Brides of Blood by Joseph Koenig

First published in 1993; digital edition published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media on June 19, 2012 

A member of SAVAK, Iran's secret police, is acquitted of the rape and murder of two women he had detained for questioning. Darius Bakhtiar, the prosecutor who lost the rigged trial, takes justice into his own hands. Although the intercession of a politically connected uncle prevents Darius from being executed, the act of vigilante justice will eventually come back to haunt him.

Ten years later, when a sexually mutilated prostitute is murdered, the religious authorities in Tehran do not believe the killing warrants investigation. Darius decides to defy the religious authorities and investigate anyway. The murder of a second woman seems to be related to the first. Darius cares about dead women in a society that doesn't value women at all -- or at least that is the conceit that drives the tale. Uncovering the reason for their deaths leads Darius down a dangerous path involving heroin and mycotoxins and the Brides of Blood, female warriors for radical Islam.

Darius isn't getting along well with his wife, giving Joseph Koenig a chance to describe the quaint divorce customs practiced by devout Muslims. Yet Darius (unlike his wife) is hardly devout: he drinks alcohol, prays only when necessary to keep up appearances, and embraces certain values he developed as a student in the United States (where he apparently learned his law enforcement style by watching Dirty Harry movies).

All of this makes for a moderately interesting story that is peppered with vivid images of torture and bleak descriptions of Iranian society. It is also a story written with a heavy hand. There is little doubt that life for Iranian women was brutal during the mid-1990s, particularly women who were considered "westernized." Yet Brides of Blood often reads more like a political polemic than a thriller. If the point of Brides of Blood is to deliver the message that fundamentalist Islam is evil, it does so without subtlety. Every female character is either a religious fanatic (like Darius' wife) or the miserable victim of religious fanatics.

Although most of Brides of Blood takes place in Tehran, it has little sense of place. We're given street and neighborhood names but scant description, nothing that brings the city alive. Koenig pays occasional lip-service to Iran's rich heritage and culture but fails to bring the country alive.  The novel is filled with violence and torture, but it all seems too familiar. Toward the end the plot devolves into an unconvincing love story. Even less convincing are the characters who reveal their motives in long conversations during gun battles.

Brides of Blood tells a quick-moving, action-filled story. Had Koenig's depiction of Iranian society been more nuanced and had his characters been less wooden, I would have been more enthused. As it stands, my recommendation is half-hearted.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Caliban's War by James S.A. Corey

Published by Orbit on June 26, 2012 

Sometimes the second book in a series is a let-down, particularly when it follows a strong initial entry. The good news is that Caliban's War advances the story that Leviathan Wakes began, introduces appealing new characters, adds depth to a familiar character, and reconfirms the authors' ability to tell an energetic, engrossing tale.

Ganymede has been in crisis since Marines from Earth and Mars started shooting at each other. But how did the hostility begin? Only Gunnery Sergeant Bobbie Draper knows the truth: they weren't shooting at each other, but at the monster that was killing them. Since the "monster" could be the protomolecule last seen on Venus in Leviathan Wakes, the Outer Planets Alliance sends James Holden and the crew of the Rocinante to investigate.

Meanwhile, Prax Meng is upset because his daughter Mei was apparently kidnapped during the fighting. Mei has a genetic disorder that puts her at risk of death if she doesn't receive regular treatment. Is there a connection between the snatch and the coincidental timing of the monster's attack? It's up to Holden and his crew to find out.

A third storyline involves Chrisjen Avasarala, an elderly, foul-mouthed UN official whose job is to keep the peace between Earth and Mars, a none-too-easy task. Her story eventually merges with Draper's and becomes one of political intrigue.

I wouldn't recommend reading Caliban's War without first reading Leviathan Wakes. Caliban's War assumes a familiarity with the events that took place in the first novel. While Caliban's War doesn't have quite the same poignant human drama as Leviathan Wakes -- largely due to the absence of Miller, a memorable character who was central to the story in the first novel -- it does replicate the fun factor: engaging characters, low-key humor, and exciting action. Yet there is enough human drama, enough genuine emotion, in Caliban's War to fuel the reader's compulsion to move on to the next chapter ... and the next, and the next.

Many of the characters draw upon familiar stereotypes but that, at least, gives them the benefit of well-defined personalities. In any event, there is a complexity to Holden that rises above the stereotypical. Holden confronts a range of internal conflicts and fears in Caliban's War while proving to himself that he's capable of growth. Holden is an idealist who needs to learn something about pragmatism, but he's also a fundamentally peaceful guy who is morphing into something else after all the horror he's experienced.

Holden is fond of taking his message directly to the people via a futuristic version of the internet. The theme of using direct communication to bypass the government and take control of destiny plays a large part in Caliban's War, just as it did in Leviathan Wakes. That theme is expanded with the addition of Avasarala, who proves to be an adept manipulator of the media.

Caliban's War isn't for science fiction fans who like their novels to reflect world-building or carefully considered technological advances or imagined applications of theoretical physics. Caliban's War is quite the opposite. The writing team known as James S.A. Corey cares more about story-building and character-building than world-building. The result is an absorbing story about memorable characters that some fans will regard as too light-on-science to be taken seriously. Yet not all novels need to be taken seriously; some work on a more elemental, less intellectual level. I don't need to be convinced that "this could really happen" to appreciate the entertainment value of a science fiction novel, but others do, and this might be the right novel for them.

RECOMMENDED

The Infinite Tides by Christian Kiefer

Published by Bloomsbury USA on June 19, 2012 

An astronaut returns from a mission to find that his wife has left him, emptying their house of all its contents -- all except a sofa that he hates. As is often true in a marriage, the characteristics that attracted Barb to Keith Corcoran are those that drove her to have an affair: his ambition and dedication, his drive to excel, his sense of destiny. Her complaints are common: he's never around, he doesn't talk to her. Keith understandably believes her complaints to be unfair; he hasn't changed, these are things she knew about him when she chose to marry him. But Barb has found a man who "listens" and the accidental death of their daughter while Keith was orbiting the Earth has only strengthened Barb's desire to leave their marriage. She tells him of her decision while he's still in space -- in the same space station where he learned of his daughter's death. Having finally returned to Earth, Keith isn't coping well. He has severe headaches. He's taking unwanted time off from work while he "adjusts." He has numbed himself into forgetting his last unpleasant conversation with the daughter who drifted away from him before she died.

The novel's other significant characters are a transplanted Ukranian named Peter Kovalenko, a mother named Jennifer who lives across the street from Keith, the mother's precocious daughter and Peter's wife. Peter, like Keith, is challenged by the need to begin a new life. He's a more interesting (and believable) character than Jennifer, whose behavior didn't strike me as credible.

Keith, on the other hand, is a convincing if not particularly likable character. A talented writer can make a reader understand and even empathize with an unlikable character, and that's exactly what Christian Kiefer does in The Infinite Tides. Keith is a man more at home with equations than people, a man who understands the relationships between numbers more than his relationships with his wife and daughter. Numbers make sense to him; people don't. His life had seemed to unfold with the clarity of an equation until it became "a faded ghostly scrawl impossible to read." Keith feels guilt for being an absentee father and for pushing his daughter to become another math whiz even if he can't admit his guilt to himself. Burying himself in numbers is no longer cutting it but reaching out to others is not his strength. Unable to cope with his sense of failure, he hides inside the comfort of a meaningless daily routine. Unable to return to work, he yearns to escape the pull of gravity, to float above the problems that chain him to his Earthbound life. I found his predicament and his reaction to it to be unexpectedly moving.

Kiefer writes sentences that crash forward with the power and rhythm of ocean waves. At other times his sentences drift quietly "like a moonlit boat on a flat and silent sea" (to borrow one of Kiefer's phrases). His best passages stabbed me like a stiletto. Dramatic images enliven The Infinite Tides: Keith tethered to a robotic arm that swings him in an arc over the space station, a moment that he repeatedly recalls to memory but lacks the words to describe; Keith and a retired naval officer wrestling a drunken, passed-out Peter into a car shortly after Peter proclaimed his love for a teenage barista at Starbucks; Keith and Peter star-gazing in a field; Keith getting caught with Jennifer in a compromising position.

Caveat: This may be a "man's novel," or at least a novel that speaks to men more than women. Two of the three significant adult female characters are presented in an entirely unfavorable light. If we saw Keith's marriage from Barb's perspective we would likely have a different take on Barb, but this is Keith's story and it therefore seems fair that we see Barb only as Keith sees her. That Barb comes across as uncaring, domineering, and even a bit cruel is entirely understandable, but readers who aren't sympathetic to Keith may disagree. Another caveat: Readers looking for a happy smiley domestic drama in which good things happen to good people should stay far away from The Infinite Tides. Although the novel offers moments that feel redemptive and guardedly optimistic, this is a vivid and uncompromising portrait of a man in agony, a man who is only starting to come to terms with his losses and, in the process, to understand himself. Keith's is not a comfortable head to occupy, but it's worth the effort.

RECOMMENDED

The Grand Design by Stephen Hawking and Leonard Mlodinow

First published in 2010; Bantam edition published February 21, 2012

Is philosophy dead? Stephen Hawking thinks it is. In his view, philosophy hasn't kept pace with science. According to Hawking, the ability to answer the big questions in life -- why we exist, why there is something rather than nothing -- resides in physics rather than philosophy (sort of an odd position, given the extent to which he creates a science-based philosophy in the concluding chapters). Together with his coauthor, Hawking suggests the answers to those questions in a short but surprisingly readable book that I, as a nonscientist, almost convinced myself I understood.

If Hawking's mind is a sleek and speedy Ferrari, mine is a rusty tricycle with wobbly wheels. It is to Hawking's credit that he can explain quantum mechanics in such simple terms that I can fleetingly grasp his meaning. As Hawking says, "The quantum model of nature encompasses principles that contradict not only our everyday experience but our intuitive concept of reality." No matter how often I read about these principles, I never quite grasp them, but Hawking nonetheless came close to rewiring my brain with his patient explanations. Hawking's writing is full of wit, yet Hawking is a serious thinker and The Grand Design is filled with serious thought. His brief discussions of complex questions are insightful despite their abbreviated nature.

Most of the early chapters include a brief history of science with special attention to physics. Demonstrating his ability to pack an enormous amount of information into a compact volume, Hawking tells the reader a bit about the backgrounds and eccentricities of these scientists, whose groundbreaking work he obviously admires. Admiration doesn't stop Hawking from being a critic; he repeatedly illustrates the unfortunate truth that scientists often become wedded to a theory and will postulate all sorts of fanciful explanations for experimental data that contradict the theory rather than abandoning it.

The most interesting chapter to me addresses a puzzling question: Is there such a thing as objective reality? I hope we are not all living in The Matrix, but Hawking argues that there "is no picture- or theory-independent concept of reality." There are only models of reality, and the model that currently fits best with our observations is the one we choose to call reality. Different models of reality might be equally valid under different conditions, a notion that rejects the concept of an "objective" reality.

Despite Hawking's skill at explaining difficult concepts in simple terms, I became totally lost (as I always do) when, in chapter 5, he explained the difficulty of creating a Grand Unified Theory that would explain each of the four forces of nature (or however many there might turn out to be) as components of a single law. Once the discussion turns to quarks and Feynman diagrams and virtual particles, not to mention M-theory (the current best model of the grand design), I feel myself sinking into a very deep bog. That isn't Hawking's fault, and readers who are more adept at wrapping their minds around abstract notions will derive more from the text than I did.

I felt slightly less lost reading Hawking's explanation of the origin of the universe, despite the troubling notion that it is meaningless to ask what happened before the universe began because time did not exist (and "before" did not exist) until the universe originated in a quantum event. Hawking's deft use of analogy makes it possible to visualize the complex theories he's explaining. I was back on solid ground with chapter 6, where Hawking turns his attention to the philosophical implications of the quantum principles he discusses in earlier chapters (it's easier, for me at least, to be an armchair philosopher than an amateur physicist). In chapters 7 and 8, Hawking discusses the likelihood of life originating on Earth (and perhaps elsewhere in the universe and perhaps in other universes, as well) given the unique set of environmental conditions and physical laws that make life possible, providing a thoughtful and effective refutation of the notion (developed at length in Robert Sawyer's Calculating God) that a divine guiding hand must have intelligently designed those laws and conditions.

I wish I had the sort of mind that intuitively grasped the principles of quantum mechanics that underlie The Grand Design, but for readers like me who are better with words than math and more at home with novels than physics textbooks, Hawking's book is a wonderful resource. For physicists and others who have made an extensive study of the book's subject matter, The Grand Design is probably too simplistic, more an overview of current thought than a groundbreaking treatise. Physicists clearly are not part of Hawking's target audience, but I am, and I can recommend this book to those who are as unschooled as I am. Philosophy might be dead, but ideas are not, and The Grand Design is filled with them.

RECOMMENDED

The Paris Directive by Gerald Jay

Published by Nan A. Talese on June 19, 2012

The Paris Directive starts out as a French police procedural involving a hit man, four dead Americans, and a disgruntled police inspector. When, approaching the midway point, the CIA station chief in Paris becomes involved, The Paris Directive takes on the added flavor of a spy novel, although one involving industrial rather than political espionage. Unfortunately, by trying to meld two different kinds of story, the novel fails to do justice to either one.

Inspector Paul Mazarelle feels miserable about his life, an attitude that isn't improved when Benjamin Reece, the co-owner of a New York art gallery, shows up at the police station in Bergerac to complain that his cash and credit card have been stolen from the vacation home in Taziac that he and his wife are sharing with another couple. Reece's housemate, Schuyler Phillips, is a wealthy CEO. A neighboring residence has been occupied by Klaus Reiner, a hit man who has been hired to kill Phillips. The job goes wrong and all four members of the household end up dead.

Mazarelle, a former Parisian, is unchallenged by his job in Bergerac until the vacationing couples are brutally murdered. While the evidence points to Ali Sedak, a handyman who was working on the vacation home, the reader learns in the first few pages that Reiner is responsible. Benjamin's daughter Molly, a Manhattan prosecutor, flies to France and (not surprisingly) engages in her own investigation.

The motivation for the murder of Phillips is a bit difficult to swallow but I'm always prepared to accept the implausible or the sake of a good story. I was more troubled by the decision of the people who wanted Phillips killed to order a follow-up hit to divert attention from the Phillips slaying when the new murder would assuredly have the opposite effect. Just as problematic is their plan to deal with Reiner, which depends upon a wildly improbable coincidence.

The Paris Directive tries to be too many things at once. It doesn't quite succeed as a murder mystery, given that there's no mystery about the killer's identity. Nor does it quite succeed as a novel of international intrigue, given that the intrigue is deeply buried until it finally resurfaces in the final chapters. Racism against Algerian Arabs in France adds an ugly note of social realism to the story but that aspect of the story is underdeveloped.

What did work for me is the character of Mazarelle. Molly is an interesting character but not a particularly convincing one. Reiner, like the other secondary characters, lacks depth. Mazarelle, on the other hand, is an engaging cop. A dejected man who has thrown himself into his work after the death of his wife, Mazarelle contemplates retirement but tells Molly that "homicide is my life." If this had been a more traditional mystery, if Mazarelle had played the role of detective and uncovered a murderer, The Paris Directive would have been a better novel. As it stands, The Paris Directive is worth reading for the chance to know Mazarelle, but not so much for the story.

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