Those Across the River by Christopher Buehlman

Published by Ace on September 6, 2011

With only light foreshadowing of the horror to come, the first 40 percent of Those Across the River is devoted to atmosphere. Frank Nichols is a former history professor and recent transplant to depression-era Georgia, having moved into a house bequeathed to him by his aunt. Frank left Ann Arbor with Eudora Chambers, with whom he had been having an affair. Dora had been married to a faculty member who had enough influence to prevent Frank from finding employment at another university; hence the move to a house Frank's aunt had warned him not to inhabit. Frank decides to spend his time in Georgia writing a book about his great-grandfather Savoyard, a cruel and bigoted plantation owner who not only abused his slaves but refused to emancipate them after the Civil War ended.

As Frank settles into languorous rural life in the small town of Whitmore, passing time on the porch of the general store or conversing with hard-drinking Martin Cranmer (the only local resident who possesses even a smidgen of intellectual curiosity), he comes to learn that the locals avoid the nearby woods where the Savoyard plantation could once be found. The woods figure prominently in the town's annual social event -- the pig chase -- which inevitably culminates in the disappearance of pigs into the woods, never to be seen again. Frank's nightmares about his service in the Great War are supplanted by more immediate fears when, strolling through the woods in search of the Savoyard plantation's remains, he comes across a mute, half naked boy who may be nothing more than a phantom. After a neighbor's son is taken into the woods and ravaged -- a crime that prompts the lynching of a large black man found picking berries in the woods -- the novel begins to shift into horror mode.

The next 40 percent is ordinary horror fare: shape-shifting, once human creatures with supernatural abilities; silver bullets; frightened and ineffectual villagers. Well written though it is, this part of the story didn't grab me. Whether the creatures and their susceptibility to silver is viewed as traditional or unimaginative is open to debate, but it seemed too familiar to be frightening.

The final 20 percent ties the first two parts together in a way that redeems the novel. It is creative, intense, surprising -- and yes, at least one scene is genuinely scary. I like the story's open-ended conclusion, its effective use of the horror convention that more terror may be lurking beyond the final pages.

Although I wouldn't describe Christopher Buehlman's prose style as poetic, his background as a poet is reflected in his careful word choice and in the fluidity of his sentences. He assembled this novel with craftsman-like storytelling ability. I'd love to see him turn his talent to meatier subjects. In any event, while I'm far from a devoted fan of the horror genre, this novel tells a well-paced story that transfixed me in the last chapters.

RECOMMENDED

The Train by Georges Simenon

First published in French in 1961; reviewed edition published in English by Melville House on July 19, 2011

Belgian-born Georges Simenon's The Train was first published in 1961. Marcel Feron lives in France, near the Belgian border, with his daughter and pregnant wife. On the morning of May 10, 1940, Marcel hears a radio broadcast announcing that Germany has invaded Holland and that tanks are crossing the Belgian frontier. Deciding to flee to the south of France, Marcel feels a "somber joy," for he isn't running from the invasion, but from responsibility. He is relieved that the welfare of his family will be in the hands of Fate rather than his own.

Women and children board the southbound train first, separating Marcel from his wife and daughter. He eventually boards one of the last freight cars but that car is later linked to a different train. Officials cannot tell Marcel where his wife and daughter have gone but he thinks of them "without overmuch anxiety, indeed with a certain serenity." Although Marcel tells us that he loves his wife, that she meets all of his expectations, he is happy to abandon the life he has built. It is as if "the world had recovered its savor." A break has occurred that causes him to live "on another level, where the values had nothing in common with those of my previous existence." Marcel believes he has surrendered to Fate.

If Fate is really a force, will we recognize it when it comes calling? During the train journey, Marcel befriends a formerly imprisoned woman named Anna. Feeling that he has also been released from prison, Marcel bonds with Anna. Were they fated to meet? Or is it Marcel's destiny to be with his wife and child?

The train, I suspect, is a metaphor. The train rolls down the tracks, transporting its passengers from station to station, its next destination determined by the progress of the Germans, the availability of food and lodging, and other factors that the passengers cannot influence. Marcel is happy to be borne along, to have decisions about the course of his life made by others. Marcel's journey on the train represents his idealized journey through life, a journey in which he is the passenger, not the driver. Once he is on the train, he has no worries; life just happens and he contentedly takes it as it comes. Marcel reinvents himself as a man who lives entirely in the moment.

Is this a good way to live? What Marcel sees as fate is in some sense an abdication not just of responsibility but of free will. Although there are costs to taking control of your life (including the burden of responsibility that torments Marcel) there are also benefits. Is it better (or even possible) to seize control of your life rather than taking life as it comes? Simenon poses these questions but leaves it to the reader to answer them, just as it is for the reader to decide whether Marcel is following fate or free will at the novel's end. Clearly he makes a decision (although, according to Marcel, not one to which he gives any thought) but whether the decision is to accept fate or to follow a path of his own choice is ambiguous, and I'm not at all sure that Marcel's opinions on the matter are the product of a reliably introspective mind.

This short, stimulating book tells a deceptively simple story while raising provocative questions. The ending holds a surprise that requires the reader to rethink one of the main characters. The Train is an intriguing character study with existential overtones but it is also worth reading for its fascinating story of people set adrift in newly occupied France. It is a buried treasure that has lost none of its power in the half century since its first appearance.

RECOMMENDED

Domestic Violets by Matthew Norman

Published by Harper Perennial; Original on August 9, 2011

Tom's father (Curtis Violet) is an aging womanizer who just won the Pulitzer for a short story collection. Tom's mother (Maryanne) ended her own writing career years earlier, despite publishing an acclaimed book of stories that didn't sell, because she believed there couldn't be two writers in a family. Maryanne is taking a break from Gary, her second husband, having realized that she only married him because he wasn't Curtis. Tom has just finished writing a novel of his own, which his family members lack the time or desire to read.

Tom hates his copywriting job (he doesn't integrate well with coworkers who use words like "leverage" and "facilitate") and seems dead set against career advancement. His domestic life is no more satisfying than his work life. He's plagued by ED and he's "a little bit in love" with a beautiful young coworker named Katie. Although Tom nervously but politely snubs Katie when he runs into her while having dinner with his family at Johnny Rockets, neither his wife (Anna) nor his father believe his assurance that "there's nothing going on," and the snubbing doesn't endear him to Katie. Just as troubling is Tom's growing concern that Anna is involved with another man. In short, Tom feels inadequate: as a husband, as a son, as a father, and as a writer. Tom is unhappy ... until he does something at work that's either daring or stupid (or both) but in any event wickedly funny, an act of defiance that changes the course of his life.

These events probably don't sound terribly amusing, but domestic turmoil has nourished comedy at least since Shakespeare. Much of the humor in Domestic Violets could be faulted for being too obvious -- it's the routine stuff of comedy club monologues -- but I laugh at old jokes if they're well told, and this novel kept me grinning. A running joke that will appeal to readers is Curtis' rivalry with another acclaimed writer named Zuckerman -- "the most boring writer in America," according to Curtis. More literary laughter, this time bordering on slapstick, involves a brawl between Curtis and the fiction editor for The New Yorker.

While Matthew Norman bases the first two (of four) parts of Domestic Violets on humor, he tries to build emotional intensity in part three as Tom and Anna confront their fears and desires and, finally, each other. Their story isn't deep but it's utterly genuine. Part four increases the intensity and even becomes a little vicious. Characters are definitely not playing well together in the novel's last act, although the worst offenders are minor characters (perhaps too predictably, none of the likable characters become unlikable). Part four sacrifices laughs for drama, leading to a conclusion that, while not unsatisfying, is a little too cute. In fact, Tom seems to lead such a charmed life it was difficult for me to sustain belief in the story.

Those criticisms aside, there are reasons to recommend Domestic Violets. The novel has one of the best sex scenes (or "almost sex" scenes) I've encountered: it's passionate and absurd and tender, just like the real thing. There's a melancholy sweetness to this story that, combined with its hopefulness, serves as a reminder that we can all find our better natures if we make the effort -- and that when our better natures surface as the result of chance rather than intent, we should recognize and embrace them. Whether you do the right thing by accident or design, Tom comes to understand, what matters is that you do the right thing.

Neither Norman's serviceable prose style nor his unchallenging plot will win him a Pulitzer, but Domestic Violets is likely to earn Norman a fair number of satisfied readers. For me, the humor was more effective than the soapy drama, but the novel delivered enough laughs to earn my recommendation.

RECOMMENDED

13 Million Dollar Pop by David Levien

Published by Doubleday on August 9, 2011

Frank Behr doesn’t fit in with the corporate culture of the private investigation/security consulting firm that employs him, but he has a baby on the way and it’s a better living than he made while working on his own.  Asked at the last minute to fill in as a bodyguard for Bernie Kolodnik, a wealthy businessman who is about to accept an appointment to the Senate, Behr’s boredom is relieved by gunfire.  When Behr later tries to learn what progress the police have made tracking down the man who tried to assassinate Kolodnik, his inquiries are stonewalled.  Behr decides to investigate the shooting on his own.  While he’s at it, Behr investigates an apparent attempt to blackmail his boss.  As we follow Behr’s progress, we’re also introduced to Waddy Dwyer, the Welshman who wants to see Kolodnik dead.  Dwyer comes to America after deciding that if he wants the job done right, he’ll have to do it himself.  A real estate developer, a political consultant, a call girl and her pimp, and a former FBI agent all add to the mystery surrounding the plot to kill Kolodnik.

Behr reeks of machismo but he isn’t as obnoxious as some other thriller heroes who suffer from the same affliction.  He has the standard action hero personality (i.e., not much); strip away his macho veneer and there’s nothing left.  Still, this is a plot-driven novel and while strong characterization would have been a nice bonus, its absence doesn’t wholly negate enjoyment of the fast moving story. 

David Levien’s writing style is reasonably fluid.  Occasional phrases are a little silly (like two big guys hitting each other with “Superman punches”) but most of his prose is slightly better than the norm for action-thrillers.  As the story unfolds, Levien delivers a nice blend of action and anticipation.  The plot threads cohere into a story that is intricate without becoming unduly confusing.  A scene toward the end involving a hot-tempered police officer is contrived, inserted in an obvious attempt to induce the reader’s short-lived shock, but the rest of the story evolves naturally and credibly.  Not every plotline is neatly resolved (one seems to disappear entirely), perhaps with a view to setting up the next novel in the series. My most serious complaint is that the novel’s two heroes, in addition to throwing Superman punches, seem to have Superman’s invulnerability and stamina -- they keep fighting through gunshot and knife wounds -- but that’s standard for action-oriented fiction.   

This is the third Frank Behr novel (I haven't read the first two).  I liked 13 Million Dollar Pop just enough to stimulate my interest in other novels in the series, but not enough to make me stand in line waiting to buy them.

Addendum:  I received a polite email from the author explaining that "Superman punch" is a Mixed Martial Arts term that "refers to a lunging punch where the striker leaves his feet to generate maximum force."  I didn't know that, and while it still sounds silly to my ear, I appreciate the clarification.

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Bed by David Whitehouse

Published by Scribner on August 2, 2011

In a strange way, Bed asks whether love is a force of salvation or destruction. It may just be a question of perspective.

At the novel's center is the massive Malcolm, "the fattest man in the world." He doesn't -- he can't -- get out of bed; he and the bed have conjoined. After spending twenty years in bed, Mal has become a media sensation. Told from the point of view of Mal's unnamed brother, Bed jumps around in time, alternating scenes of Mal and his brother in their childhood and adolescence with events that occurred after Mal stopped rising from the bed in which he now dwells.

Why won't Mal get out of bed? In his early adulthood, after Mal leaves home to live with his girlfriend Lou, he proclaims his contempt for conventional lifestyles. He fears the mundane. It's ironic, given where he ends up, that Mal poses the rhetorical question "What will there be to remember of a mediocre existence?" Mal comes to believe that (as he says on his twenty-fifth birthday) he will be "just someone who was there, and that's it." He is gripped by a malaise so powerful he cannot see the purpose of life as a participatory experience. His conclusion -- "If you can't do what you're meant to do, why do anything at all?" -- explains his decision to stay in bed after his birthday party ends, but his reason for arriving at that conclusion remains unclear.

Depression may account Mal's initial reluctance to leave his bed (eventually, his size and the intermingling of his cellular structure with the bed itself makes it impossible for him to get up). Perhaps a mental illness more serious than depression is to blame. Long before he became morbidly obese, Malcolm was an odd child. He liked to stand in the rain with his face to the sky and his mouth open to the point of drowning. He preferred nudity to clothing, even at the supermarket. It's easy to understand why classmates wrote "Mal Ede is a weirdo" on the condensation-covered classroom windows on rainy days. Mal didn't care; he refused "to involve himself in the transient social systems of school." His weirdness was only beginning.

Mal wonders if his purpose "is to give purpose to others." His brother thinks Mal has always existed to give meaning to his mother's life. Delighted with her role as Mal's servant, Mal's enabling mother feeds him enough to sate a platoon. The novel raises an intriguing question: should Mal's mother be faulted for making him happy when her actions are probably contributing to an early death? A broader question that also applies to Lou is whether love means doing everything you can to make someone happy. Taking care of her father makes Lou happy even if it means sacrificing her own chance at a relationship. Lou's father sacrificed his own happiness to benefit a woman who ultimately left him; he learned that "a life lived in a way perceived to be correct could still come to nothing." Is David Whitehouse saying that love will find a way to destroy you in the end?

Bed is written tenderly, with affection for those (like Mal's mother) who deserve it and for those (like Mal) who probably don't. The story is in some respects touching, yet I often found it more depressing than enlightening. The final chapters initially seem life-affirming (perhaps some of us, at least, can discover a purpose in life that isn't self-destructive) and while I think it tries to be, the message that finally shines through is this: if you want to be loved, you need to be an invalid. There are moments of excellence here, snatches of wistful love stories that are beautifully rendered, but the novel's portrayal of heartbreak coupled with meaningless existence makes it difficult to read. It made me, like Mal, reluctant to get out of bed.

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