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. 

RECOMMENDED

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