The Long Tomorrow by Leigh Brackett

First published in 1955

Despite its acclaim as an early vision of America after a nuclear war, The Long Tomorrow doesn't have the same impact as the best examples of post-apocalyptic fiction. Leigh Brackett's 1955 novel nonetheless deserves its status as a science fiction "classic," albeit more for the message it delivers than for the quality of the story it tells.

After the war, cities are widely regarded as a source of wickedness, although Len Colter's grandmother remembers them with fondness, as places with electricity and indoor plumbing, supermarkets and movie theaters. The people best equipped to survive the annihilation aren't city dwellers but those who are accustomed to living a simple rural life. The Mennonites have multiplied, a trend that is enhanced by a constitutional amendment prohibiting cities of more than one thousand residents. The religious values that inform the Mennonite leaders also (not so coincidentally) work to their economic advantage. The Mennonites, however, have little use for members of another fast-growing religion, the fire-and-brimstone fundamentalists who preach hatred and urge that sinners (including those who advocate urban growth) be subjected to the usual range of biblical torments, including death by stoning.

Len has a rebellious instinct that no amount of whipping will extinguish. His desire for knowledge, his will to know what exists in the world beyond the village limits, might be sinful -- the sin of pride, his father tells him -- but Len is willing to accept damnation for the sake of learning the truth. After his grandmother explains that, before the war, the government built a town in the west called Bartorstown, populated with scientists dedicated to a secret project, Len resolves to find it, hoping it will be the source of enlightenment he craves. Thus Len and his cousin Esau begin a journey across a post-apocalyptic landscape. The truth about Bartorstown comes as a surprise and the story takes an interesting turn as it nears the end.

Like many dystopian tales, The Long Tomorrow has a cautionary message. This one is about the evils of intolerance and thought-control, the value of independent thinking. The fear of cities expressed in Brackett's novel is really a fear of progressive thinking, a belief that life was better (in modern terms, that "family values" were stronger) in the good old days. Knowledge is condemned because it was misused; a retreat from knowledge is seen as the path to salvation. Still, as Len comes to realize, even if we can be cleansed of sin (as his people believe), we can never be cleansed of knowledge -- "there is no mystical escape from it." Deliberate ignorance is not the antidote to dangerous knowledge; wisdom is. Perhaps themes that were compelling in 1955 now seem dated, but the argument that there should be limits to knowledge, particularly when knowledge contradicts biblical teachings, retains a twenty-first century following. The argument that cities were destroyed in a nuclear war because they were "sinful" finds echoes in similar remarks made about New Orleans after Katrina.

I've never been as appreciative of Brackett's prose as some sf fans. She was a perfectly capable writer, but (at least to me) her style is no more "literary" than that of many other well-recognized sf writers of her era. Still, her writing becomes more resonant as the story progresses. On occasion the novel has the flavor of a western; at other times there's a hint of Huckleberry Finn, although Huck's trip down the Mississippi is vastly more eventful than Len's underwhelming voyage along the Ohio River. Other "message" novels manage more subtlety than this one. Although The Long Tomorrow doesn't make it into my personal canon of cherished sf novels from the 1950s, it endures as an enjoyable read.

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The Barcelona Brothers by Carlos Zanón

Published by Other Press on August 28, 2012

“Like a black angel of memory, almost every tale, every occurrence finds an echo inside the walls of the barrio.”  The Barcelona Brothers (from which this quotation is drawn) tells a story of intertwined lives, of barrio residents reacting to the echo of a dramatic event that will force them to reexamine their desperate lives.

The novel opens with the mother of all bar fights.  Tanveer Hussein loses.  His assailant, Epi Dalmau, flees.  Epi’s brother Alex, a medicated schizophrenic, witnesses the killing, as does Salva, the bar’s owner.  Rumors spread around the barrio about the cause and perpetrator of the assault on Tanveer, all of them wrong.  As the story progresses, glimpses of the past alternate with snatches of the present, providing clues to Epi’s motive for attacking Tanveer. That Tanveer deserves to die becomes increasingly apparent as his violent life is revealed, yet Epi seems an unlikely assassin.

The story drifts from past to present, from one damaged character to another.  Whether they are central to the story or playing a bit part, the characters are unique and unforgettable.  Tiffany Brisette, Tanveer’s girlfriend, is driven by the need to feel empowered.  She thinks she can control the game when she’s with a man because she’s the only one who knows they’re playing a game.  Her sister Jamelia, a little slow and befuddled by life (and by far the novel’s sweetest character), is convinced that God will eventually punish Tiffany for being mean to everyone.  Aging part-time sex worker Rocío Baeza just wants to stay alive while she supplements her family’s income.  Allawi, like barbers everywhere, is the barrio’s central repository of gossip.

Carlos Zanón writes with insight and sensitivity about hopeless and forgotten lives.  His characters are incapable of planning or of achieving goals because in their lives “one thing knocks away another, like in a billiards game.”  Their aspirations are simple -- a stable relationship, a job, a good life -- but unattainable.  Although they seem destined to make bad choices, it’s not clear that good choices are ever available.  They are prisoners of their own fatalism.  They live together but they are alone, “their hearts withered by solitude.”

The barrio itself is virtually a character.  This isn’t the Barcelona of fashion models, art museums, and trendy tapas bars, where happy tourists play on white sand beaches.  It is a gritty place where dreams shatter like the windows of abandoned cars, a locked warehouse that isolates the poor and the mentally ill and the drug addicted, a place where the criminal underclass allies with the Arab immigrants who are shunned elsewhere.

Zanón’s powerful prose builds and maintains teeth-clenching tension as the story moves to a conclusion that the reader will both anticipate and dread.  It seems inevitable that at least one luckless life will end tragically, yet the final chapters leave room for the reader’s imagination to fill in the gaps.  Some readers will dislike the uncertainty, the feeling that the novel isn’t quite finished, but I appreciated the respite it offered from the sense of impending doom that pervades much of the story.

Although I loved The Barcelona Brothers, I recognize that many readers will not.  If you are looking for humor and warmth, look elsewhere.  If you do not like a book unless you like the characters, if you believe fictional characters should always learn lessons or experience moral transformations, this is not the book for you.  The world doesn't always work that way, and The Barcelona Brothers reflects that reality.

It is a tribute to Zanón that he made me care so much about such disagreeable people.  If, like me, you appreciate strong and uncompromising writing that examines the hearts and minds of realistic (albeit broken) characters in dark settings, you will find much to admire in The Barcelona Brothers.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Devil in Silver by Victor LaValle

Published by Spiegel & Grau on August 21, 2012

A large man who calls himself Pepper is detained for 72 hours of observation in a psychiatric hospital after a run-in with a trio of cops who are too lazy to arrest him. Drugged into a zombie-like state by psychotropic medications, Pepper is menaced by some sort of creature. Is it real or a construct of his addled brain? Is it the Devil or is there a logical explanation for the creature's presence?

As the days go by, the hospital turns out to be a lot like Hotel California: you can check out, but you can never leave. When patients start to check out -- killed by the Devil? -- Pepper decides to investigate. Whatever the thing might be, it lives behind a silver door and staff members seem to be protecting it.

The Devil in Silver is an unconventional horror story. Victor LaValle's accurate rendering of a psychiatric ward is enough to provoke shudders -- more so, in fact, than the resident monster. The novel's strength lies in its characterization of Pepper and the other patients. Their antics provide a large dose of comedy to offset the horror. The sheer loopiness of the story is, in fact, what sustained my interest. This isn't the most politically correct novel you'll ever read, but it's often quite funny.

The best horror stories persuade the reader that the nightmare is real. The Devil in Silver is just too goofy to be frightening, but again, this isn't a conventional horror story. Instead, LaValle seems to suggest that true horror is found in the abuse of power: by trigger-happy police officers, by hospital administrators who place profit ahead of treatment, by clinicians who overmedicate patients because a docile patient population is less work. Some chapters seem like an homage to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, to which LaValle makes occasional reference, but The Devil in Silver moves in a much different direction than Ken Kesey's classic.

While The Devil in Silver is entertaining, it does have faults. The narration calls attention to itself with a flippant attitude and it occasionally speaks directly to the reader (with phrases like "you won't be too surprised to learn"). The narrative voice is distracting; it frequently took me out of the story. A long section devoted to the history of a rat named LeClair is an amusing but unnecessary digression. A chapter that doesn't work very well recounts the story of Vincent Van Gough to make a veiled point about the lack of attention given to institutionalized patients in contemporary America. The ending is a bit of a letdown.

Faults notwithstanding, The Devil in Silver works as light comedy that addresses a dark subject. It isn't easy to avoid burying the serious within the fluff of frivolity, but LaValle manages to balance humor and tragedy in a story that is strange but purposeful.

RECOMMENDED

Shake Off by Mischa Hiller

Published by Mulholland Books on August 14, 2012 

Intifada has its origin in an Arabic word meaning "to shake off"; hence the title. By the novel's end, shaking off his past (and possibly his codeine addiction) will be Michel Khoury's greatest challenge.

Although he carries a Lebanese passport (among others), Khoury is a Palestinian. He was born in a refugee camp in Beirut where his parents were murdered by Lebanese Phalangists. As a result of that experience (as well as his admiration of Primo Levi's writing), Khoury comes to identify with Jewish victims of atrocities and to understand that "no suffering is unique" while at the same time resenting the loss of his own feeling of uniqueness.

While Khoury is in foster care, he is recruited by a shadowy figure named Abu Leila, given an education, and trained in the techniques of espionage. Leila tells Khoury that he will be working as an undercover PLO agent. Although he has trained Khoury to be wary of "the competition" (Israel), Leila clearly has his own agenda and seems to be harbor some resentment of Arafat's approach to leadership.

Things go wrong for Khoury after he takes delivery of an envelope in London and brings it to Leila in Berlin. Although the contents of the envelope are a mystery to Khoury (and to the reader), it soon becomes apparent that the envelope will create trouble for both men. The mystery is a good one; I was surprised by the revelation that comes when the envelope is finally opened.

Mischa Hiller adds a love story (and a fling story) to flesh out this novel of intrigue, although the love story is uninspired, standard fare for a spy novel.  Hiller avoids the obvious ending that I feared in favor of a more nuanced resolution. Apart from Khoury, the characters lack depth.  Khoury, on the other hand, has an interesting and credible background. The demons that drive him make him a sympathetic character.

Although the characters express political opinions, I give Hiller credit for telling a good story without overtly pushing a political point of view. There is a political message in the story, but it is delivered with subtlety and even-handedness. Unlike some spy novels set in the Middle East, Shake Off neither distorts nor sensationalizes history.

Hiller doesn't waste words; no subplots are added that would detract from the novel's pace or interfere with the mounting suspense. He tells his tale in workmanlike prose. Still, it is the plot and the protagonist rather than the prose that make Shake Off worth reading.

RECOMMENDED

Where the Bodies Are Buried by Christopher Brookmyre

Published by Atlantic Monthly Press on July 10, 2012 

Set in Scotland, Where the Bodies Are Buried is a carefully constructed, multi-layered mystery with convincing characters told in winning prose. Christopher Brookmyre writes Tartan Noir, but Where the Bodies Are Buried is a departure from his typical fare. His novels have tended to feature recurring characters and the noir has been brightened by more than a wee bit of comedy. Not so with Where the Bodies Are Buried.

Jasmine Sharp is a hapless young newbie private investigator employed by her Uncle Jim. When Jim disappears, Jasmine looks into the two missing persons cases he was most recently investigating: one involving Anne Ramsey's parents and baby brother, who drove away and were never seen again; the other a gangland enforcer and debt collector named Glen Fallan. Both cases are more than two decades old. Jasmine's attempt to track down Jim leads her to a mysterious character named Tron Ingrams who lives in a violent world that she is ill-equipped to inhabit.

Jai McDiarmid thinks that Tony McGill, a/k/a the Gallowhaugh Godfather, has "a face you would never get sick of kicking" but it is Jai's face that feels the boot, shortly before he's shot to death. It falls to Detective Superintendent Catherine McLeod to learn who killed Jai, but she has to battle the bureaucracy within her own department to make any headway.

The two storylines develop in alternating chapters, the death toll rising in each until, about two-thirds of the way into the novel, they join together. The linked mysteries that Catherine and Jasmine unravel are good ones; the clever connection between the two stories baffled me until it was revealed. The plot is both smart and credible, an unusual combination in thrillerworld. The pace is perfect for an intellectual thriller: occasional bursts of action keep the pages turning without becoming mired in explosions and improbable gun battles.

The characters are just as strong as the story. Catherine and Jasmine are a study in contrasts. Jasmine's insecurity -- her well-founded fear that she is likely to screw up any task she undertakes -- makes her a sympathetic character. Catherine, on the other hand, is supremely confident. Having once been coerced to lie in court to cover up the blunder of a fellow officer, she's developed an independent streak that allows her to resist the demands of solidarity imposed by her peers. The male characters have less depth, but that's not a serious problem: the story belongs to the women.

The quality of Brookmyre's writing is well above the thriller norm. The dialog sounds as true as conversations overheard through an open window. Scottish accents and slang add color to the characters. Brookmyre describes the surroundings with camera lens clarity, from "the aspirational Glasgow of tourist brochures" to "a neglected-looking stretch ... like a withered appendage at the end of Argyle Street, where the chain stores and logos gave way to hand-written posters full of stray apostrophes."

The story's ending is a little too neat and the final pages drag a bit as Brookmyre labors to tie up every loose thread in a way that is designed to satisfy readers. Still, there is little to dislike about this intelligent, engaging novel.

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