The Dog Who Knew Too Much by Spencer Quinn

Published by Atria Books on September 6, 2011

A detective story narrated by a dog.  What could be better?  Apart from his impressive understanding of the English language and his ability to narrate books, Chet is very much a dog:  loyal, forgetful, easily distracted, always hungry, fascinated by odors and averse to loud noises, often puzzled by humans but usually willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.  Chet prefers a clear head to deep thought.  He’s a literal thinker:  when he hears that someone is wearing ratty clothing, Chet looks for the rats; when he hears he’s in a one-horse town, Chet looks for the horse; when someone comments that a character’s behavior stinks, Chet wonders why he can’t smell it.

Chet’s partner in the Little Detective Agency is Bernie Little. Bernie is hired to protect a woman from her ex-husband.  The mission changes when the woman’s son disappears on a camping trip.  With Chet’s help, Bernie searches for the missing boy (searching for things, particularly hot dogs, is a task at which Chet excels).  When the search leads to the discovery of a murder victim in a gold mine, Bernie begins to suspect that the woman hasn’t been wholly truthful about the reason he was hired.  A conspiracy is soon unveiled that threatens to separate Chet from Bernie.  As the story progresses, Chet has some solo adventures while maintaining a stream of consciousness commentary on items of interest to the canine nation.

This isn’t the kind of book you want to overanalyze.  Spencer Quinn has a dry sense of humor that matches my own.  He’s a keen observer of dogs; his take on how dogs think kept me laughing from the first page to the last.  The Dog Who Knew Too Much is meant as an entertaining romp and that’s the spirit in which I enjoyed it.  This is apparently the fourth in a series of Chet and Bernie books.  I’m so in love with Chet it made me want to read them all.

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Men in the Making by Bruce Machart

Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt on October 25, 2011

The titular Men in the Making are men learning to accept responsibility and to value their friends and family. Most of them have dirt under their fingernails: they work in sawmills; they farm; they clean the messes made by hospital patients. They live in Texas and Arkansas and Oklahoma. They drink Lone Star and listen to Conway Twitty and Willie Nelson on the jukebox. They spank their children without worrying whether it's politically correct.

Most of the men in Bruce Machart's collection of ten stories are enduring growing pains. They are physically or emotionally scarred. Their wives and mothers have died or abandoned them. They're often longing for something they can't identify. The stories are slices of lives that have already been badly sliced.

My favorite of the ten, "What You're Walking Around Without," is about a man who, after falling from an oil rig, is "stricken with purposeless afflictions, with a lazy eye and a bum leg and a nervous tic, with a hand he can't hold steady enough to touch a woman the way a woman wants to be touched" -- a man who curses himself for resisting his pre-accident girlfriend's pleas to take her virginity, who saved himself for marriage (and protected his girlfriend's virtue) because he believed that to be God's desire. Marriage to the girlfriend is no longer an option (she wants a "whole man"); he now deems himself unfit to marry any woman. As his thoughts return to those long nights of passionate embraces, he cannot understand why his piety was rewarded with pain, why he was left to live. After years of brooding about "a world all too willing to inflict wounds at random," a few words spoken by a neighborhood boy start him on a path toward acceptance of his fate and a better understanding of the life he must live.

Another standout is "Among the Living Amidst the Trees," a story that tells of a distressing day in a man's life. A gruesome race-related murder on Huff Creek Road brings a news crew into a tavern in the mistaken belief that it is a hangout for skinheads. They spark anger that leads to a moment of violence, provoked less by the news crew than by all the pain and anxiety that has engulfed the man. Its cathartic release leads him to a deeper appreciation of his wife.

At his best, Machart reminds me of Donald Ray Pollock and Tim O'Brien. When he's not on his game, however, Machart is like a tennis player who serves with power but lacks finesse. He scores points but in the absence of a complete game he can't compete with the best players. Machart doesn't write with the lightning-flash intensity of observation that characterizes Pollock's work, nor does he have O'Brien's consistent ability to make me feel the depth of a wounded man's soul. A couple of Machart's stories have an insubstantial feel; one reads like the floundering work of a new writer.

Machart's characters are the opposite of Pollock's. His men are decent, sometimes admirable. They try to behave honorably, following codes instilled by the generations of hardworking men who preceded them. They tend to avoid violence and to feel shame when violence overwhelms them. They are humble men trying to make the best of uncertain lives. While the stories aren't consistently first-rate, the best are gems, as are the men he's created.

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The Postmortal by Drew Magary

Published by Penguin on August 30, 2011

In 2019, the "cure for aging" -- gene therapy -- is legal in only four countries, but immortality can be purchased on the black market. The issue is divisive: gene therapy's opponents use terrorist tactics to attack the black market while protests in favor of legalizing the cure turn ugly. The desire to cheat death ultimately triumphs.

John Farrell takes the cure without devoting much thought to its downside: If you stop aging, retirement isn't an option and you can forget about social security. If your parents don't die, you don't inherit. If you live forever, you never experience eternal respite from annoying relatives and politicians, it's less easy to ignore future threats like global warming, and the escape clause from your marital vows -- until death do us part -- becomes a nullity. Couples often say they marry so they can grow old together. Would they bother with marriage if eternal youth made possible an eternal choice of partners? On a more serious note, the pressures of overpopulation would dramatically increase the already unsustainable consumption of finite resources, a predicament that would initially lead to hoarding, then to war, and ultimately to a barren planet.

Beginning in 2019, Farrell blogs about the impact gene therapy has on his life and the world. The introduction to The Postmortal advises us that Farrell's text files are discovered in 2090. Through Farrell's eyes, we watch the escalating disaster: the rise of pro-death pressure, the burgeoning prison populations resulting from life sentences that last forever, the harsh measures China imposes to assure that its citizens forego the cure, the glorification of suicide, the fracturing of society. Some blog entries reproduce news stories, political punditry, and advertisements (including a FAQ promoting a new religion). Some of Farrell's entries are observational, others are personal.

Postmortal is not immortal; death still occurs from injury and disease, suicide and murder. Death is a frequent subject of Farrell's blog as people close to him are killed. After a few decades, Farrell becomes an end specialist (sort of a futuristic Kevorkian, except that the government not only approves of assisted suicide but rewards it with a tax rebate). It is difficult to fault Farrell's role in the postmortal future. Compared, at least, to the roving street gangs, organ thieves, and religious charlatans, Farrell's job seems both necessary and altruistic.

Although Drew Magary describes a terrifying future, he keeps the tone light -- perhaps too light. The Postmortal works surprisingly well as a dystopian comedy (if there is such a thing), but the incongruity of laughter and disaster robs the story of its potential power. In the novel's third act, after an event called "the correction" occurs, the story appears to take a more serious course. The disconnect between humor and horror at that point becomes jarring; it is not a line Magary straddles comfortably. Viewed as a cautionary tale about the consequences of overpopulation, the comedy seems misplaced; viewed as a farcical take on the desire for immortality, the drama overshadows the farce.

Those reservations aside, I have no qualms about recommending The Postmortal to readers who aren't put off by dark comedy. While I got a kick out of Magary's humor (his dialog is both realistic and insanely funny), I also enjoyed pondering the issues he raises. Magary obviously gave considerable imaginative thought to the consequences of a genetic cure for aging (including its impact on home run records). There were times when I thought the story went off course, but there was never a moment when my interest in the novel waned. In the end, Magary tells us, there is only the inevitable end. If you can accept that -- even more, if you can laugh about it -- I suspect you'll like The Postmortal.

RECOMMENDED

The Stranger You Seek by Amanda Kyle Williams

Published by Bantam on August 30, 2011

In the real world, when they aren’t stating the obvious, criminal profilers are wrong about as often as they’re right.  In thriller world, profilers have a miraculous ability to understand the criminal mind.  That is certainly true of Keye Street, the former FBI profiler turned private investigator who stars in The Stranger You Seek.  Fortunately, profiling is a relatively small part of the story.

The Stranger You Seek is a novel of old and new.  The old:  Keye reacted to the ugliness she saw while investigating crime by turning to alcohol, eventually losing her job (hence her gig as a private investigator).  Keye employs an anti-establishment, counterculture computer hacker who can break into highly secure computers (thriller world is full of them and they all seem to work for private investigators).  Keye’s best friend is a police lieutenant who needs her help to find a serial killer.  Soon after Keye joins the hunt, the killer starts writing letters to her police lieutenant friend, taunting him with clues to the next victim.  And, of course, the hunters eventually become the hunted.

The new:  The serial killer writes a “fantasy” blog on a website for knife fetishists.  Keye does realistic bread-and-butter work (serving subpoenas, performing background checks, finding people who jumped bail) when she’s not chasing the killer.  Keye’s   Chinese mother worked as a stripper.  Keye puts yellow mustard on her jalapeño-infused hash browns.

Yes, I’m grasping at straws:  the novel is more old than new.  I liked it anyway.  Amanda Kyle Williams gives her primary characters interesting personalities and crafts a well-written story that, if not entirely original, is more entertaining than most. 

Stories about serial killers often challenge the reader to find the pattern that links the killings.  The Stranger You Seek does that effectively.  On the other hand, the revelation of the killer’s identity is forced.  Although it seems to have been designed to shock the reader, I doubt that many will have that reaction.  Williams tacks on a climax that surprised me but didn’t persuade me; it was so incongruous that it elicited a “you’ve got to be kidding” response.  Further impairing the story’s credibility is Keye’s insistence that there isn’t enough evidence to arrest the killer even after the killer confesses to her.  There is more than enough circumstantial evidence to corroborate the confession and criminals are convicted every day on the basis of their unrecorded admissions.  Keye would surely know that.  The killer is plainly left free only to set up the novel’s climax.

Despite its flaws, I enjoyed reading The Stranger You Seek.  The novel benefits from solid writing, engaging characters, and appealing humor.  The grins induced by the story’s lighter moments as Keye finds creative ways to serve subpoenas and apprehend bail jumpers made me think that the novel would have worked better as the story of Keye’s luckless life without forcing a serial killer into the mix.

On the strength of Williams’ writing skill, I’m encouraged to read the next Keye Street novel.  I hope she continues to develop her offbeat centralcharacter without feeling the need to craft a contrived plot for the sake of adhering to the norms of thriller world. 

RECOMMENDED

The Keeper of Lost Causes by Jussi Adler-Olsen

Published by Dutton on August 23, 2011

The Keeper of Lost Causes imagines that Denmark has created a new department for the investigation of unsolved crimes.  Homicide investigator Carl Mørck seems the perfect choice to head Department Q, in part because he will be working with only one other person, a mysterious Syrian named Hafez el-Assad whose chief duty (at least initially) is to clean the floor.  Mørck is not well liked by other homicide cops; he’s become even more difficult since he and his two partners were shot at a crime scene.  Mørck carries the guilt of one partner’s death and of the other’s paralysis.  He blames himself for his inaction, a sentiment that is widely shared within the department.  Midway through the novel Mørck is forced to confront his buried emotions -- particularly after he begins to experience panic attacks.

The first chapters of The Keeper of Lost Causes shift between 2007, as Mørck sets up Department Q while trying to avoid any actual work, and 2002, when a member of Parliament named Merete Lynggaard disappears from a ferry.  Merete’s mentally disabled brother Uffe was suspected of murdering Merete but her body was never recovered and Uffe was never charged with the crime.  Merete’s presumed drowning in the Baltic Sea becomes the first Department Q file to claim Mørck’s reluctant attention.  Despite Mørck’s desire to wall himself off from life, Assad prods Mørck until his curiosity compels him to seek answers to the questions posed by Merete’s disappearance.

Jussi Adler-Olsen has a wicked imagination.  Few writers have made me feel the utter helplessness of a victim’s plight with such skill.  Adler-Olsen portrays the psychological impact of captivity and isolation over the course of time in scenes that are both subtle and powerful.  In that regard The Keeper of Lost Causes reminded me of The Collector, John Fowles’ masterful examination of a victim’s response to subjugation.  While you won’t find Fowles-like prose in The Keeper of Lost Causes, Adler-Olsen’s workmanlike writing style is more than adequate to the task.  And if Adler-Olsen’s characters lack the depth of Fowles’ characters, they are still more complex and interesting than the stock characters found in most thrillers.

Adler-Olsen builds tension methodically before delivering an exhilarating climax.  The motivation for the crime against Merete seems unlikely in the extreme, but given that damaged people are often prone to irrational behavior, I suppose it is within the realm of possibility.  In any event, the plot is inventive. Given the exceptional storytelling displayed in this novel, Adler-Olsen has me looking forward to the next Department Q mystery. 

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