Traitor's Dance by Jeff Abbott

Published by Grand Central Publishing on August 23, 2022

The Sam Capra novels have grown stronger as the series has progressed. Traitor’s Dance is one of the best entries. While Traitor’s Dance can be read as a stand-alone novel, series fans will benefit from the context that earlier novels provide. This one takes place several years after the story that developed in the first five books.

Marcus Bolt is an American traitor, a spy who defected to Russia. The CIA gets word that Bolt has eluded his Russian minders. They think he might try to reenter the US, despite his knowledge that the American intelligence community would be happy to shoot him on sight. Bolt has an estranged wife and daughter in Miami. The CIA thinks Bolt might want to contact them, although they both blame Bolt for his son’s suicide, a death his son deemed preferable to living as the son of a traitor.

Sam works as a “fixer” for an ultra-secret branch of the CIA. He is tasked with keeping an eye on Bolt’s daughter Amanda and with capturing or killing Bolt if he tries to contact her.

Sam relates to Amanda. Having been married to a woman who betrayed the interests of the US by advancing the cause of a criminal organization with terrorist ties, Sam understands what it means to have a traitor in the family. He has been keeping his wife’s true nature a secret from his son Daniel, but Daniel is beginning to realize that stories he has been told about his mother don’t add up. When he is contacted by a woman who claims to be his aunt, he willingly listens to her stories about his mother. The woman, of course, has ulterior motives, as Daniel discovers when he is kidnapped.

Abbott creates atmosphere with Miami’s population of Russians in Sunny Isles Beach, also known as Little Moscow. Russian oligarchs with luxury condos and their need for money laundering services play a key role in the story.

Jeff Abbott assembles a large cast to tell this story. While it is built on the framework of Bolt's potential return to the US and the reaction of various governments and criminals to Bolt's actions, much of the tension surrounds Sam’s attempt to Daniel from pain.

Family relationships are central to the plot. One of the characters is convinced that Bolt was framed and that Bolt can prove the innocence of his father, who embezzled money from the CIA. A British spy believes her husband was killed by one of the characters. Questions arise about the true identities of the fathers of two key characters. Family relationships tie into the theme of betrayal, a theme that binds many of the characters. Betrayal of a spouse or child is similar in many ways to betrayal of a government, a point that characters make repeatedly.

The plot is tight despite its many moving parts. The story moves quickly despite its attention to detail. The novel closes a chapter in Sam’s life but it appears to open a couple of others. New novels will be welcomed by readers who waited six years to find out what is happening in Sam’s life.

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The Ninth Month by James Patterson and Richard DiLallo

Published by Grand Central Publishing on August 23, 2022

James Patterson tells The Ninth Month in alternating sections devoted to the past and present until the two stories converge. The past unfolds over the months of a woman’s pregnancy. The present follows the woman’s friends and a couple of police officers who look for clues to the pregnant woman’s disappearance.

Emily Atkinson, an attractive woman of 32, parties hard, screws up her marketing job, and has multiple heart attacks caused by mixing drugs with booze. When she realizes she is pregnant by one of a few possible men, she wonders whether she should stop drinking and give birth, slow down her drinking and terminate the pregnancy, or postpone any decision until her brain cells are fueled by more martinis. A pregnant nurse named Betsey befriends her and tries to help her make responsible choices.

Betsey becomes concerned when Emily suddenly disappears. Betsey’s concern is heightened by two facts. First, another pregnant woman in Emily’s neighborhood, who is about the same age and worked in the same industry, was murdered. Second, Emily thought she was being followed before she disappeared. At the same time, Emily’s perceptions are clouded by alcohol. Perhaps her stalker is a product of her drunken imagination.

The story in the present centers on Betsey’s attempt to motivate two police detectives to look for Emily. The male detectives has a history with Emily, which makes him a suspect. A number of other men have a history with Emily or intersect with her life, including a drug dealer, a bartender, a television writer, and her former boss.

Plot development is deliberate, but the novel is not slow moving. The chapters set in the past grow Emily’s character. Stories about a struggle with sobriety are common and familiar, but this one is more effective than most. Emily is great at her marketing job but being fired because she’s a drunk doesn’t change her life because she comes from money and doesn’t need to work. Whether her pregnancy will motivate her to stop drinking — whether anything make her change her identity as a party girl — is more suspenseful than the threat she might face from her stalker.

The theme of a pregnant woman who contemplates an abortion before she bonds with her fetus has been done to death. Emily’s detailed characterization is wasted on the trite notion that women always turn themselves into responsible mothers if they choose not to end a pregnancy. Frankly, Emily has probably done so much damage to her fetus that giving birth is a questionable decision.

Parts of the plot come across as contrived. The stalker's reveal is not entirely surprising, although it does incorporate a moderately clever twist. The ending seems like the product of lazy writing. The Ninth Month is not terribly successful at building or sustaining suspense (Patterson didn’t bring his A-game effort in that regard), but its portrait of a woman struggling to get her life together is both engaging and convincing.

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Fox Creek by William Kent Krueger

Published by ‎ Atria Books on August 23, 2022

The theft of natural resources from Native people is the dominant theme of Fox Creek, but much of the story is a suspenseful wilderness adventure. The novel is the latest in the long-running Cork O’Connor series.

Cork is flipping burgers at his northern Minnesota restaurant, trying to live a peaceful life but still helping people with private investigations. A man who identifies himself as Louis Morriseau asks Cork to help him find his missing wife. Morriseau suspects that Dolores is fooling around with Henry Meloux. Morriseau clearly doesn’t understand that Henry is literally one hundred years old. And while he’s still energetic and might indeed have lead in his aging pencil, Henry is a medicine man and spiritual guide who is more interested in healing people than shagging them.

Cork’s wife Rainy is related to Henry. It doesn’t take Cork long to find Dolores, who has come to Henry is search of guidance. Nor does it take Cork long to learn that the man who contacted him is not Lou Morriseau. It is Lou (the real one) who has gone missing. Lou is a real estate lawyer who has been spending time in Canada for reasons that he hasn’t explained to Dolores.

Cork eventually makes it his mission to help Dolores. He’s joined in that effort by his son Stephen, Rainy, Henry, Lou’s brother Anton and his sister Belle, and various Natives who rally to the cause when needed.

Lou’s disappearance apparently has something to do with a hand-drawn map that bears the word KILLCATIE. Stephen and Belle are tasked with digging into that cryptic clue. The wilderness adventure begins when Henry and Rainy disappear with Dolores. Henry is an unparalleled woodsman, but he’s pursued by a Native tracker of nearly equal skill named LeLoup, who is accompanied by a couple of less skilled killers. As LeLoup tracks Henry’s group, Cork tracks LeLoup.

The story offers a satisfying resolution to the mystery of KILLCATIE, a mystery based on the credible premise that white people are again trying to enrich themselves by depriving Natives of resources. The wilderness adventure is enhanced by vivid descriptions of the Boundary Waters and the perils of staying alive in snowy woods, even when trackers aren’t pursuing with rifles.

The adventure turns into an interesting spiritual journey for some of its participants, although it affects them in different ways. That journey could have been hokey, but William Kent Krueger makes it seem authentic. Krueger is too respectful of Native people to leave the impression that he’s using Native beliefs as a prop. The story ends on a note of hope, in the sense that it suggests that it is never too late to set a life on its correct path. This is always an interesting series, and Fox Creek lives up to Krueger’s high standard.

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Mount Chicago by Adam Levin

Published by Doubleday on August 9, 2022

Mount Chicago is a wild novel, spinning off in so many directions that it often seems on the verge of spinning out of control. The novel is at times infuriating, but mostly in a good way — in a way that amuses and entertains. One of the three significant characters, a parrot named Gogol, adds a playful element to a story that is already goofy. Gogol’s musings about freedom and dependence might be meant to illuminate human experiences of similar conditions, parrot logic being no less tenuous than human logic. Perhaps the parrot’s thoughts are intended to spotlight his owner’s emotional state as deduced from the impact those feelings have on Gogol. Maybe it is best to think of Gogol as a neurotic but philosophical character who indulges in the same fruitless search for meaning and contentment as humans but with a greater emphasis on preening.

The novel is set in Chicago, where a sinkhole destroyed Millennium Park and a wing of the Art Institute. The mayor prefers the term terrestrial anomaly to sinkhole because who wants to live in a city that is developing sinkholes? A dense cone arose in the middle of the sinkhole, apparently made from the remains of everything that was destroyed, including a significant number of tourists. The mayor decides to name the cone Mount Chicago and to surround it with a memorial to those who died, like (in the mayor’s words) Auschwitz but less depressing. Then the mayor decides there should be a Wall of Survivors, broadly defining survivors as everyone in Chicago who didn’t die, and perhaps newborn children who were affected by their parents’ emotional trauma while still in the womb.

Gogol’s owner, Solomon Gladman, is the second primary character. The third is Apter Schutz. Apter becomes obsessed with Gladman after discovering videos of his rare comedy club performances. Gladman was a psychotherapist before he became a successful novelist and occasional comedian. Learning more about Gladman motivates Apter to study social work (an education that gives Adam Levin the opportunity to explain and critique various forms of therapy). Apter made a significant amount of money by developing a product that took advantage of witless Trump supporters, then worked as a psychotherapist (a gig that made him adept at manipulating others) before accepting a position with Chicago’s mayor. That job that puts him in charge of a music festival to raise funds for the memorial. Perry Farrell, who is donating the services of Jane’s Addiction to the festival, would like to have Gladman perform. The mayor isn’t sure that’s a good idea, since he’s heard that Gladman’s humor is antisemitic. Gladman isn’t sure it’s a good idea for reasons of his own, but the invitation gives Apter a chance to meet the man he has always idolized.

The story leads to a climax involving a key character who was devastated by the death of people close to him who did not survive the sinkhole. The plot follows a winding path, a path made of detours and digressions, before arriving at the climax. Dozens of additional pages cause the story to fizzle out after the climax. The novel’s value lies in its journey rather than its mildly disappointing destination. A shortcake baked into the shape of the letter e becomes the focal point of a retelling of Gogol’s “The Overcoat.” David Mamet explains to Chicago’s mayor, back when he was an alderman, why the alderman is a jagoff. Gladman invents a longish fable about a future Chicago ruled by penguins who lead beavers that enslave ducks and a penguin king who is embarrassed by the boners his grandson (an adopted duck) can’t control. All of this is quite funny even if it is entirely unnecessary to the plot, which unfolds over a small percentage of the book’s word count.

Still, there are times during Mount Chicago when I thought Levin was a little too in love with his own humor, times when jokes or funny stories or amusing anecdotes lost some of their edge because they extended several pages beyond the point at which a punch line or climax would have been welcome. Some of the humor is too obvious to be effective. Levin mocks political correctness early in the novel, sometimes making a good point — the misuse of the word “survivor” to describe anyone who had an unpleasant experience, the mischaracterization of language the listener doesn’t appreciate as “violent” — but he does so selectively, making clear that he believes some groups are mockable and others, although just as egregious in their extremism, are not.

Levin occasionally uses the postmodern technique of speaking directly to the reader, reminding the reader that the book, after all, is just a work of fiction, not a true story. Since I like getting lost in books, imagining the stories to be true for as long as the illusion can be maintained, I’m not a big fan of the technique. After beginning the novel with an introduction that insists Levin should not be confused with any of the characters, Levin takes a break from the loose plot at roughly the one-third point to bring the reader up to speed on events that have transpired in his real life since he began writing the novel. Later in the book he discusses alternative ways in which the story might have unfolded. Okay, you’re postmodern, we get it.

These are not necessarily consequential gripes about a book that scores points for consistently provoking chuckles and an occasional belly laugh. Levin may have intended the novel as a serious exploration of grief, but it is too unfocused to be taken seriously (although it does make the point that we each grieve in our own ways). Even if the whole is less than the sum of its parts, I appreciated the novel as a celebration of storytelling. Gladman’s stories, whether presented in the form of fables or standup bits, and Apter's stories about the five significant events in his life, grab the reader’s attention, even when they extend beyond a reasonable stopping point. Whatever Levin’s intent might have been, the result is an absurdist comedy fest that merits a recommendation — and almost a strong recommendation — for the stories within the story.

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A History of Present Illness by Anna DeForest

Published by Little, Brown and Company on August 16, 2022

A History of Present Illness is sort of an Inside Baseball of medicine as practiced in hospitals. The narrator is a medical student. Much of the novel is bleak, from references to unfortunate moments in medical science (the Tuskegee experiment; inducing terror in children to study its effects) to descriptions of patients who suffer from physical and mental illnesses doctors can’t cure and who, perhaps for that reason, the doctors don’t care about.

Each chapter heading — “Modified Drama,” “Withdrawal of Care” — suggests a short story, but the chapters are linked by a patient named Ada. The novel has no clearly identifiable plot unless the random thoughts and anxieties of a medical student as she learns about anatomy and patient care in a hospital constitute a plot.

Toward the story’s end, the narrator shares her biographical details. Her life has been messy, complete with victimization by at least one of her stepfathers, self-mutilation, and a 72-hour mental health hold. At least the narrator managed to avoid the fate of a sister who was shipped to an evangelical camp in the South to have the devil beaten out of her.

In the present, the narrator has no time for romance or sex, although it seems unlikely that she would have success in those endeavors even if she were not busy with medical school. She appears to be learning about love voyeuristically, soaking up the experiences of others as she wonders whether they would be a good fit if she tried them on. She wonders about doctors who are emotionally detached from their patients (as doctors must be to make sound professional judgments). Perhaps her own empathy renders her unfit for the profession. Perhaps it is her questionable mental health that renders her unfit. Or maybe she’ll be a good doctor one day. Who knows?

Putting aside biographical detail, all that remains is a series of observations about what the narrator has learned or seen or done as a medical student. She wants to die screaming rather than being the silent victim of a heart attack, a preference that seems a bit dramatic. She wonders about students who view medicine as a vehicle to a large income rather than a calling. She tells the reader that she wants to understand suffering, although her personal experience should give her a bank of relevant experience to draw upon. She feels jealous of students and patients who can take comfort from religion, although she appreciates the solitude of the hospital chapel. She ends the novel with advice she was given: “Don’t worry about your weaknesses. Just take your strengths and play them to death.” Seems like good advice for poker. I'm not sure how well it translates to living.

The narrator keeps the reader apprised of Ada’s condition (a disease causes dementia before it renders her comatose). The most powerful scenes follow the narrator’s interaction with Ada’s husband when Ada (after a gruesome procedure from which her husband is spared) is finally declared dead and removed from her ventilator. The bureaucratic, mistake-ridden process of making Ada officially dead confirms the narrator’s observation that nobody in the hospital dies until a doctor allows it. Ada wrestles with the degree to which she should be honest with Ada's husband. That struggle creates more sympathy for Ada than her vague and detached description of her childhood.

Apart from the scenes surrounding Ada's death, Anna DeForest gives us a volume of smooth prose and some interesting medical trivial but never captures the reader's imagination. The autobiographical details seem self-indulgent. Some of book is a bit dull. But other parts of the book have merit, earning a very guarded recommendation.

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