The Vault by Boyd Morrison

Published by Touchstone on July 5, 2011

Like James Bond movies, some thrillers ask the reader to accept the unbelievable for the sake of enjoying a fun story. The reader's willingness to suspend disbelief is a function of the payoff -- that is, the more farfetched the plot, the more enjoyable it must be if the author doesn't want to lose the reader entirely. Boyd Morrison stretches the limits of plausibility nearly to their breaking point in The Vault, but the result is just as entertaining as the early Bond movies. A part of the novel, in fact, is almost a homage to Goldfinger.

Jordan Orr steals an ancient manuscript from a vault. Eighteen months later, Carol Benedict and recently retired General Sherman Locke are abducted, while Carol's sister Stacy and Sherman's son Tyler are on a ferry with a bomb that's twenty minutes away from exploding. All of this is orchestrated by Orr, who needs Stacy's expertise in ancient Greece and Tyler's engineering skill to help him solve the puzzle of the Archimedes codex and find the Midas Touch -- that is, the power to transmute objects into gold. To further complicate the plot (or maybe just to add a need for speed), Orr is in a race with a beautiful and deadly woman named Gia (a/k/a "The Fox") to recover the Midas Touch from its hiding place in Naples, and thus gives Stacy and Tyler only four days to do the job. Throw in an Italian crime family and a weapon of mass destruction and you've got yourself a thriller.

If you think all of this adds up to a wildly improbable premise, I agree with you. If you can overcome your skepticism, however, The Vault tells a surprisingly entertaining story. With the help of Tyler's co-worker and war buddy Grant, Tyler and Stacy begin a quest that takes them to the Fox's London lair, to a car chase on Germany's autobahn, to a museum heist and a shootout at the Parthenon in Athens, and to a series of violent confrontations in Naples. I was worried that the novel was heading toward a predictable finish, but there's nothing predictable about this story. A little silly, maybe, but I give Morrison credit for putting together a fun, exciting tale.

The Vault moves like the Ferrari that Tyler races on the autobahn. Morrison provides a wealth of interesting information about Archimedes without slowing the plot. He clearly did his research, not only into ancient history but into architecture, steganography, engineering, explosives, extremeophiles, and how to steal strontium-90. He even came up with an explanation for the Midas Touch. I'm no scientist and therefore can't evaluate the explanation but I'm nonetheless -- shall we say -- dubious. Still, the story works so well as an action-thriller that I was willing to set aside my doubts. More troubling is a complicated bit of subterfuge in which Tyler engages toward the novel's end, supposedly without being seen by the adversaries who were guarding him. That the adversaries would be so remarkably unobservant was inconsistent with their behavior until that point and just a little too convenient for our intrepid hero.

Morrison's writing style is unburdened by clichés. His characters aren't deep -- the male characters are standard ex-military Ranger types who are adept at flying planes, racing cars, and defusing bombs, while the lead female is plucky and smart -- but this book is all about plot; the characters exist only to move the story along. This isn't the kind of writing that wins literary awards (just as James Bond movies don't win Oscars), but it is the kind of high energy writing that entertains thriller fans. It worked for me.

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In the Blood by Robert J. Sullivan

Self-published via CreateSpace on June 8, 2010

In the Blood is a science fiction crime story. Desperate humans fleeing political turmoil on the planet Samos settled on the planet Procrustes. They had little choice: their ship had nearly exhausted its supplies and needed repairs they could not make. In the early years, an apparent plague claimed the lives of many young settlers. The humans eventually negotiated an agreement with the planet's native inhabitants, the Zhergi, that provided the humans with land and clan status. Since then, humans and Zhergi have generally coexisted in peace, although Zhergi bias against humans is obvious. In recent years, however, a serial killer has targeted humans in the City of Herenjeros during an annual festival that resembles Mardi Gras. The killer uses a pike-like Zhergi weapon known as a sedtvo but wields it inexpertly, leaving the police uncertain whether the murders are committed by a human or a Zhergi. The governing council of Herenjeros hires offworld detective Sam Dane to help the local police conduct their investigation.

In the best marriages of science fiction and crime fiction -- Warren Hammond's KOP is an example -- the two genres are equal partners. In the Blood is more effective as a detective story than as a work of science fiction. Neither the Zherghi nor the planet Procrustes are recognizably alien. The Zherghi are inadequately described but their physiology doesn't seem to differ significantly from a human's. The atmosphere and food supply on Procrustes are well suited to humans without adaptation. Readers looking for an alien planet that is truly alien won't find it here.

The detective story is nonetheless interesting. In the Blood isn't a whodunit: the killer's identity is revealed about midway through the novel. At about the same time, another murder, apparently unrelated to the serial killings, takes place. The human victim is someone Dane knows, a development that adds a new dimension to the plot. When the killer's motivation is finally revealed, the explanation is .... imaginative might be one description, farfetched another. I stop short of saying ridiculous because that would be too harsh. Science fiction, after all, requires a greater suspension of disbelief than other genres. Still, I found it difficult to accept that certain historical events could have been concealed for so long from the human population. That observation notwithstanding, the plot isn't as implausible as some others I've encountered. In any event, I enjoyed the story.

Robert J. Sullivan is a capable writer. Despite its shortcomings, In the Blood is a well-paced, entertaining novel. It isn't at the top of either genre, but it isn't bad.

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English Lessons by J.M. Hayes

Published by Poisoned Pen Press on July 5, 2011

Despite Sewa Tribal Officer Heather English's disdain for the politics of Arizona's new governor-elect, she isn't pleased to have her Christmas Day shift disturbed by her discovery of his skin nailed to a wall near an abandoned mine on the Sewa reservation.  Nor is she happy to find her name printed on an envelope that has been left at the crime scene.  The enclosed letter warns of an impending war on a drug lord named Rabiso.  At about the same time, a package containing a severed hand is delivered to Heather's uncle, Mad Dog.  We soon learn that two drug dealers named Mouse and Cowboy have hired a hit man known only as "the professional" to take out Rabiso.  For reasons that eventually become clear, Cowboy's people mistakenly believe that Rabiso and Mad Dog are the same person.  The confusion of identity leaves Mad Dog fending off thugs as well as the amorous advances of a beautiful lawyer who has been hired to protect Rabiso.  Meanwhile, "the professional" has an agenda of his own.

Given the lighthearted tone of this mix-up, it's clear that J.M. Hayes wrote this novel with his tongue pressed forcefully into his cheek.  In fact, Hayes couldn't resist the puns to which an unattached hand lends itself.  If that doesn't provide enough humor for one mystery novel, Heather's dad, the sheriff of Benteen County, Kansas, begins Christmas Day by trying to figure out who urinated a message into the snow near a crèche displayed on a resident's lawn, and later confronts an informal militia that tries to occupy the courthouse without missing Christmas dinner.  Then there's Heather's love life -- she's trying to keep a date to meet her boyfriend's parents for a Christmas gathering but dead bodies keep getting in the way -- and the fact that Mad Dog is a shaman with a spiritual connection to a wolf that's smarter than Lassie.

The storyline involving Heather is essentially a spoof of a thriller while the one involving her father is closer to a farcical send-up of the extremely gullible who believe every loony idea they hear on talk radio.  Some of the humor has a political component -- Hayes pokes fun at conspiracy theorists who believe the Obama administration intends to confiscate their weapons -- that some readers might find less amusing than I did.  Readers who want their fiction to remain divorced from politics (and those who think government agents in black helicopters are waiting to swoop down and collect their shotguns) might want to give this novel a pass.

Nearly all the characters in English Lessons are likable.  Heather's father is an older, limping version of Andy Griffith.  The whackos and bad guys are too bumbling to dislike (except "the professional" who is, of course, a professional).  Even Hayes' minor characters have engaging personalities, from Sheriff English's elderly office manager (who becomes vicious when she's playing online computer games) to the gruff doctor who points out that the militia members who insist they want to "save the country" are flying a secessionist flag.

Both storylines are a bit over-the-top by the novel's end but since they aren't meant to be taken seriously, I didn't mind.  The novel is relatively short, the right length to prevent the joke from growing stale.  English Lessons is the sixth novel in the "Mad Dog & Englishman" series but the first I've read.  If they are all this goofy, I'll have to find the time to read more of them.

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The Good Muslim by Tahmima Anam

Published by Harper on August 2, 2011

The Good Muslim is the second novel of a trilogy -- something I probably should have known before I began reading this one. Although the novel stands on its own, it makes frequent references to characters and events that would have been more familiar to me had I read A Golden Age first.

The novel takes place in Bangladesh in the 1980s, with frequent flashbacks to the early 1970s. To some extent, two stories from the two different times are told in parallel: Maya's recent return to her home in Dhaka after years of providing medical services to village women -- including abortions for those who were sexually assaulted -- in other parts of the country; and her brother Sohail's earlier arrival home after fighting in the country's war for independence. Maya is nonetheless the novel's focal point. She left Dhaka after Sohail's return, when Sohail made a public display of burning his books. She comes back at about the time her mother becomes ill.

After the war ends, Sohail begins to study the Quran that his mother gave him. For reasons the reader does not learn until the last chapters, Sohail takes the holy book to heart. When Maya, weary of listening to Sohail proclaim the book's greatness, tells her mother that Sohail is going to turn her house into a mosque, Rehana replies: "Don't be so frightened of it. It's only religion." A question The Good Muslim asks, I think, is whether we should be frightened of religion, or only of the dangerous zealots who pervert its teachings. Maya is clearly skeptical of religion itself; she resists its power to change people at their core.

Sohail begins to deliver sermons from his rooftop. Initially Sohail preaches about "the many faces of God," suggesting his openness to all religions (even to the gods of the ancient Greeks), but as time passes his words become less inclusive: "There was only one. One message. One Book. The world narrowed. Curtains between men and women. Lines drawn in the sand." As he continues to preach and gains a following, Sohail loses touch with his mother and neglects his son's welfare before sending his son, Zaid, to a madrasa on the other side of the country. Sohail has become too righteous and self-involved to deal with the mundane demands of parenthood. It eventually falls to Maya to look out for Zaid, particularly after Zaid runs away from (and is sent back to) the madrasa.

Some aspects of the novel are more effective than others. I found it difficult to muster interest in Maya's budding romance with Sohail's friend Joy (a recent returnee to Bangladesh who drove a cab and provided home care in New York) or in her relationship with Sohail's bright, talented (but larcenous) son. Given his importance to the story, Zaid should be a more fully developed character; we see snippets of his life but he lacks fullness. The same could be said of Joy who, while imprisoned during the war, loses a finger to prison guards after an experience that has an almost mystical quality. Perhaps Tahmima Anam was trying to create a moment of light in a dark time but Joy's experience just doesn't ring true. There's also a mystical (perhaps miraculous is a better word) element to the story involving Maya's mother that I found difficult to accept. In what I think is the novel's weakest moment, Sohail's religious fervor and Maya's faith in medicine intersect over their mother's illness, leaving Maya to question her well-formed beliefs.

In addition to the mother's illness, other aspects of the story struck me as artificial. The reason that Sohail becomes a "good Muslim," revealed near the novel's end, and the events that ensnare Maya and Zaid in the closing pages, are unconvincing. The last chapter and the epilog come close to melodrama. I was left with the feeling that I'd read a carefully constructed story, a story designed to pull emotions from me that I just didn't feel.

Despite these weaknesses, The Good Muslim has much to recommend it. There are some electrifying moments in this novel, often centered on the hardships that Bangladeshi women endure. Anam's prose is mesmerizing. Parts of the novel are captivating and its cautionary tale of religious zeal has value. I think sometimes Anam tries too hard to make a point and obscures it in the process, but the novel is worth reading for its shining moments.

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One Man, One Murder by Jakob Arjouni

Frist published in Germany in 1991; published in English by Melville House on June 7, 2011

Wikipedia tells me that Jakob Arjouni is a German writer and that One Man, One Murder (originally published in 1991 as Ein Mann, ein Mord) is the third of four novels featuring the Frankfurt detective Kemal Kayankaya. I haven't read the first two but I don't think my lack of familiarity with the series hindered my enjoyment of this one.

The story takes place in 1989. In the tradition of noir private eyes, Kayankaya is wondering how to pay the rent on his ratty office when a client walks through the door. Manuel Weidenbusch has fallen in love with a Thai woman, has paid her debt to release her from the "club" that employs her, and has paid an additional sum for a forged passport to keep her in the country after her visa expires. The phony passport purveyor has apparently kidnapped Sri Dao Rakdee; hence Weidenbusch's need for Kayankaya's services.

Kayankaya's investigation takes him to the brothel where Sri Dao Rakdee was working off her debt, to unhelpful immigration authorities, to a refugee organization, to a cabaret, to jail, and to a dead body. Before bringing the investigation to a satisfying conclusion, Kayankaya encounters, and makes fun of, a number of racial purists who view the good old days of German nationalism with nostalgia. Although he's a German citizen, Kayankaya's parents are Turks and he's viewed with suspicion by many of his fellow Germans. Kayankaya has a cheeky, anti-authoritarian attitude that shines when he confronts police officers, immigration officials, and paper-pushers in the civil service.

The novel delivers an intelligent take on illegal immigration in Germany without being preachy. Some readers object to political discussions in novels; those readers might want to give this one a pass. Politics is overshadowed by plot, however, and although he's an advocate for the underdog and takes care of his friends, Kayankaya isn't what you'd call a liberal do-gooder. He fits the mold of the anti-hero: he's irreverent and hard-headed and doesn't have any great belief in justice (at least, not of the law-and-order variety), yet he has his own kind of honor, a dogged determination to dig up the unpleasant truths that corrupt officials and illicit businessmen would prefer to keep buried.

Lesser writers should take lessons from Arjouni. His prose is efficient; no words are wasted in this brief novel. He avoids clichés and his dialog is both realistic and acid-tinged. Still, Arjouni isn't so minimalist that he forgets the necessities of good fiction: he creates atmosphere by painting colorful images of a drab city, and he gives his characters personality without resorting to stereotypes. He keeps his intelligent plot moving at a brisk pace. Arjouni reminds me of Joe Gores, an American writer of detective fiction whose work exhibits the same admirable qualities. Arjouni adds a bit of social realism to the mix, giving One Man, One Murder an added dimension that I appreciated. Fans of hard-boiled detective fiction should enjoy this novel as much as I did.

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