Westlake Soul by Rio Youers

Published by ChiZine Publications on April 10, 2012

After a surfing accident, Westlake Soul woke up with "the most powerful mind on the planet, but a body like a wet paper bag." According to his doctor, Wes is in a persistent vegetative state. Wes' parents take him home, resisting his doctor's suggestion that it might be better to let him die. Yet Wes is cognizant, aware of his surroundings; he just can't express his awareness or interact with those around him. At least he can't interact in a conventional sense. West has some new abilities: astral projection, telepathic communication with animals, fluency in all languages, but not the ability to communicate with or control humans (although he can read their thoughts, something he rarely does). He can watch Angelina Jolie take a shower, he can hover in the background while Bruce Springsteen and Elvis Costello jam at a party, but he can't tell anyone that his brain is still alive. He struggles frequently with death, in the form of Dr. Quietus, while his parents cope with the pain of living with an apparently brain-dead child. You know where this is going, right?

Wes is convinced that he will eventually overcome his disabling condition, that he will speak and surf again, while the reader suspects that Wes is unable to accept his fate, to process the knowledge that his consciousness will always be trapped inside a dysfunctional shell. When things get tough for Wes, he projects himself to a calmer place: a rainforest, a waterfall, the moon. Of course, the reader wonders whether this is a defense mechanism, blissful imagination replacing horrid reality.

There are moments when Westlake Soul strives to be literary but most of the time the prose is active and edgy, conveying the story's emotion rather than the beauty of language. Emotions pervade the story. Love is at its center, but sorrow and loss and anger and fear provide the context. Wes remembers the love of a girlfriend who, understandably, is now gone from his life. He experiences a new love for his second caregiver. He loves his family and, of course, the dog whose mind he can now read. These people (and the dog) love Wes in return, making the decision they must reach all the more difficult. It is a testament to Rio Youers' skill that the emotions he evokes are sometimes so powerful that story becomes difficult to read.

Although the novel is driven by love, it's more fundamentally about life and death, with life at the forefront. Learning to live, according to Wes, means learning to conquer fear. As I was reading Westlake Soul, I had some concern that it would turn into a polemic, fuel for the wrongheaded politicians who condemned Terri Schiavo's husband for discontinuing her life support, who thought they knew more about her cognitive ability than her doctors did. That concern was unwarranted. The novel doesn't advocate for the religious right. Quite the opposite, given Wes' nonjudgmental nature and his realization that as important as it is to fight for life, it is equally important not to fear death.

There are times when Westlake Soul dances on the edge of melodrama. There are times when Wes is so unselfish and forgiving as to strain credulity -- at least until he does something, late in the novel, that reveals a minor but all-too-human flaw. Despite its faults, Westlake Soul did what good literature should do: it moved me. From the beginning to the end, Westlake Soul touched me emotionally in a way that cheesy melodrama never does. I tip my hat to Youers for writing such a powerful and convincing story.

RECOMMENDED

When the Night by Cristina Comencini

First published in Italian in 2009; published in translation by Other Press on April 24, 2012

When the Night is a dark and oddly beautiful story of two regret-filled souls struggling to break free from their confining personalities.  The novel records two intersecting moments in their lives, fifteen years apart -- in many ways their most vital moments.

Mountain guide Manfred Sane and his brothers were raised by their father after their mother ran off with an American tourist.  Before the novel opens, Manfred’s wife, Luna, has left, taking their children with her.  Manfred has rented an apartment above his to Marina, who has taken her son to the mountains for a month, leaving her husband behind.  Marina is depressed; she hasn’t bonded with her son Marco, she never sleeps, she feels lonely and inadequate.  She is the opposite of the Supermom:  she wasn’t cut out for motherhood and she knows it.  Still, she hopes her stay in the mountains will renew her strength.

Manfred is silent, bitter, and abusive.  He learned from his father that women are not to be trusted.  Manfred’s observation of Marina, and particularly of her coma-like response when Marco is injured, reinforces his belief that children should be taken away from their mother as soon as they are born.  He suspects that Marina has deliberately harmed Marco, a suspicion instilled by his long-standing contempt for women.  He considers it his duty to provoke her confession.

As the novel unfolded I wondered whether it would turn into an unlikely love story or whether Manfred would kill Marina.  Are they two ships passing in the night or two ships colliding?  In its final section, When the Night jumps forward fifteen years.  The change (or lack of fundamental change) in the characters during the gap years makes clear that the month Marina spent in the mountains was pivotal for both of them.  But what does the present hold?

When the Night is told from the alternating points of view of Manfred and Marina.  Sometimes, when the two are together, the point of view changes from sentence to sentence.  The mild confusion that technique occasionally causes is more than offset by the value of seeing the same events almost simultaneously from opposing perspectives.

This isn’t a novel for readers who search for likable characters.  Still, there is understanding to be gained from the rather extreme examples the main characters offer of gender-based personality differences.  Although Marina is far from a prototypical female (given her lack of maternal instinct) and Manfred is a poor example of a male (given the disgust he feels in the company of women), their interaction with each other is quite typical:  Marina probes for a way to connect while Manfred is guarded, unwilling to open himself for her inspection.  Their differing perceptions impair their ability to communicate; they often speak at cross-purposes, fighting to connect in a moment of shared honesty.

It is in their extremes, however, that the characters offer the most insight.  Both characters are filled with self-loathing, although Marina is more honest with herself.  Manfred feels protective of Marco, perhaps with some cause but also because he distrusts the ability of any woman to raise a male child -- a product of his feeling of abandonment by his mother.  More than that, he feels the need to punish Marina for being a bad mother (perhaps born of a desire to punish his own mother).  He believes “you need to be strong to raise children” and Marina is anything but strong.  Manfred is the personification of misogyny yet he finds himself drawn to Marina, seemingly against his will.  Marina both loves and hates her son.  She loves her husband but hates him for not understanding her.  She yearns for romance but doesn’t believe in it; she views husbands as interchangeable, the choice of one man versus another as arbitrary, yet she finds herself drawn to Manfred.

Manfred’s perspective is told in stark language, featuring the sort of abruptly ending sentences that befit a man who doesn’t like to talk.  Marina’s perspective is narrated in a more descriptive style.  In both cases, Cristina Comencini writes penetrating prose that fully reveals two tortured individuals, apparently incapable of becoming the persons they want to be.  This short novel virtually chisels its characters from the mountains that surround them, exposing multiple facets, sharp edges, hidden features and cold facades.  Fans of character-driven fiction are particularly likely to regard When the Night as a memorable novel.

RECOMMENDED

Skeleton Picnic by Michael Norman

Published by Poisoned Pen Press on April 3, 2012

Collecting artifacts -- pottery, arrowheads, beads, particularly those of the Anasazi -- is a hobby for the Rogers family. Because their collection includes human bones, they call their outings "skeleton picnics" (a polite euphemism for the desecration of burial sites). When Rolly and Abigail fail to come home from a skeleton picnic, their neighbor, J.D. Books, investigates. Books, a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Ranger stationed in Kane County, Utah, soon learns that the Rogers' home has been burglarized and their antiquities collection stolen. When the Rogers' truck is found at a dig site with no sign of Rolly and Abigail, Books wonders whether their disappearance is related to the burglary of their house. The answer to that question probably won't surprise any of the novel's readers.

Skeleton Picnic is the second J.D. Books novel. Although I didn't read the first (On Deadly Ground), my impression is that Books has a more exciting professional life than most BLM Rangers. According to the BLM website, Rangers in the southwest spend quite a bit of time dealing with "off-highway vehicle issues." Since ticketing drivers doesn't make for dramatic reading, it's fortunate that Books encounters an improbable amount of violent crime. It's unfortunate, however, that there isn't more drama in this rather unexciting novel.

Books is a dull guy with little personality. A rookie sheriff's deputy Books inexplicably ends up "training" at least stirs up a bit of controversy by suggesting that it is wrong for Books to lie to suspects, but that ethical debate is quickly abandoned. Similarly, a conflict between Books and his lawyer girlfriend after she is appointed to represent a suspect in the Rogers' disappearance could have given the story an emotional jolt, but the subplot eventually fizzles out. Books has a strained relationship with his father (who isn't really his father, a fact he must have learned in the first novel), but that subplot also travels to a dead end. In the final chapters Books supposedly recognizes the possibility of danger in a situation where the danger is obvious to the reader but walks into it anyway, making me wonder just how bright the guy is. "Nice but boring and a little dense" is the best description I can give of Books -- not the sort of protagonist who can carry a crime thriller to a successful conclusion.

Skeleton Picnic includes some middle-off-the-road political viewpoints that most readers will likely find inoffensive. In addition to those, Books indulges in several (mercifully short) lectures on the evils of collecting and selling illegally recovered antiquities. Of course, grave robbing is one thing and digging up an old blanket is something else, even if the blanket happens to be buried on public land. Norman appears to recognize that and Books ultimately expresses some balanced opinions on the issue. He even recognizes that he's probably enforcing unenforceable laws and questions the wisdom of devoting federal resources to futile pursuits. I appreciated his sense of proportion but wondered whether a character doing dull and pointless work is really worth writing about.

Norman's dialog-heavy writing style occasionally relies on clichéd expressions but for the most part his prose is readable if unexceptional. Like Books, the supporting characters in Skeleton Picnic are nice but bland, which is also how I would describe the story. Skeleton Picnic is a pleasant police procedural covering an unusual aspect of law enforcement but there's nothing special about it.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig

Published by Angry Robot on April 24, 2012

Blackbirds is a surprisingly powerful, emotionally appealing novel that poses fundamental questions about fate.  “Fate gets what fate wants,” Miriam’s mother always said, but what is fate?  Is the future immutable?  If you knew your fate, would you be able to change it?  These are old questions, but Chuck Wendig shapes them into a story that might prompt you to reconsider your beliefs.

When people touch Miriam, she knows how they’re going to die.  Not an original concept -- in fact, it’s been done to death (pun intended) -- but Wendig imparts a fresh twist to the old story:  as Miriam watches the murder of a man she has just met, a stabbing that will occur in about a month’s time, she hears the man say her name.  As Miriam gets to know (and like) the man, she dreads the coming moment when he will die with her name on his lips.

Miriam is a foul-mouthed, emotional mess and something of a drifter, but she’s figured out how to use her unwanted talent to eke out a living.  Her method is a bit unsavory but it’s working for her:  she’s a scavenger, picking at the remains the dead leave behind.  Her life isn’t great but it seems likely to get even worse when she meets Ashley, a con artist who won’t reveal the contents of his metal suitcase.  Two lethal criminals named Harriet and Frankie are after Ashley -- or more specifically, after his suitcase.  Somewhere in the middle of the novel the contents of the suitcase are disclosed, probably not to any reader’s great surprise.

Wendig gives Miriam the kind of history that explains her troubled personality.  She’s an appealing if somewhat obnoxious character.  That’s one reason to read Blackbirds.  Another is the high energy writing style that assures the fast-moving story will never be dull.  Blackbirds benefits from snappy prose.  A couch has “fabric so rough it could grate cheese.”  A disagreeable woman is “like a kidney stone lodged in the urethra.”

In a novel about fate, either fate wins, free will triumphs, or fate turns out to be something other than what was expected.  Blackbirds plays it down the middle, doesn’t try to answer the unaswerable qeustions, leaving room for the reader to read in one of many plausible interpretations of the novel’s conclusion.  That was an admirable choice.  The best aspect of the ending is that it sets up the possibility of a sequel.  I hope Wendig writes it.

RECOMMENDED

The Innocent by David Baldacci

Published by Grand Central on April 17, 2012

As The Innocent opens, Will Robie is carrying out a mission for his Agency masters.  He assassinates a man (and his four ultra-evil bodyguards) who is planning a military coup in Mexico that will create a government hostile to American interests.  This is followed by the rather improbable assassination of a Saudi prince.  Robie doesn’t let himself be bothered by his assignments, but he finds himself with a dilemma when he’s ordered to kill a nearly middle-aged woman in D.C., particularly when he discovers (after breaking into her apartment) that she’s the mother of two, including the infant sleeping next to her, and a U.S. government employee to boot.  The dilemma is resolved when Robie’s handler shoots mother and child from a distance and attempts to take out Robie in the process.

After this dramatic opening, the story takes a strange twist when Robie, who is now the target of the government he once served, hooks up with a fourteen-year-old girl named Julie whose parents have been murdered.  They barely survive the explosion of a bus on which they had been riding.  Who was the target:  Robie or Julie?  What, if any, is the connection between the woman Robie was sent to kill and Julie’s parents?  Many gun battles and explosions later, the answer to those questions remains unclear.  That’s what held my attention to the end of this fast-moving novel.

I wouldn’t call the plot byzantine, but it is deliciously complex.  To my amazement, every plot thread (even an incident or two I didn’t expect to be important to the overall plot) comes together in the final chapters. The story covers a lot of ground and introduces a gaggle of supporting characters, ranging from Gulf One army buddies to traitorous FBI agents, from the retired assassin who is Robie’s mentor to the White House political analyst who becomes his romantic interest.  Robie can’t trust anyone, including the FBI agent with whom he is partnered (another potential romantic interest for the studly Robie).  None of the characters are given great depth but they seem real, and that’s enough in a story that is driven by plot rather than character.

David Baldacci’s prose style is punchy and efficient.  Short sentences and single-sentence paragraphs during action sequences contribute to The Innocent’s blistering pace.  There are times, particularly in the final chapters, when Baldacci succumbs to melodrama.  Since the story continues to be engaging, that is a forgivable sin.

This is a dual climax thriller.  The novel seems to be moving toward a particular scene, but when that scene occurs, there are still many pages left.  That scene borders on the preposterous and the unmasking of a key bad guy -- clearly intended as a shocker -- is disappointingly obvious.  The second and final climax is unsurprising but satisfying.

With all the action, suspense, and mystery that Baldacci provides, The Innocent will probably appeal to a Hollywood producer, particularly since brash, snarly fourteen-year-old girls always make appealing movie characters.  Thriller fans don’t need to wait for Hollywood; The Innocent ran like a movie in my imagination as I was reading it.

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