Angela Sloan by James Whorton

Published by Free Press on August 2, 2011

After a seven-year-old girl's parents were murdered during the 1964 Simba rebellion against the government of the Congo, CIA Agent Ray Sloan plucked her from the orange tree in which she was hiding and kept her sheltered until the rebellion was quashed. Sloan gave her the name Angela (for reasons that are explained about midway through the novel) and raised her as his daughter. The events described in the novel (written in the form of a letter to the CIA, authored by Angela) begin after Sloan's 1972 retirement, when a former CIA agent called Horsefly recruits Ray to join a private firm. Ray works with another operative known as Gristle (although not identified by name, Gristle is obviously G. Gordon Liddy). Shortly after the Watergate break-in is discovered, Gristle thinks it would be best to shoot everyone involved (including Horsefly and Ray) to contain the damage and protect the White House. Ray decides it's time to go to ground and implements a plan that calls for Angela to go her separate way until it is safe for Ray and Angela to reunite.

Ray's tradecraft is good but the man is a wreck. His life is a cover story, and not one assigned by the CIA. He drinks too much, he's paranoid, he has Angela (now fourteen) chauffeur him around after a driving lesson that consists of telling her to avoid reverse gear and left turns. Leaving Angela to fend for herself is clearly poor parenting but as the story progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult not to feel sympathy for Ray. In any event, Angela isn't by herself for long. Driving away from their home in D.C., Angela finds an unexpected passenger in her back seat, an inscrutable Chinese Maoist named Betty. Angela later encounters Ray's old friends and colleagues, the Gantrys, as well as a group of hippies and a female CIA operative who may or may not be on Ray's side.

By having Ray and Angela live their lives as cover stories, Whorton creates a clever means to explore the nature of self-deception. Angela sees people as would a CIA field agent: as assets to be manipulated while taking care not to be manipulated by them. Angela's road trip with Betty becomes a journey of discovery. She learns things about Ray that explain why he drinks himself into a stupor every night, one of many issues they've never discussed. As Angela assembles pieces of the puzzle that has been their life, she learns about herself and comes to realize how little she knows about Ray, how much of their respective pasts they've chosen to ignore. Analyzing her bizarre interaction with Betty, she begins to understand the value of honest friendships.

The novel is constructed as a series of bite-size chapters, contributing to its steady pace. Whorton doesn't bog down the story with unnecessary subplots although he does introduce a couple of unnecessary characters. While the story builds interest as it moves along, my interest waned in the final chapters. That's unfortunate because most of the novel is quite funny; Angela's conversations with Betty are hysterical. Still, some bits -- particularly Angela's interaction with a small group of hippies as the story is winding down -- are bland, the attempted comedy too obvious to generate mirth. The story lags at that point (adding hippies and the inevitable acid trip was a poor choice) and the last few chapters are disappointing. The weak ending doesn't ruin the novel but it certainly doesn't help the story reach its full potential.  On balance, I enjoyed the humor in Angela Sloan, but not enough to give the novel an enthusiastic recommendation.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Rules of Civility by Amor Towles

Published by Viking on July 26, 2011

Some books unfold at a leisurely pace and demand to be read in the same way -- nibbled and savored, the better to prolong the pleasure. Rules of Civility is one of those. It's a throwback novel, the kind in which unashamedly bright characters engage in impossibly witty conversations. The novel takes its name from the 110 rules that George Washington crafted during his teenage years. Katey Kontent eventually sees Washington's rules not as "a series of moral aspirations" but as "a primer on social advancement." They are the rules that shape a masquerade in the hope "that they will enhance one's chances at a happy ending." Ultimately Rules of Civility asks a serious question about Katey's observation: Are the behavioral rules that define "civility" simply a mask that people wear to conceal their true natures? Or are the rules themselves important, and the motivation for following them irrelevant?

The story begins in 1966 but quickly turns back to 1938, the most eventful year in Katey's life. Katey and her friend Eve meet Tinker Grey, a charming young banker, at a jazz club on New Year's Eve. Their blossoming three-way friendship takes an unexpected turn when Eve is injured in an accident while Tinker is driving. Tinker's apparent preference for Katey shifts to Eve as she recuperates. Months later, something happens to cause a change in their relationship, giving Tinker a more important role in Katey's life. Along the way, Katey's career is leaping forward: from reliable member of a law firm's secretarial pool to secretary at a staid publishing house to gofer and then editorial assistant at a trendy magazine. As Katey socializes with the well-to-do and the up-and-coming, she learns surprising secrets about the people in her life, including Tinker, and learns some things about herself, as well.

Katey is an outsider socializing with a privileged group of people (white, wealthy, and sophisticated), but she remains the grounded daughter of a working class Russian immigrant. She treasures her female friends. She neither hides nor flaunts her intelligence. She makes choices "with purpose and inspiration" although she comes to wonder about them in later years. Like most people who use their minds, she's filled with contradictions. Reading Walden, she values simplicity; she fears losing "the ability to take pleasure in the mundane -- in the cigarette on the stoop or the gingersnap in the bath." At the same time, she enjoys fine dining and dressing well: "For what was civilization but the intellect's ascendancy out of the doldrums of necessity (shelter, sustenance, and survival) into the ether of the finely superfluous (poetry, handbags, and haute cuisine)?"

To varying degrees, the characters in this novel make mistakes (who doesn't?). As one character notes, "at any given moment we're all seeking someone's forgiveness." But when should forgiveness be granted? When does love require forgiveness? Towles avoids simplistic answers to these difficult questions; this isn't a melodrama in which characters ride out tragedies to arrive at a neat and happy ending. Ultimately, this is a nuanced novel that remains cautiously optimistic about life, crafted by a generous writer who sees the good in people who have trouble seeing it in themselves, a writer who believes people have the capacity for change.

Rules of Civility offers up occasional treats for readers in the form of brief passages from the books the characters are reading, snippets from Hemingway and Thoreau and Woolf, an ongoing description of an Agatha Christie novel. When Towles introduces a book editor as a character in the novel's second act, it seems clear that Towles shares the editor's old-fashioned respect for "plot and substance and the judicious use of the semicolon." Towles captures the essence of minor characters with a few carefully chosen words. In the same precise and evocative style he recreates 1938 Manhattan: neighborhoods, restaurants, fashions, and music. He writes in a distinctive voice, refined but street-smart, tailored to the era in which the novel is set. His dialog is sharp and sassy. The ending has a satisfying symmetry. If I could find something critical to say about this novel, I would, but I can't.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Paradise Prophecy by Robert Browne

Published by Dutton on July 21, 2011

The Paradise Prophecy might have been called Angels & Demons if Dan Brown hadn’t already used that title.  In this corner we have the demons (or dark angels), with Belial orchestrating the fight for Team Lucifer; her teammates include Beelzebub (in the guise of an LA club owner), Moloch and Mamman.  In the opposite corner we have Belial’s brother Michael (a fallen angel who isn’t dark) and a couple of humans:  an historian aptly named “Batty” LaLaurie and superspy Bernadette Callahan who works for a secret government agency known only as Section.  Both sides are seeking a powerful weapon called the Telum that God has hidden, apparently for His own amusement.  If the demons acquire the Telum first, they will be in a position to implement their plan for Final Conquest (sounds like a video game, doesn’t it?).

Unfortunately, Robert Browne is no Dan Brown (and I say that as someone who isn't a particular fan of Dan Brown).  Perhaps fantasy fans looking for a predictable story of good vs. evil will enjoy The Paradise Prophecy.  Although the novel appears to be well researched, it disappointed me on several fronts.  Let me break down the novel’s problems as briefly as I can. 

The plot:  The Paradise Prophecy draws on the legend surrounding the Codex Gigas (also known as the Devil’s bible).  Seven pages are missing from the manuscript -- pages that will change the universe forever (or so Galileo tells Milton in the prologue).  An attempt to link Milton’s original manuscript of Paradise Lost to the Codex Gigas gets buried in the surrounding muddle.  Initially it seems as if the story will focus on a Brazilian superstar who sings Christian pop but she disappears in a ball of fire while lighting her crack pipe.  At another point it appears that the demons who are buying enriched uranium from a Russian might be important (we never learn how the Russian manages to acquire enriched uranium) but that plot thread gets lost until a nuclear bomb explodes in one of the final chapters (we never learn how the demons manage to construct the bomb).  The Telum should be central to the story but, despite occasional mentions, the Telum remains backstage until the novel is nearing its end.  Michael makes an early appearance but rather than setting up an epic battle between Michael and Belial, Michael too is absent for most of the story.  So what’s left?  A lot of chit-chat between Batty and Bernadette and a fair amount of mindless action that substitutes for a cohesive plot.

The characters:  One might think that demons with supernatural powers controlling scores of unnaturally strong drudges and shape-shifting sycophants would not be quite as inept as the ones that populate this novel.  In fact, one might think that a demonically possessed sycophant wouldn’t be so easily defeated in a beat-down inflicted by a diminutive superspy, even one who “knows twenty ways to kill someone with one hand.”  Even worse, we’re supposed to believe that Belial, a demon who can catch bullets in her hands, is vulnerable to Callahan’s “flying tackle straight to Belial’s gut.”  Sadly, the human characters are just as unbelievable as the demons.  Batty is recruited to help Callahan because he’s an expert on Milton, but oh happy coincidence!  He’s also gifted with The Vision, a psychic power that is sort of like demon radar.  At least Batty likes to get drunk and praise Eve for eating the apple, giving him a hint of personality.  Superspy Callahan, despite being a female cross between James Bond and Jason Bourne, has no personality at all.

The writing:  An overreliance on cliché (e.g., “good riddance to bad rubbage”), excessive wordiness, and clumsy dialog (do modern superspies really say “Look buster”?) are among the novel’s stylistic problems.  Attempts at witty banter fall flat.  The momentum dies on too many occasions as Browne explains background facts.  The story too often descends into melodrama; the relationship between Batty, a demon, and Batty’s deceased wife had me rolling my eyes.  There are a couple of sex scenes that seem designed to titillate adolescent readers.  Above all, Browne’s writing style lacks polish; it often seems amateurish.

To be fair, the story, while poorly executed, has some modest entertainment value.  It isn’t entirely awful.  Still, because of the unfocused plot and mediocre writing, I can’t recommend it.

NOT RECOMMENDED

Very Bad Men by Harry Dolan

Published by Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam on July 7, 2011

Very Bad Men tells a very good story, an absorbing mystery with enough twists that you may need to take notes to keep track of the plot.  Someone is trying to kill the participants in a bank robbery that occurred seventeen years earlier.  We are well into the novel before the police discover the killer's identity, but this isn't a whodunit:  the reader knows from the start that Anthony Lark is the culprit.  What we don't know is why Lark is after the robbers.  Investigating the mystery are David Loogan, the editor of a mystery magazine; his law enforcement girlfriend, Detective Elizabeth Waishkey; and Lucy Navarro, a persistent tabloid reporter.   Rounding out the cast are the wheelchair-bound former sheriff who caught a bullet while foiling the bank robbery, his daughter Callie who is running for a Senate seat (and with whom Lark is more than a little obsessed), Lark's psychiatrist, and Callie's father-in-law, an affable senator whose behavior is a bit loopy.

The mystery's solution seems to be tied to the getaway driver who fled when the robbery went sour.  His identity presents a second mystery for Loogan and the police to ponder.  When Navarro disappears a little more than halfway into the story, yet another layer of intrigue is added:  Was Navarro kidnapped, and if so, by whom?

Lark is the novel's best character.  He suffers from an affliction that imbues written words with color and causes them to move around on a page.   He can handle Hemmingway's terse prose but Joseph Heller's abundant adverbs "swarm like marching ants."  While unexpected traits like this bring many of Harry Dolan's characters to life, Waishkey is a typical police detective, less interesting than the novel's other players.

Dolan uses crisp, undemanding prose to construct an effective plot.  We know that someone wants the truth to remain buried -- to that end, Loogan and Navarro are confronted with threats and attempted bribes -- but the puzzle surrounding the bank robbery kept me guessing to the end.  Although it's not always easy to follow, the plot never becomes so convoluted as to slow the story's steady pace.

Loogan is no Sherlock Holmes.  As he tries to puzzle out the solutions to the various mysteries, he's frequently wrong.  That gives him a measure of credibility that is too often missing from the seemingly infallible armchair detectives who headline mystery novels.  As unlikely as it might be for a mystery magazine editor to become embroiled in a mystery, Dolan concocts a believable excuse for Loogan's involvement.

This is the second David Loogan novel but the first I've read.  It was strong enough to earn my recommendation and to encourage me to buy the first book.

RECOMMENDED

Germline by T.C. McCarthy

Published by Orbit on July 26, 2011

This is the second military science fiction novel I’ve read in recent months that is told from a journalist’s point of view (the other is Dan Abnett’s Embedded).  Germline is by far the better of the two: the characters have more depth, the battle scenes are more realistic (the emphasis is on survival rather than gunning down hoards of enemy troops), the plot is more complex, and the focus is on the internal damage that war inflicts on soldiers rather than the external bloodshed (although fans of gore and decapitation will be well satisfied).

Marines are fighting Russians in Kazakhstan, in tunnels and on the ground, to gain control of ores and minerals that both sides would like to mine.  Reporter Oscar Wendell  is embedded with the Marines, getting high and hoping to stay alive long enough to win a Pulitzer.  Given a choice, Wendell and the Marines prefer to be in the tunnels (the subterrene) where, surrounded by rock walls, they’re less likely to be shot or burned to a cinder -- unless the enemy tunnels into a chamber occupied by soldiers and fills it with plasma. 

Fighting alongside (or ahead of) the Marines are genetically engineered teenage girls who move “like lighting on speed.”  According to Wendell, the Genetics look like killers but smell like they should be “sitting in school, driving guys crazy with a miniskirt.”  I have to wonder whether T.C. McCarthy threw them into the mix on the assumption that the majority of sf fans are young (or not so young) men who will enjoy reading about genetically engineered teenage girls who look like “a track team gone bad.”  Why not fight the war with genetically engineered teenage boys?  Because boys don’t smell like they would look good in miniskirts?  We eventually learn that genetically engineered males do exist but, like so many things, they aren’t American made.  We also learn that American defense contractors don’t make genetically engineered boys for reasons that (when they are finally revealed) didn’t strike me as convincing.

Silly as all this sounds, McCarthy at least builds some interest into the factory-made girls; they’re programmed to fight and die but they retain most human instincts (including, of course, the desire to kiss Wendell).  Although the Genetics are trained to believe in “death and faith” and are designed to rot away after they turn eighteen (a less appealing fate than the glorious death in combat they are conditioned to crave), Wendell finds that he prefers them to human women, apparently because they are less complicated (a characteristic Wendell identifies as “innocence”).  Perhaps too predictably, Wendall develops feelings for a couple of Genetics (unlike the Marines, who seem to be creeped out by them).  There are echoes of Blade Runner here, with its replicants who want to continue living past their expiration dates, but fortunately Germline follows a somewhat different path.

There’s more to this novel than fighting, but war pervades the story.  The combat imagery is vivid and intense, making Germline rich in atmosphere.   Germline is nevertheless at its best when the spotlight moves from war to Wendell.

Wendell’s self-destructive tendencies make him an intriguing character.  He’s often fighting his own demons:  his fear, his occasional death wish, his desire to tune out the war in a haze of drugs, his need for attachment to a female even if she isn’t a real person.  Wendell experiences personal growth (or at least change, for better or worse) during the course of the novel.  He has a better understanding of his nature and -- as he comes to understand a Genetic -- begins to question what it is to be human when thoughts and personality are shaped by war’s dehumanizing experiences.  The last chapter contains some surprisingly strong writing about the aftermath of war as Wendell, like every combat veteran, realizes that he can never be the person he was before the war, that he must adapt to a new way of living.  This aspect of the novel is very well done.

Germline is the first book in a series called The Subterrene War.  I hope the others are as strong as this one.

RECOMMENDED