Disappeared by Anthony Quinn

Published digitally by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media on July 24, 2012 

Disappeared takes place in Northern Ireland in the aftermath of the Troubles.  For all the political intrigue that gives the novel its foundation, Disappeared focuses on a handful of characters engaged in a quest for the truth.  On a slightly larger scale, it is the story of citizens in a divided country striving to recover from events that tore apart their lives, their families, and their nation.

Oliver Jordan, an IRA member suspected of being a police informant, disappeared in 1989, the presumed victim of a kidnapping and murder.  Seventeen years later, Joseph Devine, a retired legal clerk and former police informant, is murdered.  Father Aiden Fee follows directions to the body and prays for Devine’s soul, as he does for all the informers in his parish who end up dead.  Inspector Celcius Daly, pondering the motive for Devine’s murder, finds himself wondering if the death is connected to the recent disappearance of retired Special Branch undercover agent David Hughes, an elderly man who suffers from dementia.  He finds another connection in the person of Malachy O’Hare, a firebrand solicitor who has made a career of representing IRA members.

The story begins to take shape when the reader learns the unusual circumstances under which Devine’s obituary was published.  The questions that Daly pursues are those that puzzle the reader.  Was Jordan killed because he was an informer or was he, as his widow insists, loyal to the IRA?  What does Jordan’s son, Dermot, know about his father’s past?  Why did Special Branch cover-up the details of Jordan’s disappearance?  What is the significance of Devine’s collection of antique duck decoys, to which the story makes frequent reference?  Are the ghosts that visit Hughes real or imagined?  The questions are answered in a convincing, tightly-plotted story.

While Disappeared has the elements of a mystery, it isn’t much of a detective story.  The novel’s greatest weakness is the information dump that comes as the story nears its conclusion.  The circumstances of Oliver Jordan’s fate are revealed not through detection but in a rambling (and rather improbable) confession that seems to come out of the blue.

To a surprising extent, the novel hinges on information more than emotion.  Despite the human drama that is at the story’s core, I felt detached from it all.  Like Dermot, I had an interest in learning the truth about his father’s disappearance, yet I cared little about the novel’s characters.  A couple of characters who initially appear to be central to the story all but disappear by the novel’s end, while the others failed to resonate with me.

Despite my failure to connect with the story on an emotional level, I enjoyed reading Disappeared.  Anthony Quinn peppers his prose with clever phrases and creates vivid images of the Irish countryside.  The ending is disappointing:  a belated attempt to turn the novel into a thriller is weak, and quite a bit is left unexplained.  When one of the characters tells Daly that he’ll have to live with a bit of uncertainty, that lesson might just as well be directed at the reader.  Notwithstanding those concerns, the engaging plot and colorful prose make Disappeared worth reading.

RECOMMENDED

True Believers by Kurt Andersen

Published by Random House on July 10, 2012

True Believers purports to be the memoir of Karen Hollander, bestselling author, law school dean, and former candidate for the Supreme Court who, as a child, obsessed about James Bond.  Hollander tells us all about the playful spy missions she and her friends undertook while building up to the terrible secret from 1968 that she means us to accept as true.  Hollander finally describes this troubling event about two-thirds of the way through the book, but I stopped caring long before the revelation arrived.

During the first half of the novel, Hollander is a preteen or young teen living largely within her own imagination.  Her secret crushes and James Bond fantasies make for less than compelling reading.  A 14-year-old white kid’s observations of the civil rights movement from her bedroom community in Chicago’s North Shore district are equally uninspiring, as are her predictable reactions to the world events (including the Kennedy assassination) she sees on television.  Shortly before the novel’s midway point, Hollander turns 17 and morphs into a female Holden Caulfield, condemning the phoniness of the world around her.  Unlike Holden, however, Hollander is driven by her growing political awareness.  Where Holden searched for truth by visiting a prostitute, Hollander joins the SDS.  You can probably surmise where the story goes from there.

Although the reader is asked to accept that True Believers is a memoir, it isn’t written like a memoir.  It is more the story of a person struggling to write a memoir rather than the finished product.  It certainly isn’t the kind of memoir a person like Hollander would actually publish.  Kurt Andersen’s failure to sell the premise, his failure to make the novel read like an actual memoir, is the novel’s biggest failing.

Apart from its credibility issues, much of True Believers is dull for the same reason that many actual memoirs are dull:  reading about someone who is obsessed with the triviality of her own life is a tedious experience.  The attempt to jimmy a love story into the plot adds nothing of interest.  I would call the last quarter of the novel anti-climactic but for the absence of any real climax.

Hollander has a tendency to over-intellectualize life.  She equates Disneyland and pornography and megachurches, all of which prove Americans are “adorable and ridiculous” in their desperation “to immerse in fantasy.”  She strives to wax eloquent about the need to embrace “the flotsam and jetsam of life.”  All of it strikes a false note.  Her contrasts between life in the 1960s and contemporary America struck me as artificial.

Andersen makes some worthy observations about the hysterical nature of modern news coverage and the nuttiness/hypocrisy of popular political dogma, but those notions are far from original.  To the extent that the novel tries to say something profound about snitching, it fails.  In fact, I was never quite sure what Andersen was trying to say.

True Believers might have worked as a short story, without the trappings of a memoir.  The bones of a reasonably good tale are buried within the novel.  Sadly, it takes too much effort to uncover those bones.  They are better left interred.

NOT RECOMMENDED

Chimera by T.C. McCarthy

Published by Orbit on July 31, 2012

The war is over (or so it appears) but Stanley Resnick is still fighting.  His job -- the only element of his life that brings him joy -- is to track down and destroy rogue Germlines, the genetically engineered female warriors who have chosen not to meet their scheduled deaths.  The Germlines are designed to spoil like rotting meat after two years, but Germlines are starting to appear who, long after their expiration date, show no signs of spoilage.  Of course, you know that if you read Germline, the first novel in the Subterrene War trilogy (if you haven’t read Germline, you should, both to give context to Chimera and because it is an excellent novel).

Resnick is assigned to track down Margaret, a Germline last seen in Exogene.  The hope is that Margaret will lead Resnick to Dr. Chen, who is suspected of deactivating the Germlines’ safety protocols, thus granting them continued life.  The hitch:  Margaret has become a religious icon in Thailand.  Together with her protégé Lucy, Margaret lives under the protection of the Thai government, while Catherine (who died in Exogene) has achieved a status akin to sainthood.  Resnick undertakes the assignment with the help of Jihoon Kim, a linguist and analyst whose former job involved keeping track of borderline psychopaths like Resnick.

Chimera sharpens the conflict between humans and the Germlines (who consider themselves closer to God than the nonbred) while adding another sort of soldier bred in tanks, this one a creation of the Chinese, an abomination that lives its life within an armored suit, an enemy of humans and Germlines alike.  Margaret, in turn, has created a group of followers called the Gra Jaai -- nonbred humans who nonetheless revere Catherine and learn “how to get closer to God through killing.”  Nothing could be less human than the Chinese genetics, yet Lucy wonders whether they have a soul, while Resnick can’t imagine that Lucy has one.  As was true of the first two novels, questions of religion and the meaning of life and death pervade the story.  Chimera adds a new question:  whether humanity (whatever we mean by that term) is really worth fighting for.

T.C. McCarthy is a master of characterization.  His readers will not be disappointed by his newest creation.  Resnick is so acclimated to combat that crazy is normal.  Resnick no longer fits safely within civilian society -- not that American society, with its complete lack of privacy, is a place he really wants to be.  Everything is a war to Resnick because war is all he knows.  He finds it easy to kill Germlines -- he is, in fact, addicted to it -- and his ever-present anger is easily displaced, making him a threat to pretty much everyone.  Still, McCarthy never settles for a simplistic characterization.  Resnick is thus torn by conflict:  he loves and hates war; he feels the need to protect and to abandon the son he didn’t father; his instinct is to kill Margaret yet he questions that desire as he comes to understand her.

McCarthy has given careful thought to the geopolitics of the messed up future he’s created.  There’s sort of an Apocalypse Now/Heart of Darkness feel to the story, with Margaret playing the role of Kurtz, right down to the corpses staked to poles in her jungle compound.  The jungle has a life and a madness of its own.  As always, McCarthy's combat imagery is vivid.  Battle scenes are tense; the combatants’ fear is palpable.  Throughout the novel, McCarthy’s prose is electrically charged.

Each novel in the trilogy has its own strengths.  Germline has the most poignant character.  Exogene has the best action.  Chimera reveals the big picture and raises serious philosophical questions.  I’m not sure which of the three I like best (there’s plenty of characterization, action, and philosophy in each), although I had the strongest emotional response to Germline.  I recommend them all, not just to fans of military science fiction but to any reader who appreciates good storytelling. 

RECOMMENDED

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? by Horace McCoy

First published in 1935 

When Robert Syverten's defense lawyer tells the judge that Robert did Gloria Beatty a favor by killing her, you know things aren't going well for Robert. As he waits for sentence to be pronounced, he remembers the circumstances that brought him into the criminal justice system. Robert and Gloria met as unemployed Hollywood extras. They decided they might get noticed (and maybe win some cash) by dancing in a marathon. As they dance and interact with the other dancers, many of whom have their own unfortunate stories, Gloria repeatedly tells Robert that she wishes she were dead. She gets her wish.

The dance marathon gives Horace McCoy the chance to examine lives in microcosm under unusual and stressful circumstances. They are often the desperate lives of people struggling to survive in 1935. The contestants submit to grueling, constant exercise in exchange for free food and the slim chance of winning a prize. Their tragic lives are inevitably touched by violence, robbing them of the small hopes to which they cling. Despair overwhelms the world that McCoy creates. Oddly enough, however, it is Robert who stands as a temporary counterweight to the story's pervasive gloom. Robert is convinced that every tomorrow carries the chance of finding the big break that will rescue him from a luckless existence -- until he finds himself in court, running out of tomorrows.

They Shoot Horses, Don't They? tells a story that is simple but unforgettable. Moments of comedy -- or at least irony -- temper the bleak atmosphere that surrounds the characters, particularly when McCoy lampoons self-appointed guardians of morality. Yet at its heart, the novel makes a convincing argument that (at least for some people) life is not worth living. By restricting his focus to a small group of depression-era drifters who are confined to a building on a creaking pier, deprived of sunlight, tormented by the sound of ocean waves, walking or running in endless circles, McCoy epitomizes the pointlessness and futility of life. This sort of raw existentialism won't please readers who search for happy endings and stories of affirmation, but it serves to remind those of us who have lived fortunate lives that we should remember the troubled individuals who endure the daily grind of life in isolation and darkness, who really do believe (as does Gloria) that they would be better off dead.

RECOMMENDED

Murder in Mumbai by K.D. Calamur

Published digitally by Dutton Guilt Edged Mysteries on July 17, 2012

Murder in Mumbai is a police procedural -- or maybe a journalist procedural -- set in modern Mumbai.  Two men burglarizing an apartment find a body in a trunk.  Inexplicably, they decide to dispose of the body in a garbage dump rather than leaving it where they found it.  The dead woman was the CEO of a corporation.  Among the murder suspects are the woman’s unfaithful husband, a ruthless competitor, and a subordinate whose career benefitted from the woman’s death.

The best murder mysteries plant clues that give the reader a chance to solve the murder.  Krishnadev Calamur makes a clumsy attempt to do so, but given that the improbable motive for the murder isn’t revealed until the closing pages, a reader spotting the murderer will be relying on guesswork rather than detective skills.  Still, the straightforward plot is moderately interesting.

The same cannot be said of the novel’s characters.  The two central characters are stereotypes.  Inspector Vijay Gaikwad is the honest cop surrounded by corruption and bureaucracy.  Jay Ganesh is the fiercely dedicated crime reporter, a veteran print journalist who complains that the new kids at the paper don’t know how to write.  His investigation provides Gaikwad with the break he needs to solve the murder.   But for their enjoyment of chai tea and biscuits, the two characters might as well be Americans.  They are thin and unoriginal, lacking in personality.

Calamur strives to be profound in his observations of evolving Mumbai and insightful in his comments about human nature but rarely rises above the obvious.  Gaikwad’s supposed pride in the self-confidence of modern women in Mumbai seems more like the author’s commentary on a changing country than a realistic character trait.  On nearly every page, a character ponders Mumbai’s class distinctions, the ill-treatment of the poor by the wealthy, and the subordinate role traditionally played by Indian women -- points made so relentlessly through the course of the novel that they become wearisome. Passages that explain cultural and religious traditions read like excerpts from a travel guide.

Calamur’s prose is competent but lackluster, the sort of writing found in the middle pages of second-string newspapers.  Long strings of ponderous dialog carry much of the story.

Mystery fans with a special interest in India might be drawn to this story.  While it is far from awful, it fails to rise above the ordinary.

NOT RECOMMENDED