fundamental teachings of Christianity and, if so, will the church destroy it to preserve its myths? This leads to a correlative question: Does Danforth have the right to decide whether the scroll should be published, potentially undermining the faith of millions, or suppressed, potentially depriving the world of a vital truth? Notwithstanding the story's familiarity, Anne Perry gives it a fresh twist as the reader is left to ponder the identity of the strange little girl and her relationship with the old man. Perry's writing is evocative but the ending, after such an interesting setup, is disappointingly convenient.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Bullets Are My Business by Josh K. Stevens

Published by Dutton Guilt Edged Mysteries on November 20, 2012 

If someone set out to write a parody of a Sam Spade novel, Bullets Are My Business might be the result. The problem is that Sam Spade novels are self-parodying. Their over-the-top nature is what makes them fun. Bullets Are My Business is over-the-top, but it isn't fun. It could be that Bullets Are My Business is a tribute novel, but if so, it is a weak imitation of the real thing. The book is billed as "modern noir," but if people weren't listening to music on CDs, you might think you were reading a trashy pulp novel published six decades ago and deservedly forgotten.

Levi Maurice is a contract killer. Levi's sister Chenille is also a killer, albeit for different and somewhat obscure reasons. For a guy with an interesting job, Levi is surprisingly dull. Levi enjoys killing, torturing, and humiliating people, which seems to be his version of a personality. He also enjoys drinking heavily. He has bad luck with dames, perhaps because he thinks of them as dames when he isn't referring to them as broads. Other characters also routinely refer to women as dames and broads. Levi refers to Asians as "slants." Does this story take place in a parallel politically incorrect universe? The determinedly anachronistic language is puzzling. Reliance on language that has all but disappeared from use would make sense if the novel were set in a time when the language was commonplace, but its appearance in a modern novel merely emphasizes the story's detachment from reality.

One day Levi comes home and finds a letter. Thugs immediately try to kill him. He doesn't know why. For the rest of the novel, people are trying to kill him. Some think Levy killed a guy named Vincent, others want him to find out who killed Vincent (and threaten to kill him if he doesn't). I cheered on all the people who wanted Levi dead but, sad to say, Levi can out-fight and out-shoot a half dozen bad guys at once (on a good day, maybe a dozen). More letters pop up, people aren't who they claim to be, and it's up to Levi, with the help of Chenille and his cop-friend Jacks, to make sense of it all.

The plot is convoluted but it all gets untwisted in an explosion of words at the novel's end. Apart from the plot, nothing about Bullets Are My Business is original or interesting. A character is about to give Levi a vital piece of information when, a moment before he can say the name Levi wants to hear, a bullet takes him out. How many times has that been done? Josh Stevens' writing style is pedestrian ("I pull the trigger and the top of his skull erupts like Mount St. Helens." and "I get to see another day. Good for me."), too often dependent upon cliché (a wound is "screaming like a banshee"; Levi hates people who try to "knock my block off"). The final action scene is preposterous. A ton of people show up with guns but they all refrain from using them so Levi can fight them one-on-one. Whether they are staring at each other or dancing or playing cards while Levi is fighting, we just don't know.

Maybe the cheesy writing is part of an effort to make the novel sound like 1940s pulp, but this isn't the 1940s. If the writing had been of a higher caliber, Bullets Are My Business might have been a modest success. Unfortunately, it is what it is, and what it is isn't good.

NOT RECOMMENDED