A Death in Summer by Benjamin Black

Published by Henry Holt and Co. on July 5, 2011

Richard "Diamond Dick" Jewell, a wealthy businessman, stable owner, newspaper publisher, and orphanage sponsor, is dead at his desk, his head blown off. He is found "clutching a shotgun in his bloodless hands," an obvious attempt to disguise a murder as suicide. Detective Inspector Hackett is joined at the crime scene by his friend Dr. Quirke, filling in for the government's pathologist, who has been rendered unavailable by a heart attack. The initial suspects include Jewell's sophisticated French wife, Françoise d'Aubigny, who doesn't seem overly distressed at his demise; Maguire, the yard manager who was convicted of a violent crime many years earlier; the arrogant Carlton Sumner, a rival businessman with whom Jewell had recently quarreled; and Sumner's son Teddy. Jewell and Carlton Sumner are also linked by Sumner's maid, Marie Bergin, who once worked for Jewell. Another link -- one that appears to join all the suspects -- is St. Christopher's orphanage. Quirke is also linked to St. Christopher's, having resided there during some of his childhood.

Quirke is quite taken with Françoise, particularly when she invites him to lunch to discuss her husband's death. The lunch is probably inappropriate given Quirke's romantic (or at least physical) involvement with Isabel Galloway; it's even less appropriate that he later becomes intimate with Françoise. It's sometimes difficult to understand what motivates Quirke -- why, for instance, would he accept an invitation from Giselle, Françoise's nine-year-old daughter, to see her bedroom during Richard's wake? -- other than to note that Quirke often views the world through an alcohol-induced haze and seems to move passively through his life without giving anything (except the mystery at hand) a great deal of thought.

A subplot has Quirke's assistant, Sinclair (an ambitious lad who wants Quirke's job), spending time with (if not quite dating) Sinclair's daughter Phoebe (whose status as his daughter Quirke long denied before acknowledging its reality). Sinclair happens to be a friend of Jewell's sister Dannie, a relationship that leads Dannie and Phoebe to meet and bond. Sinclair has a knack for collecting damaged women who want to use him as a therapist (and nothing else) -- the price he regretfully pays for being a nice guy. At a later point in the story, Sinclair plays a deeper role in the mystery after receiving anti-Semitic threats (and worse).

Benjamin Black (the pen name of Irish novelist John Banville) writes in an elegant style that befits a literary mystery. There are shades of noir in the story but Black gives his characters greater depth than is typical of noir fiction. The plot is tight and easy to follow but the solution to the mystery is less than obvious. Black supplies a nice bit of misdirection toward the end. On the other hand, this isn't a traditional mystery, in which the reader can play detective, picking out clues and trying to puzzle out the solution alongside the fictional crime-solver. There are subtle clues to the killer's motivation, but a reader who guesses the killer's identity will, I think, be doing just that: guessing.

While not a conventional mystery, the story is nonetheless strong, notable for its collection of troubled characters more than its plot. The story moves at a comfortable pace, neither frenzied nor languid. Black creates dramatic tension in small ways; scenes of violence, for the most part, take place offstage, leaving details to the reader's imagination. Black leaves no loose ends; the story proceeds to a skillful conclusion.  This fine novel made me a fan of Quirke; now I need to find time to read the first three books in the series.

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Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey

Published by Orbit on June 15, 2011

The Canterbury, an ice-hauling ship, receives a distress signal from the Scopuli, a deserted ship with a hole in the hull and a transmitter that sends a signal as soon as the ship is boarded. Soon the Canterbury is attacked and destroyed by a frigate that appears to be part of the Martian Navy. Only the shuttle crew that boarded the Scopuli survives, including XO Jim Holden. When Holden broadcasts the details of the attack, the news nearly ignites a war between residents of the Belt (represented by the Outer Planets Alliance) and those of Mars. Holden's story, told in the odd-numbered chapters, unfolds from there.

The story told in the even-numbered chapters belongs to Miller, a security officer (essentially a corporate cop) on Ceres, a Belt gateway. Miller is assigned to find Julie Mao, the missing daughter of a wealthy corporate executive, and return her to her parents. Miller eventually hears that Julie shipped out on the Scopuli and he goes looking for her. A little less than halfway into the novel, the two storylines converge as Miller and Holden meet in a moment of unexpected violence. Miller's investigation leads him to a conspiracy that relates to the prologue in which a character melts into goo. More than that I cannot say without revealing too much of the lengthy but carefully plotted story.

This is throwback science fiction, an old school space opera married to a futuristic detective story. While much of the background in Leviathan Wakes is familiar (the privatization of law enforcement, the conflict between the old "inner planets" and the rebellious "outer planets" that resent being taxed and controlled by Earth), James Corey (the combined pen name of Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck) does an impressive job of making it seem fresh. I particularly liked the Byzantine nature of interstellar politics as envisioned by Corey. I also appreciated the characters' philosophical debate about the merits of making potentially unreliable information openly available, even if it might lead to war (which Holden advocates) as opposed to concealing facts to prevent the aggression and rioting that might be sparked by faulty conclusions (as Miller advises). In the context of the story, neither position is clearly correct; that's the kind of nuanced writing that is too rare in science fiction.

Equally impressive is Corey's ability to tell an exciting story ("exciting" being a descriptor I don't often use). Battle scenes, both in space and hand-to-hand, are frequent and furious; they create genuine tension. While the novel is filled with action and thus moves quickly, none of it is mindless; the plot is intelligent and credible. The writing is sharp; occasional sentences and phrases are quite clever. The characters aren't particularly deep but that's the norm in plot-driven sf. Holden and Miller nonetheless work well as archetypes that play against each other: idealist vs. cynic (although neither character is so limited as to become a stereotype). Miller's dependence on his mental construct of Julie -- even after Julie's death, he almost thinks of this woman he never met as a trusted friend, a moral touchstone -- is an effective device that humanizes Miller.

If I have a complaint, it's that having characters melt into goo is sufficiently horrific without introducing the concept of "vomit zombies" (don't ask); the latter make it difficult to take the story seriously. Fortunately, vomit zombies are a relatively minor aspect of the plot.

Leviathan Wakes is the first book in a series that will collectively be known as The Expanse. Given the quality of this novel, I'll be sure to read the next one.

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The Summer of the Bear by Bella Pollen

First published in the UK in 2010; published by Atlantic Monthly Press on June 7, 2011

The Summer of the Bear tries to be many things at once: a mystery (involving possible espionage), a family saga, a children's adventure, a comedy, at least two love stories, a bit of a political/environmental story, and maybe a fantasy (the last could also be read as a story of spirituality). It succeeds at some of those ambitions more than others.

Bella Pollen's novel tells an odd but (mostly) charming story that focuses on young Jamie Fleming and his family. Jamie's father, Nicky Fleming, is a diplomat. When Nicky dies in Bonn after falling from the embassy's roof, he is widely believed to have committed suicide. Jamie's mother, Letty, doesn't quite have the heart to tell Jamie, substituting "he's gone" and "he's not coming back" for the stark language of death. Mildly irritated that his father won't be taking him to the circus to see the performing bear, Jamie becomes convinced that his father is away on a secret mission worthy of James Bond. Jamie's spoken belief that his father is a spy is unfortunately misunderstood; rumors are already afoot that Nicky was actually working for East Germany against the interests of the UK. The rumors stem from a partially written letter to Letty -- found crumpled on Nicky's desk after his death -- that mentions a secret he's been keeping from her. Embassy officials view the letter as a confessional suicide note. At some point Letty starts to wonder whether her husband's death was neither accidental nor a suicide, while at the same time fighting doubts about whether the man she loved did (as some additional evidence suggests) engage in an act of treason.

Nicky's death forces the family to return home to the Outer Hebrides. At about the same time, a bear arrives on the island, escapes from its owner, and takes up residence in a cave. The bear shares its thoughts with the reader (it's quite the philosopher) and has an almost telepathic connection to Jamie. There is also an apparent connection between the bear (which we're told has "a half human heart") and the deceased Nicky -- at least Jamie, having heard tales of reincarnation from the islanders, would like to believe there is.

The bear storyline required more suspension of disbelief than I could muster; I think the book would have been better off without it. The novel works best as comedy. Much of the story is wryly amusing and one scene (involving an incident that caused Nicky's kids to be banned from the embassy) caused me to burst into sustained laughter. I was taken by the island's colorful characters and by Jamie, who has a knack for inventing wild explanations for things he doesn't understand that, in their own way, make a silly kind of sense.

The story also works well as an exploration of a family dynamic following the death of a husband and father. The relationship between the siblings rings true. Each kid reacts to Nicky's death in a different, credible, well-defined way. Letty's two daughters are simultaneously endearing and maddening; that also rings true, as does their resentment of their mother's detachment after their father's death. Finally, the story does a reasonably sound job of building suspense as the characters edge closer to learning the truth about Nicky's actions. The conclusion of that storyline is quite satisfying. The ending of the parallel story involving Jamie and the bear was too over-the-top for my taste, although I'll concede that it was well done. While the result is a mixed review, on balance I recommend the novel because more elements work than fail, and even the elements that didn't thrill me were skillfully executed.

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The Upright Piano Player by David Abbott

Published by Nan A. Talese on June 7, 2011

David Abbott blends light comedy with tragic drama in a first novel that reads like the work of a seasoned writer. The Upright Piano Player begins in 2004 at the funeral of Henry Cage's beloved grandson Hal, a death for which Henry blames himself. The story then begins anew, this time in 1999. Forced into retirement from the business he founded, divorced from Neesa (a documentary filmmaker whose well-publicized affair Henry refused to forgive), Henry's solitary idleness leads to trouble: he's kicked out of the restaurant after a customer complains that Henry has been staring at the customer's girlfriend, and his home is vandalized after he complains that the BBC weather report gives undue attention to Scotland. Not knowing whether the vandalism is connected to the staring or to his criticism of the weather report, Henry resolves to stay awake at night to protect his home -- an endeavor that fails when he falls asleep while a mysterious envelope slides under his front door. The contents of the envelope eventually lead to the novel's most dramatic moment. Much of the story, however, concerns Henry's faltering attempts to make amends with Neesa and their son Tom.

Although the novel's focus is on Henry, other key characters have stories of their own. Neesa is dealing with twin regrets: the cancer that will soon rob her of her life and the fact that Henry is no longer part of it. Tom has had no contact with his father for years until he finally breaks the news that Henry has a four-year-old grandson. Colin Bateman, the anger-driven boyfriend of the woman at whom Henry was staring, ekes out a living taking photographs but his violent behavior undermines his ability to hold a steady job. All of David Abbott's characters are realistic, filled with flaws and idiosyncrasies and difficulties. Even the minor characters, like Henry's housekeeper, Mrs. Abraham, and Maude Singer, Henry's one-time lover and an on-and-off employee of the business that fired him, have carefully honed personalities.

At one point, Henry wonders whether his disconcerting relationship with Bateman is punishment for his "various failings." Henry's most significant failing is his self-centered nature: he blames himself for things that aren't his fault because he believes he causes things to happen when he is actually the random victim of misfortune. It's an interesting take on a common trait, a failure of introspection that I haven't seen explored in quite that way in any other novel.

The Upright Piano Player paints a convincing picture of an uncompromising man. Henry's refusal to compromise the integrity of his business might be admirable, although it ultimately costs him his career. Perhaps, in his personal life, it is the same inability to compromise that damaged his relationships with both Neesa and Tom. My most significant complaint about the book is that we really don't know; little can be gleaned from the text about the true nature of Henry's role as husband and father. My other, less serious disappointment with the novel is the lack of transition between the events of 2004 and the story that begins in 1999. The disconnect between the two time frames struck me as a bit jarring.

Given the serious nature of the subject matter, the tone is surprisingly light for much of the novel, although it darkens toward the end. The misfortunes that bedevil the characters are balanced with enough irreverent humor to keep the book from becoming maudlin. The story is briefly told yet comfortably paced. Abbott's prose style is winning. I look forward to reading his next effort.

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The Borrower by Rebecca Makkai

Published by Viking on June 9, 2011

The premise of Rebecca Makkai’s entertaining first novel is farfetched.  Librarian Lucy Hull takes an unintended road trip with ten-year-old Ian Drake, son of fundamentalist parents who have enrolled Ian in classes held by the notorious Pastor Bob, a “formerly” gay man who conducts classes designed to turn gay kids straight.  To Lucy’s dismay, Ian’s mother seems intent on saving him from the evil world of children’s literature.  The road trip, taken without the knowledge or consent of Ian’s parents, brings Lucy and Ian into contact with the man Lucy is dating (a musician whose most recent composition resembles the Mr. Clean jingle) and her father, a Russian immigrant with a hidden past and shady ties to organized crime who is nonetheless a decent fellow -- at least when it comes to Lucy.  If the road trip happened in the real world, reporters would be asking Lucy “What were you thinking?” as she’s hauled off to prison.  It’s never quite clear, even to Lucy, what she’s thinking, but the unlikely set-up makes it possible for Makkai to tell a funny story.  Makkai somehow manages to make it seem real, or perhaps the story has sufficient charm to encourage the reader’s suspension of disbelief.

As much as I enjoyed the story, I was left with a “Is that all there is?” feeling at the novel’s end, which seems too neat and painless given the improbable events that precede it.  As I finished reading I was wondering what point Makkai intended to make.  Of course, not all novels need to have a point; it’s often enough to tell a good story while introducing the reader to believable characters.  Yet The Borrower seems determined to deliver a message.  In that task, the novel fails -- or, at least, I failed to find a coherent message.  At one point, Lucy decides that it’s impossible for people to save people, but she’s convinced that books can save people (to that end, Lucy encourages Ian to read books that will save him from the closed-minded dictates of his parents’ religion).  I’m not sure that observation makes sense:  if a book opens a reader’s mind, information and advice coming from a trusted friend can likely achieve the same end.  At another point, Lucy observes that people cannot change.  While it’s true that people can’t change immutable characteristics of their birth (such as sexual identity, which Pastor Bob is determined to “fix” in the classes that Ian attends), it is also true that people can change many aspects of their life.  Lucy, in fact, comes to realize that she needs to change her life, but that realization is underwhelming, given that she decides she doesn’t like her job, or more particularly her boss, and concludes she should find a new one.  Since it was clear from the novel’s opening pages that Lucy’s boss was unlikable, it isn’t easy to understand why Lucy took so long to see the obvious.  If the road trip was a journey toward self-awareness for Lucy, it was a long drive to a trivial destination.

Having said all that, I fear I've made my reaction to the novel seem more negative than it actually was.  I appreciated Makkai’s ability to create engaging characters and to incorporate certain devices (like a very funny list of the things a ten-year-old will do while brushing his teeth) that make The Borrower an easy, amusing read.  While I was ultimately disappointed that the novel didn’t have more substance, I don’t regret the time I spent breezing through it.  The scenes that feature precocious ten-year-old Ian work well, and if Lucy’s attempt to learn something meaningful about her own life seems incomplete, that didn’t stop me from chuckling at the funny parts -- and there are a good many of them.  This is a promising first novel, one that encourages me to read Makkai’s next book.  I only hope it carries a bit more weight than this one.

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