Archive 17 by Sam Eastland

First published in the UK as Siberian Red in 2011; published in US by Bantam on February 28, 2012

Shortly after he offers to tell the commandant the location of Col. Kolchak, a man named Rybakov is murdered in a Siberian prison camp. Stalin, believing that he watched Kolchak die, is alarmed to learn that he might still be alive. Stalin assigns Pekkala to investigate Rybakov's death and to find Kolchak. Pekkala was the Tsar's most trusted investigator before the Revolution, a unique position that carried an insignia and title: the Emerald Eye. Despite his connection to the Tsar (which resulted in years of imprisonment after his post-Revolution arrest), Pekkala now works for Stalin in the Bureau of Special Operations.

Posing as a prisoner, Pekkala returns to the Siberian camp where he survived years of forced labor in the frozen wilderness, marking trees for cutting. Pekkala's investigation of Kolchak's murder is hampered by an unfriendly camp commandant, a hostile guard, and a troika of prisoners who are all that remain of the Comitati, Kolchak's loyal followers. Pekkala soon realizes Stalin's true agenda: the hope that his investigation will lead Pekkala to the supply of Imperial gold that Kolchak was hiding for the Tsar's family. Yet the answer to the Kolchak mystery may lie in Archive 17, where inconvenient information goes to die.

Archive 17 blends riveting action with psychological tension as characters are forced to confront current threats and terrors from their past. There is a subtlety to Sam Eastland's characterizations that isn't a common feature of modern thrillers. Even characters who aren't at the forefront of the novel -- including Stalin's personal assistant and a sadistic prison guard -- have well-formed personalities.

Eastland peppers his story with atmospheric detail that contributes to its illusion of reality. His writing style is economical, resulting in a narrative that is rich but short. Layers of intrigue rise to a dramatic pinnacle as the story progresses. The novel's conclusion is surprisingly satisfying.

This is the third Eastland novel to feature Pekkala. It isn't necessary to read the first two (I haven't) to understand this one. I nonetheless intend to place the first two novels on my reading list. Pekkala is a fascinating creation of a skilled writer.

RECOMMENDED

Dogma by Lars Iyer

Published by Melville House on February 21, 2012

Lars and W., two friends last seen wandering through life in Spurious, return in Dogma. The end is still near. Lars is still the butt of W's scathing criticism and the recipient of his opinions on subjects ranging from courtship to capitalism. Lars' flat is still damp. Lars and W. are still loyal to their idealistic vision of an unspoiled Canada. They are still fond of Kafka and Plymouth gin. They are still trying to understand religion and Rosenzweig. They still embrace life while feeling defeated by it, no more consequential than "leaves swept up in an autumn storm."

New in Dogma: W. images himself as Diogenes while visiting Nashville ("the Athens of the South"), while deeming Lars "a Diogenes gone mad"; Lars and W. compare the British to Americans (who can't make true distinctions, particularly when it comes to gin); Lars writes poetry of despair; W. takes Lars on a pointing tour of Plymouth (where Lars photographs W. pointing at architecture he admires).

Also new is the intellectual movement that W. and Lars decide to christen. They call it Dogma. Dogma has rules. Dogma is spartan, full of pathos, sincere, and collaborative. Ironically, W. and Lars are none of those things, making them poor standard-bearers for the movement they invent. They are, however, according to W., "the last friends of thought." It is up to them to keep thought alive. That effort is slightly hampered by a new rule: "The Dogmatist must always be drunk" because "who can bear the thoughts that must be thought?" Fortunately they think just as much, and about as clearly, when they are drunk as when they are sober, although after drinking they have trouble remembering the other rules (not that it matters, since they add new rules on a whim).

In my favorite section of Dogma, Lars and W. travel to America on a lecture tour (their lectures, unsurprisingly, are sparsely attended). As the best and (mostly) worst of America rolls past -- novelty motels, "huge crosses looming over nowhere," miniature golf courses -- I was reminded of Humbert Humbert in Lolita. W. is as acerbic as Humbert but funnier; his commentary provokes chuckles and occasional belly laughs ("They've made a Disneyland of Armageddon!").

When a sequel is more of the same, a reader probably shouldn't complain if it is a sequel to something wonderful. Dogma gives us more of the same biting humor, more of the same maddening characters, more of the same nutrition for our minds. Still, one of the things I loved about Spurious was the sense that I'd never read anything like it. That magical feeling was missing while reading Dogma, because I've read something exactly like it: Spurious. And that, really, is one of my only two complaints about Dogma: the feeling that I was reading outtakes from Spurious. The second is that Dogma has more philosopher in-jokes than Spurious (at least I think they're in-jokes; not being a philosopher I can't pretend to understand them). I think Spurious is a bit more accessible to those of us who aren't intimately acquainted with the history of philosophy.

Those mild criticisms aside, Dogma is just as funny and provocative and stimulating as Spurious. These books are as much about friendship as anything else, and reading Dogma is like visiting old friends (albeit the kind of friends you want to keep at a distance lest they begin to annoy). I'll therefore look forward to the third book of Lars Iyer's trilogy, but with the hope that Iyer finds a way to differentiate it from the first two.

RECOMMENDED

The Technologists by Matthew Pearl

Published by Random House on February 21, 2012

In 1868, the navigational instruments on every ship in foggy Boston Harbor go haywire at the same instant, causing a disastrous series of shipwrecks.  Soon thereafter, all the glass along a Boston street liquefies.  The baffled authorities, fearing that “the darkest reaches of science and mechanical arts” are responsible for the disasters, need expert assistance to find an explanation.  Will that help come from venerable Harvard or its fledgling rival, the Institute of Technology?  The conflict pits a professor at Harvard against the president of MIT, and William Blakie, a leading Harvard student and pompous moralizer, against Marcus Mansfield, a working class kid who was plucked from his job as a machinist to become one of MIT’s first students.  Mansfield and two fellow students turn to practical science to solve the mystery.  The call themselves the Technologists.

At times The Technologists seems like an extended science lesson, but it is never dull.  There are moments of wicked humor; college students and pranks go hand-in-hand while making fun of the pretentious is always good sport.  The possibility of romance arises with each appearance of the frosty Ellen Swallow, MIT’s lone female student, although not with Mansfield; Agnes the chambermaid is more his speed.  Flashbacks to the Civil War add another layer of interest.  The novel eventually mixes elements of a thriller with an intriguing whodunit that invites the reader to puzzle out the identity of Boston’s saboteur.  Matthew Pearl employs misdirection to good effect, yet still plays fair:  there are subtle clues to the culprit’s identity planted along the way.  Shrewder readers than I might identify the villain before his or her identity is finally revealed.

The Technologists pursues a number of interesting themes, many centering around educational models that were undergoing a revolution in the latter half of the nineteenth century.  Harvard represents the “classic education” that values tradition and faith while upstart MIT favors factual accuracy and scientific investigation.  There is no room for the “new sciences” -- chemistry and physics -- at Harvard while they are the bread-and-butter of MIT.  Academics and politicians debate the wisdom of teaching science to women, of educating students who are not “morally fit” (i.e., are not devout Christians), and of waiving tuition for students from the lower classes (who, in the view of some, will never be the sort of gentlemen who can benefit from their studies).  Should education remain entirely in the lofty realm of theory or should students get their hands dirty performing experiments?  Although the reader knows which side prevailed, the debates offer a fascinating look at the evolution of modern education.

Sometimes the characters in The Technologists seem a bit too Dickensian, but that’s also part of the novel’s charm.  I prefer characters with greater depth and endings that are a bit less formulaic (even the last chapters are a throwback to Dickens), but I can’t fault Pearl for writing a novel that is exciting, interesting, and fun.

RECOMMENDED

The Coward's Tale by Vanessa Gebbie

First published in UK in 2011; published by Bloomsbury USA on February 28, 2012

When we take the time to look beneath the surface, people are not always what they seem to be.  Sometimes those who seem cowardly are not cowards at all.  Sometimes atonement is mistaken for guilt.  In her unapologetically humane novel, Vanessa Gebbie reminds us of the patience and effort that is required to understand another person, and of the rewards awaiting those who make the effort.

Eccentric doesn’t begin to describe the characters in The Coward’s Tale.  In Chaucer-like fashion, their stories are related by Ianto Passchendaele Jenkins, the town beggar, in exchange for coffee and toffee.  Some of the stories teach lessons; some are gossipy; some are funny and some are heartbreaking.  Occasionally it’s difficult to grasp the point of a particular story, but getting to know the peculiar characters is reason enough to read The Coward’s Tale.

Jenkins has a story about everyone in town, as well as their ancestors.  A few examples will give a flavor of Gebbie’s creations:  Icarus Evans, the shop teacher, is consumed by the challenge of making a wooden feather that will float on currents of air; he never stops trying to achieve the impossible.  Jimmy Half (for halfwit or half-alive) Harris, born dead and buried before coming to life, cannot speak, although he was born to be a poet.  Factual Philips, a deputy librarian who covers his walls with diagrams, maps, charts, and lists, with particular attention to the clues and deductions that lead Sherlock Holmes to the truth that lurks behind mystery, finally gets a chance to solve a mystery of his own.  Also obsessed by maps is the town undertaker, Tutt Bevan, who revisits his childhood as he walks through the town in a straight line.  Touching stories explain why the son of a man who died in a coal mine became a window washer, why the son of a thief sneaks into houses at night, why Ianto tells stories while others toil.

In addition to Ianto, a boy named Laddy Merridew furnishes a common thread to bind the stories together.  Laddy wanders about the town, observing and interacting with its inhabitants, feeling lost and unsettled, worrying about his divorcing parents and trying to decide where he should live, listening to Ianto’s stories and wondering whether they are true or just more lies told by an adult.  In many respects Laddy is a young version of Ianto, while Ianto sees his lost brother in Laddy.

As they progress, Ianto’s stories become more serious.  They begin to echo each other:  broken windows and shadows and reflections are recurring images.  The stories share and develop themes.  Maps are bad because “they stop us from finding new places” or they “make places different to how they are in our heads,” although a self-made map can help you confront fears and find your own path.  A nearby coal mine inaptly named the Kindly Light appears in many of the stories, eventually becoming the novel’s central focus.  It is the site of a disaster that worked unexpected changes upon the town and its people -- Ianto most of all.

Witty, wise, and charming, intense and powerful, The Coward’s Tale offers a remarkable blend of humor and pathos.  The novel illustrates the importance of storytelling as an instrument of healing and community bonding.  Ianto’s stories inspire hope even in their saddest moments.  They encourage forgiveness and understanding as they reveal the frailties and faults of the townspeople.  The sad but perfect ending is the final knot that ties the stories together.

Gebbie writes musically rhythmic prose, forming sentences as sharp and shimmery as broken glass.  Both in style and content, The Coward’s Tale is an outstanding novel.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Exogene by T.C. McCarthy

Published by Orbit on March 1, 2012

Germline, the first novel of The Subterrene War series, told the story of a journalist who became a part of the war he was covering, participating in battles and growing emotionally attached to genetically bred female soldiers called Germlines.  In Exogene, the second novel in the series, the focus is on one of the Germlines, a genetic named Catherine.  “Faith and death” is the genetic creed.  Combat is a test of faith; death is the welcome reward, the entrance to a promised afterlife.  Yet the reality of war changes people, even people who have been nurtured in vats and programmed to kill.

Catherine is a perfect killer. At 16 1/2, she is the finest genetic soldier ever produced in America.  Yet Catherine begins to feel an unnatural (for a genetic) will to survive, a fear of death that may or may not be an early onset of the “spoiling” that awaits her at the end of her service.  We know from the first novel that Germlines begin to rot away when they turn eighteen.  We also know that despite being conditioned to accept that fate (while craving a more meaningful death on the battlefield), genetics occasionally try to run, to escape the war before reaching their expiration date, an effort that will prove to be futile -- or so they are told by their human creators.

Catherine’s story initially centers on her attempt to escape her makers and her engineered fate.  She eventually falls into the hands of male genetics bred as Russian soldiers.  The Russians are working on something new -- an Exogenic Enhancement, a hybrid of human and machine -- and who knows what the Chinese are doing (not to mention the Koreans).  Hating Americans and Russians about equally, Catherine must make a choice about her future, and it is that choice that drives the novel’s second half.  Since Catherine is handicapped by hallucinations in the form of flashbacks as her mind begins to erode, the second half blends Catherine’s present with snatches of her gritty past.  Yet as the story unfolds and as Catherine’s conception of her purpose evolves, we begin to suspect that Catherine’s moments of superficial clarity are unhinged from reality.  Whether due to spoiling or the drugs she was given or religious rhapsody, Catherine sometimes seems a tad crazy.  That, of course, makes her an interesting character.

While T.C. McCarthy writes combat scenes that are as vivid and exciting as nearly any I’ve encountered in military science fiction, he also writes with poignancy that is too often missing from the genre’s war stories.  McCarthy imbues his characters with greater depth than is common in action-driven stories.  His vision of the future is interesting and more credible than most military sf novels I’ve read.

McCarthy makes impressive use of religion as the force that motivates the Germlines.  The belief that killing is the path to salvation is a common feature of religious zealotry, a point that has been made often enough in fiction, but McCarthy takes it a step beyond the ordinary:  What happens when a zealot begins to suspect that she is not serving God but is killing to serve secular masters? Or, in terms of McCarthy’s story, what happens when a genetic begins to worry that she is not a perfect instrument of God, but a flawed creation of man?  When a genetic who is conditioned to hope the war will never end begins to long for -- not exactly peace, but a chance to kill on her own terms, to destroy an enemy of her own choosing?  There is something both intellectually and emotionally engaging about Catherine’s redefinition of her life’s purpose.  Perhaps Exogene is about the true meaning of freedom (nothing left to lose?) but I think its meaning is open to other interpretations, particularly in light of an unexpected ending that made me question my understanding of Catherine.  That’s one of the things I like about Exogene and Germline:  the novels work as high energy action stories but they operate on other levels as well, giving the reader political and philosophical meat to chew upon.

I felt for the journalist in Germline more deeply than I connected with Catherine, but I think Exogene is in many ways a more cohesive work than its predecessor, and the better of the two novels, albeit only slightly.  Both are worth reading, and I look forward to the next installment.

RECOMMENDED