Luminarium by Alex Shakar

Published by Soho Press on August 23, 2011

At some points, Luminarium risked dragging me into the depths of depression. At others, it engaged my senses of wonder and humor. Sometimes it fascinated me; just as often it bored me. On occasion it made me pause and think. For that, and for a main character whose miserable life captured my fancy, I came to like it.

Fred's life has not gone well. His twin brother George lapsed into a coma following his cessation of treatment for lymphoma. Fred was ousted from a software business he founded with George. His brother Sam is still part of the business (its development of disaster simulations to train first responders is leading to lucrative government contracts) but Fred, having broken up with his fiancée, is living with his parents. On a whim, Fred participates in an experiment that prevents sensory data from reaching his parietal lobes. This is designed to induce a "porous, expanded, possibly even a limitless sense of self," creating a spiritual experience, "a faith without ignorance." The researcher, Mira Egghart, wants people to understand that "belief" has a neurological basis, that it consists of "an inner reality" that is unique to each individual and false to everyone else. Fred later participates in additional experiments involving other parts of the brain. He steps outside his body, and then outside "the stream of his life." Finally he feels a Presence and gets a "glimpse of a perspective outside the smallness of his own mind."

As if Fred's life isn't bad enough, he's confronted with a new set of worrisome events. When Fred receives cryptic emails and instant messages that appear to be from George, he assumes he's the victim of a hoax. Then he meets George's angelic avatar in a burning building during a computer simulation of a terrorist attack. George's reference to "the tenth avatara" spurs Fred to research the Hindu concept of an astral plane that is divided into realms, one of which is populated by the spirits of those who are not quite dead. As the novel winds along, Fred encounters other phenomena he doesn't understand and can't explain.

Technology meets spirituality in a novel that gives us a God helmet and a "prayerizer," not to mention the possibility of communing with the dead (or near dead) via text messaging. Yet the ancient question that pervades Luminarium -- what is the meaning of life and death? -- is profoundly personal rather than technological. Perhaps the secret to understanding the universe is science. Perhaps it is religion or, more broadly, spirituality. Or perhaps -- as I think Luminarium might be saying -- the starting point is to understand ourselves.

I appreciated the neurological and psychological information Luminarium conveys -- scientific explanations for phenomena like out-of-body experiences and the brain's perception of patterns where none exist -- in language that is easy for a nonscientist like me to understand. I was impressed by Alex Shakar's ability to balance science and spirituality in his descriptions of Reiki and meditation and energy fields. More importantly, I was happy that Luminarium didn't attempt to force any particular spiritual viewpoint down my gullet. Late in the story, Fred wonders "how things might look from a higher order in which faith and doubt were reconciled, in which God and no God, even, were one and the same." That thought fits with the overall theme of Luminarium, a novel that doesn't attempt to posit answers to unanswerable questions.

Still, this is a novel with problems. Pace is sometimes lethargic. Long sections that might be meant to be enlightening (or at least interesting) border on dull. The plot stagnates with the attention Shakar devotes to a magic act that Fred performs with his father Vartan. While the relationship between Fred and Vartan adds some depth to Fred's character, the ongoing focus on the magic act pays diminishing returns.

Ultimately, Luminarium is more intellectually satisfying than emotionally engaging. Fortunately, Shakar injects enough humor into Fred's hapless life to prevent his philosophical excursions from becoming overbearing. Had Luminarium been more tightly plotted, I would probably have liked it more. As it stands, I recommend it, albeit with less than full enthusiasm.

RECOMMENDED

Reality 36 by Guy Haley

Published by Angry Robot in the UK on July 19, 2011 and in the US on August 30, 2011

Someone is trying (with apparent success) to kill Zhang Qifang, the leading proponent of human rights for sentient Artificially Intelligent (AI) beings. The problem: there seems to be more than one Qifang. Hired to investigate the mystery are a highly advanced AI named Richards and his partner Otto Klein, a human cyborg whose mechanical and information processing augmentations make him a formidable warrior. Conducting her own investigation is Qifang's former assistant, Veronique Valdaire. As the investigations proceed, it becomes apparent that Qifang had discovered concealed advances in the fields of AI and virtual reality that pose a threat to humankind.

Guy Haley does some interesting world building in Reality 36, although not of the conventional "alien planet" variety. Haley posits the existence of 36 virtual reality realms in which games were once played. At some point after the realms were created, the "civilizations of thinking creatures" that populate the realms gained the rights granted to all other sentient AIs. Now protected from gamers and other outsiders, the creatures inhabiting the realms have gone feral. Four of the realms are supposedly empty, used only for research, but Qifang's own research leads him to believe that mischief is afoot within those realms.

Richards and Klein are entertaining characters, albeit familiar ones. Klein has a gruff combat veteran's personality. We know that he has a military background but learn little about his past. Richards has the smugness of superior intelligence. There are only about six dozen AIs as advanced as Richards (and some of those are disappearing). They are apparently few in number because of a "crisis" at some point in the past that led to their recall and often to their destruction. Although we never learn the precise nature of the calamity, there are mentions of AIs going insane. Perhaps future entries in the Richards and Klein series will shed more light on that mystery.

The scenes that take place inside virtual reality realm 36 are the novel's weakness. They read like Alice in Wonderland combined with a role-playing game environment. Policing reality realm 36 are an armor-plated lion named Tarquinius and a knight named Sir Jagadith Veyadeep who says things like: "By Jove! Now I am believing we may be in some small degree of imperilment." His stilted dialog sort of makes sense within the context of the story but it's nevertheless annoying. The silly elements of realm 36 (including attack monkeys) are out of step with the thriller-like tone set by the rest of the novel. Fortunately the reader isn't required to spend much time in the reality realms.

Haley's writing style is well suited to the story. The pace is swift. My most serious complaint is the cliff-hanger ending that forces readers to acquire the next novel in the series (supposedly coming in 2012) to learn what happens to Richards, Klein, Valdaire, and for that matter, the world. I recommend the novel on its merits despite my dissatisfaction with its "to be continued" conclusion.

RECOMMENDED

The Barbarian Nurseries by Héctor Tobar

Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux on September 27, 2011

The Barbarian Nurseries begins with the flip sides of LA: the one that Hollywood showcases, populated by prosperous, shallow, socially competitive consumers; and the one almost invisibly populated by maids, landscapers, day laborers, and the other workers who, speaking heavily accented English, struggle to sustain their families while serving the needs of those who hire them. I am impressed by the fullness of the characters on both sides of the economic divide.

The principle characters of means are Scott Torres and his wife, Maureen Thompson. The Torres-Thompsons and their three children live in a posh house tended by a staff they can no longer afford. As the novel opens, the gardener and nanny have been recently sacked, leaving only Araceli, the maid whose duties suddenly expand to include childcare without a commensurate increase in pay. Following a mild incident of domestic violence, Scott and Maureen make independent decisions to take a "break" from domestic life. Maureen goes to a spa with their daughter, Scott doesn't come home from work, and neither of them bothers to tell the other -- or, more importantly, Araceli, who finds herself taking care of the two boys without guidance from their parents.

Araceli, fearful that the kids will be placed in foster care if she calls the police, begins a journey through the sprawling city and its suburbs in search of their paternal grandfather. Héctor Tobar uses Araceli's quest to illustrate the city's cultural evolution: the ever-changing character of its neighborhoods as members of various ethnic groups settle in and later move on, replaced by new arrivals with a different group identity. Tobar sketches the people Araceli meets in a way that makes each a community representative without sacrificing the character's individual identity.

Araceli's well-intentioned trip begets a chain of events: misunderstanding morphs into misplaced blame that feeds xenophobic fears of undocumented immigrants. Sadly enough, the news media's instant fascination with the story of missing children -- cute white children from an affluent family allegedly abducted by a Mexican woman -- is all too credible.

The last section of the novel is an indictment of the media's "talking heads" who make accusations of criminal behavior before they have all the facts, of prosecutors who feel compelled by media pressure to accuse the innocent, and of the television viewers who -- lacking the patience to wait until a trial brings out all the facts -- allow race or ethnicity to influence their opinions about guilt. While the story loses some of its magic as it shifts from the personal to the political, it also gains power and social relevance. At least for me, the magic returns near the novel's end, beginning with some realistic courtroom drama.

The last section captures an unfortunate aspect of American life with deadly accuracy. In an ideal world, the "no harm, no foul" rule would leave the parents and Araceli free from repercussions, but Tobar recognizes that the media-driven lust for scapegoats drives decisions about arrest, prosecution, and deportation. In different ways, both Araceli and the Torres-Thompsons become victims of politics and a frenzied media. Those with an agenda view Araceli and the Torres-Thompsons as symbols, not as persons.

Tobar's handling of this serious social issue is nuanced: he doesn't simplistically portray all affluent whites as evil or all immigrants as nonjudgmental victims. Scott and Maureen demonstrate complex and evolving reactions to the crisis. They are never depicted as uncaring parents although some members of the public, including some in the Hispanic community, unjustly regard them that way. Some members of the criminal justice system are sympathetic to Araceli and indifferent to political pressures; others are motivated by headlines. Tobar's deft and balanced juggling of these different points of view is impressive.

The Barbarian Nurseries is a captivating, beautifully written novel that tells a timely and important story. It is also one of the best novels I've read this year.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

God, No! by Penn Jillette

Published by Simon & Schuster on August 16, 2011

God, No! is, I think, about the possibility of being a good person without believing in a supreme being. When Penn Jillette stays on point, he uses humor effectively to make meaningful arguments. When he rambles and digresses -- which he does frequently -- he dilutes that message. In the introduction, Penn tells the reader that he rambles, but the admission should be in all caps, printed in bright red ink, surrounded by stars and preceded by a WARNING sign.

Penn tells us that he is an atheist, not an agnostic, because anyone who doesn't know whether there is a god necessarily doesn't believe in one and must therefore be an atheist. It seems to me Penn defines agnosticism out of existence. Most people I know who call themselves atheists deny the possibility of a deity while those who argue that the existence or nonexistence of a supreme being is unknowable tend to call themselves agnostics. Penn understands the distinction but rejects it; in his words, "If you're not willing to pretend that matters of god can be certain, you're an atheist." I suppose Penn can define his terms any way he wants, but he didn't persuade me that "Do you believe in god?" is a question "that needs to be answered yes or no." I think it's a question that can legitimately be answered however an individual wants to answer it (including "I have no belief either way"), even if Penn thinks that any answer more nuanced than "yes" or "no" is "a cheesy grade school dodge."

Definitions aside, there is something to be said for Penn's larger point: It is possible to live an ethical life based on rules derived from shared experiences that are not dependent on biblical commandments. This book, Penn tells us, is a response to Glen Beck's challenge "to entertain the idea of an atheist Ten Commandments." Penn offers ten "suggestions" that, to a large extent, parallel the Ten Commandments. He illustrates each of his suggestions with a group of funny stories -- or, more accurately, with stories that are intended to be funny. Some are, some aren't, some are funnier than others. While Penn's sense of humor isn't always on key with my own, I found many of his stories to be at least moderately amusing. My favorite is a very funny story about battling the TSA over his right to drop trou. Despite his general abrasiveness, some of his stories, particularly about his family, are sweet. I also appreciated his ability to use self-deprecating humor to tone down the preachiness of his message.

I can't quarrel with the "suggestions" Penn offers in place of "commandments" but I do think he made some odd choices to illustrate them. For instance, his first suggestion is "The highest ideals are human intelligence, creativity, and love. Respect these above all." After positing the suggestion, Penn launches into a lengthy discussion of Siegfried and Roy. Penn loves Siegfried and Roy despite belittling their glitziness, their animals, their magic, and their music, because of the "desperate purity" of their desire to be onstage. They may have invented "a new art form," as Penn argues, but if Siegfried and Roy's Vegas act represents our highest ideals, we are in serious trouble.

Despite Penn's occasional takes on atheism, God No! is less about religion than it is a stream of consciousness ramble about the people Penn knows (including a surprisingly large number of strippers and porn stars) and the random events that have shaped his life. If you're a Penn & Teller fan, you might enjoy the backstage stories, the gossip about other magicians, the venting about Kreskin, or the descriptions of Penn's house and the parties he throws.

I imagine there will be people who complain that the book is anti-Christian without actually reading it. It isn't. It could be viewed as anti-religion (Penn skewers a variety of religious beliefs) but his larger point -- that religion isn't a necessary component of an ethical life -- is not a concept that depends upon hostility to religion. The book doesn't have a mean-spirited feel (although religious people might be offended by some of the things he says). One of Penn's precepts is that most people are fundamentally good, whether or not they belong to a religion. Penn is actually meaner to self-described agnostics (who, in his view, "are really cowardly and manipulative atheists") than he is in his discussions of sincerely held religious beliefs.

While nothing in this book offended me, neither did much of it delight me. I don't hold it against Penn that he doesn't believe tax money should be used to fund libraries or cancer research (he's entitled to his opinion, after all) but I wasn't impressed with his defense of those positions, among others. In the end, I was indifferent to much of the book and a bit put off by its rambling nature, but I liked enough of the stories to give it a cautious recommendation.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

In the Sea There are Crocodiles by Fabio Geda

 

Published by Doubleday on August 9, 2011

In the Sea There Are Crocodiles is a fictionalized account of Enaiatollah Akbari's real-life journey from Afghanistan to Italy, as he related it to Fabio Geda. Akbari left Afghanistan when he was ten years old, shortly after his mother disappeared. After spending time in Pakistan, Iran, Turkey, and Greece -- sometimes working, sometimes sleeping in parks, sometimes paying traffickers to help him move on -- Akbari ended up in Italy at the age of fifteen. He told his story to Geda when he was twenty-one (ages are approximate since Akbari isn't sure of his birth date) and encouraged Geda to write this book so that readers would better understand people like Akbari.

Akbari's story lacks the intensity and urgency that is a common feature of the best accounts of displaced persons fleeing oppressive regimes. Akbari had a difficult childhood, but his travels and struggles do not seem nearly as vexing as those of many other refugees. Even a month long walk from Iran to Turkey does not seem as arduous in the telling as it must have been. The narrative voice is surprisingly detached from the hardships it relates; it didn't make me feel the pain and deprivation that Akbari undoubtedly endured.

On a few occasions, Geda pauses to insert his own voice into the narrative, as if he were providing the reader with excerpts from a transcript of his interview with Akbari. Geda says things like "I'm interested in everything [you say], Enaiatollah" and "We'll say [this thing you think is important] loud and clear, Enaiat." These interruptions seem designed to portray Geda as an admirable biographer. A couple of the digressions were all about Geda; they did nothing to advance the story. The book would have been better without Geda's intrusions.

Too often, Akbari comes across as insensitive to the people who helped him. Akbari more than once tells us that his story is important -- and I have no doubt that it is -- but he makes it sound as if he doesn't regard anyone else's story as important. He expressly states that he doesn't want to tell Geda about his mother or friends or village because "they aren't important." At another point he refuses to talk about a woman who gave him food, clothing, and a bus ticket, because "She could have been anybody. ... Anybody could have behaved like that." Actually no -- most people wouldn't behave like that, which is exactly why she (not just her behavior toward Akbari) is important. According to Akbari, "It's what happens to you that changes your life, not where or who with." Many people changed Akbari's life by making his journey much easier than it could have been, and it struck me that he might have bothered himself to learn their names. Granting that Akbari is still young, it seems clear that he still has a lot to learn about life, and that realization diminished my belief that he is capable of telling an insightful story.

If Geda's goal was to tell Akbari's tale in Akbari's voice, I suppose I can't fault his unremarkable prose. Not every displaced person speaks poetically. Still, in a book that is packaged as a novel rather than a memoir, I expect stronger writing. Whether the voice is Geda's or Akbar's, it is surprisingly lifeless. Nothing about the unremarkable writing style encourages me to recommend the book.

Having said all that, there are things I like about this book, although I'm not sure they are the things Akbari intended his readers to take from it. I was impressed by all the people who helped Akbari along the way -- people willing to assist a boy from a foreign land who was a complete stranger to them. I also agree with Akbari that it's important for the world to understand what life is like for displaced persons. For those reasons, I give the book a guarded recommendation.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS