The Dispatcher by Ryan David Jahn

First published in Great Britain in 2011; published in US by Penguin on December 27, 2011

Maggie Hunt was kidnapped at the age of seven by a fellow named Henry Dean. At the age of fourteen she escapes and calls 911. The 911 dispatcher happens to be her father, Ian Hunt, who has recently organized and attended her funeral. Henry recaptures Maggie before she can do more than identify herself to her father, but her taste of freedom fuels Maggie's resolve to escape again. And, of course, hearing his daughter's voice sends Ian on a manhunt (or daughter-hunt) to find Maggie and her captor.

The Dispatcher has its problems but the pluses slightly outweigh the minuses. The story is a bit twisted (that's a plus) but far from original (a minus). It's more than a little difficult to believe a loser like Henry could commit the crimes he's committed over a period of years -- in a small town, no less -- and avoid suspicion (a minus). As befits a girl who has been held captive and physically abused for half her life, Maggie's mental stability is questionable; in that regard she isn't portrayed as a typical victim (a plus). On the other hand, she's emotionally stronger than a real kid would likely be under those circumstances (a credibility problem that counts as a small minus). Other than Maggie, the characters -- even Henry -- have well-constructed personalities; they have significantly greater depth than is commonly found in thrillers (a plus). Some of the characters have amusing flaws that give them a breath of reality while lightening a dark story with needed humor (a plus). Point of view frequently shifts from character to character, keeping the narrative lively and interesting (a plus). Straight through to the ending the story is simple and predictable (a big minus) but knowing what will transpire doesn't bleed the excitement from the novel's best moments (a big plus).

Although The Dispatcher suffers from an unremarkable plot, the novel's biggest plus is Ryan David Jahn's writing style. He tells a perfectly paced story; fast enough to maintain interest without feeling rushed. He doles out creepy details (like a dog running around with a human hand in its mouth) to whet the reader's appetite for whatever is coming next. He takes a story that's been done many times before and makes it seem fresh (at least until it ends, when the realization sets in that Jahn really did nothing new). His dialog is strong. He puts us inside the minds of his characters and shows us their scattered thoughts, making it easy to understand their (sometimes improbable) actions. Henry is the personification of evil yet he's a credible character. Even Henry's spectacularly dull-witted wife is credible. If Maggie had been more believable and the plot more original, I would give this novel an enthusiastic recommendation. As it stands, I recommend it without urging readers to move it to the top of their reading lists.

RECOMMENDED

The Lake by Banana Yoshimoto

Published in Japanese in 2005; published in translation by Melville House on May 3, 2011

Having often seen each other through their apartment windows, Chihiro and Nakajima meet and become friends, bonding over their grief for their deceased mothers. The friendship evolves into something more, although the precise nature of their relationship is something Chihiro can't quite define, even after they are living together. Nakajima is tormented by the pain of something in his past. He eventually asks Chihiro to accompany him on a visit to Mino and Chii, strange siblings who live on a lake. Chii is bedridden; she speaks through Mino, who channels her voice through an apparent telepathic connection. Meanwhile, Chihiro is painting a mural on a wall that may be torn down. Her relationship with Nakajima has the same risk of impermanence as he contemplates applying for a research position in Paris. Eventually we learn a defining secret about Nakajima's past and the nature of his relationship with Mino and Chii.

To some extent, The Lake is about the nature of perception and illusion. Chihiro recognizes that "we keep our gazes fixed, day after day, on the things we want to see" while averting our attention from life's ugliness. Nakajima isn't like that; he sees the world as it is, all of it, and his perception of reality forces Chihiro to do the same: she is "awed by his terrible depths." Nakajima has survived a harrowing ordeal, the details of which are only sketchily revealed for much of the novel. The Lake isn't so much about what happened to Nakajima or even how his life has been affected by it (he tells his story only in the story's final pages); the focus is on Chihiro's response to Nakajima both before and after she learns the truth.

If you're craving a plot-driven story that's filled with dramatic tension, this isn't the novel for you. A good bit of The Lake consists of Chihiro's introspection, her thoughts about her art, her goals, her parents, her personal growth. More importantly, The Lake is an internal examination of a heart. Chihiro analyzes her emotions, strips away superficiality, constructs a detailed understanding of her feelings about Nakajima. Her analysis changes from moment to moment as she reevaluates her emotions and redefines love. Chihiro compares Nakajima's relationship with his mother to her own memories of a mother who worked as a Mama-san in a bar. All of this is interesting, even illuminating, but at the same time so strange that it didn't entirely resonate with me. My sense of detachment from the narrative continued to grow as I continued to read.

In the end, I'm not quite sure I understand what Banana Yoshimoto was trying to do in The Lake. It's about the difficulty (and necessity) of opening your heart but there's more to it than that. It can be read as a simple love story about two "ridiculously fragile people," as Chihiro suggests, but I don't see Chihiro as fragile. If anything, she's emblematic of the strength that arises from goodness and compassion. To an extent, Yoshimoto is exploring love that germinates from mutual dependence rather than physical desire, or love as a healing force. The character of Chii gives the narrative a supernatural quality that seems out of place with the rest of the story; I'm not quite sure why she's there.

Ultimately, The Lake didn't quite work for me, but it worked well enough. I admire the intensity of the narrative and the way Yoshimoto captures the essence of her characters in just a few words. Of Mino she writes: "He was quiet in the way people are when they believe the world would get along just fine without them." Sentences like that kept me reading even if I didn't fully engage with the larger points Yoshimoto intended to make.

RECOMMENDED

The Odds by Stewart O'Nan

Published by Viking Adult on January 19, 2012

Art and Marion have serious financial and marital problems.  After thirty years of marriage, they are returning to Niagra Falls, not for a second honeymoon but for a final hurrah before their bankruptcy and a divorce that they hope will shelter their assets.  Art and Marion are not a happy couple.  Art views a minor bus accident as a missed opportunity to die.  Marion has perfected the art of ignoring Art.  Although Art adores Marion, she has never forgiven his affair with Wendy Daigle twenty years earlier, while he never even noticed her retaliatory fling with her friend Karen.

Although they plan to divorce, Art and Marion may or may not continue seeing each other -- deciding their mutual fate seems to be one of their reasons for taking this trip.  Art loves Marion and clearly wants to be with her.  Marion doesn’t seem to know what she wants as she vacillates between doing nothing to encourage Art and (less successfully) doing nothing to hurt him.  The novel’s hook is a gambling scheme that might rescue their finances and perhaps their marriage, although the scheme is, for the most part, relegated to the final pages.  Throughout most of the story, Art and Marion are sightseeing or getting ready for dinner.

The narrative is like an intricate dance as Art and Marion move around each other, approach and then distance themselves, rarely saying what they are thinking, topping off thirty years of imperfect communication with a last effort to rekindle a connection that may no longer exist.  If Marion is finally ready to start forgiving Art, he can’t read her well enough to overcome his wariness:  so many of his overtures have been rejected during her “long, bitter stretches of indifference” that he hesitates to risk another.  Marion is maddening in her “now I love you, now I don’t” approach to her relationship with Art, making it difficult to understand what Art still sees in her.  They both have “a genius for self pity.”  Art is driven by guilt of twenty years standing while Marion’s life is largely defined by regret.  Is that enough to sustain a novel?  Barely.

The Odds is more interesting than captivating, in part because it’s difficult to form an emotional connection to Art and Marion.  Stewart O’Nan convincingly illustrates the stagnation of marriage but it’s almost painful to read about two people who, after thirty years together, are either unable to communicate or communicate all too well.  Art needs to grow a spine while Marion needs to give her grievances a rest.  It becomes wearisome to read about two people who are so entrenched in misery, although O’Nan makes the story bearable with his snappy prose and lighthearted approach.  He fills the novel with pithy remarks like “His idea of gallantry was ignoring her shortcomings, which only drew more attention to them.”  The ending is a bit abrupt, the story of their marriage unresolved, but that’s life.  On the whole, this is a novel I can recommend for its funny moments and for the shrewdness of O’Nan’s observations and but not so much for the story it tells. 

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Kurt Vonnegut: The Last Interview by Kurt Vonnegut et al.

Published by Melville House on December 16, 2011

Kurt Vonnegut's last interview was fairly short, not nearly long enough to fill a book. It is joined in this volume with five other interviews that span thirty years. Not surprisingly, this leads to some redundancy; Vonnegut liked to tell the same stories and interviewers tended to ask the same questions (who wouldn't, after all, want to ask Vonnegut about the firebombing of Dresden?). Vonnegut discusses his family in nearly every interview; at least four times we hear that his brother patented the process for making rain with silver iodide. On the other hand, we hear almost nothing about the bulk of his fiction, an omission I found disappointing.

The first interview is actually a compilation of four separate interviews that were cobbled together by Vonnegut himself and published in The Paris Review in 1977. Vonnegut talks about his service in World War II, his imprisonment by the Germans in Dresden, and, in general terms, his writing. My favorite quotation from that interview (responding to critics who considered him "barbarous" because he studied chemistry and anthropology rather than classic literature): "I think it can be tremendously refreshing if a creator of literature has something on his mind other than the history of literature so far."

The second interview was published in The Nation in 1980. It focuses on the firebombing of Dresden (the subject of Slaughterhouse-Five) and on nuclear weapons (featured in Cat's Cradle). Vonnegut's most interesting thought concerns his belief that most people lack enthusiasm for life.

A Playboy interview from 1992 -- the best in the book and the most overtly political -- pairs Vonnegut with Joseph Heller. The discussion is wide ranging and features a fair amount of literary (and non-literary) name dropping. Heller and Vonnegut were both World War II veterans; Vonnegut makes some interesting points about the difference between that war and the bombing in the first Iraq war (including the observation that WWII soldiers hoped they didn't have to kill anyone while modern bomb droppers tend to have no such qualms). Here's Vonnegut on censorship and the First Amendment, a statement I applaud: "your government is not here to keep you from having your feelings hurt."

A 2006 interview from Stop Smiling is notable for Vonnegut's discussion of the artwork he did in collaboration with Joe Petro (he saw it as "protesting the meaninglessness in life"). It also updates his political thinking (suffice it to say that he wasn't optimistic about the direction in which the country was moving). Vonnegut saw the extended family as a solution to the nation's problems, but given the impracticality of the extended family in modern America, he advocated having fun. His most telling statement: "I've said everything I want to say and I'm embarrassed to have lived this long."

A condensation of four interviews between 2000 and 2007 (the last a month before his death) is more of the same, but I was struck by how such a big-hearted man, so in love with people despite his continual disappointment in their actions, was so gloomy about his own existence. In a comment worthy of Mark Twain (with whom he had much in common), Vonnegut said: "As you may know, I'm suing a cigarette company because their product hasn't killed me yet."

The final interview, two months before Vonnegut's 2007 death, appeared in In These Times, for which Vonnegut occasionally wrote. Vonnegut was not well; consequently, the interview is very brief. He discusses religion (Vonnegut was a humanist who came from a family of freethinkers) and politics, including a very funny letter he wrote to Iraq describing the path it should follow on the way to becoming a democracy.

Vonnegut was a national treasure. His fans will surely enjoy these interviews, but those who are looking for insight into his thinking beyond his novels might want to pick up his various books of essays, which capture his worldview in greater depth, including his last, A Man Without a Country.

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Once a Spy by Keith Thomson

Published by Doubleday on March 9, 2010

Charles Clark, a less than successful racetrack gambler, always thought his father, "Hum" Drummond, lived up to his nickname: a dull, plodding, colorless man. Now that Drummond is afflicted with Alzheimer's, however, someone seems intent on killing him. Charles doesn't understand why anyone would want his hapless, harmless father dead. Watching his father avoid assassination, Charles is amazed to discover that Drummond has hidden talents: he is adept at spotting surveillance teams, hotwiring cars, and disarming attackers. Soon Charles learns that Drummond's life as a washing machine salesman (and as a father) was simply a cover for his true vocation: Drummond is a spy. Unfortunately, unless he is having one of his rare lucid moments, Drummond doesn't remember being a spy and can't recall the identity of his employer. It falls to Charles to help his father stay alive long enough to uncover (or remember) the truth.

From this clever premise Keith Thomson weaves a surprisingly funny story. I took it in the spirit in which it is written, as a humorous look at clandestine service. Don't expect a serious spy novel; the reason that Drummond's life is in danger is just short of preposterous, as are many of the events that occur while the fast-moving plot unfolds. Still, this spoof of a spy novel isn't played entirely for laughs. Drummond is set up as an authentic operative, unlike Maxwell Smart or Austin Powers. The story delivers the sort of action that befits a thriller without ever taking itself too seriously.

Keith Thomson's clean prose style is well suited to the subject matter: it isn't flashy and it doesn't get in the way of the action. The story moves quickly to a satisfying conclusion. I wouldn't call Once a Spy memorable (either as a spy story or as comedy) but it's the sort of light, quick, enjoyable read that clears the mind between weightier books.

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