Istanbul Passage by Joseph Kanon

Published by Atria Books on May 29, 2012

Set in 1945, Istanbul Passage tells an absorbing story that builds suspense like a Hitchcock movie. The novel rests upon a storyline that was a favorite of Hitchcock's: the (relatively) innocent man caught up in an intrigue he did not anticipate, forced to use his wits to avoid arrest or death. As is often the case in spy novels, themes of betrayal and moral ambiguity in a changing world pervade Istanbul Passage. The temptation and motivation to betray touches every important character.

Leon Bauer (American) is married to Anna (German) who is bedridden with a mysterious ailment. Leon works for R.J. Reynolds in Istanbul but does a bit of spying for Tommy King (Office of War Information) on the side. Tommy is pulling out of the city, leaving Leon to take delivery of a post-war defector named Alexei (Romanian) who is smuggled into Turkey by boat. The handover does not go smoothly. Hours later, in an early plot twist, Leon discovers that people he trusted are not on his side.

Leon learns Alexei's true identity from Mihai, a Mossad agent who believes Alexei to be a butcher, a killer of Jews (an accusation that Alexei denies). Mihai, the only person Leon trusts, refuses to help Alexei. In fact, he argues that it is no longer ethical for Leon to help Alexei gain his freedom. Leon thus confronts a dilemma. Alexei might be evil, but there are degrees of evil, and Alexei's role in the war is unclear. Alexei may be able to provide valuable Russian military intelligence to the Americans. Is it better to hand Alexei over to the Russians so that he can be executed (which might seem a just punishment for his alleged actions during the war) or to give him a pass for his wartime behavior in exchange for the information he claims to possess? Leon stands uncomfortably in the middle of this Hobson's choice, a position that becomes even less comfortable when the Turkish secret police take an interest in Leon's involvement with Alexei. Compounding Leon's problems is a mole whose identity is not revealed until the novel's end.

The revelation of the mole's identity is mildly surprising thanks to deft misdirection. Leon's moment of truth is a highlight in a book filled with scenes that make an impact.  Despite the moderately complex plot that brings together a number of carefully drawn characters, Joseph Kanon maintains a deliberate and gradually escalating pace.

Istanbul Passage raises fascinating ethical issues. When Mihai argues that the actions of people struggling for survival can't be judged by others who weren't in their shoes, he fails to understand that the same logic might apply to his judgment of Alexei. How should the reader view Alexei? He seems unremorsefully selfish yet he is capable of self-sacrifice. He is a Romanian who allied with Germany when Germany seemed to be prevailing, then switched his allegiance to Russia, and now seeks an alliance with the Americans. Other Romanians see him as a traitor, Mihai considers him a war criminal, but in the end, Alexei may simply be a man who tried to stay alive.

At the same time, how should the reader view Leon? As a devoted husband, he wants to help his wife but lacks the funds to do so. As a man who is attracted to women, he finds it difficult to resist advances. Leon is probably the most morally stalwart character in the book but he is no stranger to temptation. He wants to do the right thing but in the end he comes to understand that there is no right thing. And since nothing he can do will change the past, the question that confounds him is how to behave in the present.

Kanon manages to generate excitement without endless explosions and car chases. Action scenes are rare but riveting. Kanon writes dialog that is both realistic and smart. His characters are artfully constructed. Leon, of course, is the most fully developed. The reader is privy to his disjointed thoughts, often triggered by something he hears or sees but disconnected from his present environment. Strong characterizations combined with suspense, emotional intensity and ethical ambiguity make Istanbul Passage a standout spy novel.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Winemaker by Noah Gordon

Published in Spanish in 2007; digitally published in translation by Barcelona eBooks on June 5, 2012 (distributed by Open Road Media); print edition scheduled for publication in September 2012

The intersection of wine and literature is a fine place to rest. The Winemaker will appeal to those who like a good story and to those who appreciate a good glass of wine. Those who love both wine and literature might place The Winemaker on their annual list of favorite reads. It will certainly be on mine.

After four years working in the vineyard and barrel room of a vintner in Languedoc, Josep Alvarez has developed an appreciation of fine wine that he could never have imagined growing up on his father's farm in Catalonia, where grapes are grown to produce vinegar and wine that tastes like horse piss. When he learns that his father has died, Josep decides to return home, hoping that he is not being pursued by the Spanish authorities. Initially, we know only that Josep joined the Carlist militia in 1870 and that he later left Spain, but we don't know why. Returning to his village, he discovers that his brother, Donat, is living in Barcelona and wants to sell the farm. Josep buys it and settles in, content to own "a slice of Spain," to use the knowledge he acquired in France to revitalize the neglected vineyard. Climbing a hill on the property and discovering hundred year old Garnacha vines, he begins to wonder whether it might be possible to produce grapes suitable for something more palatable than vinegar.

Part two tells how Josep became a soldier for lack of other options. In part three, having discovered that his duties as a soldier were other than what he expected, Josep struggles to make his way into the world. Part four returns to the present (1874) as Josep pursues his new life as a winemaker. Part five (beginning in 1876) completes a journey of self-discovery as Josep learns to embrace the pleasures of a simple life while resisting his neighbors' urges to be satisfied with its limitations.

While there is satisfying drama in the growing of grapes, Noah Gordon finds things for Josep to do that heighten the story's tension, from chasing a wild boar to the odd but dangerous sport of castell-building. Josep owes a debt to his brother that creates family discord. Even the mysterious relationship between Josep's neighboring farmer and the village priest adds dramatic interest to the story. When Josep's brief militia experience comes back to threaten him toward the novel's end, the story gains a layer of political intrigue without devolving into a cheap thriller. It also becomes a tale of turmoil as Josep realizes that he was manipulated by a friend.

The Winemaker is a novel of relationships and personal growth rather than action and suspense. Gordon also wedges in a love story, as Josep pursues romance (and/or sex) in a village where options are severely limited. As the story unfolds, the reader wonders about Josep's feelings for Teresa Gallego, the girl he left behind when he entered the militia, whose life he fears was ruined by his failure to return to her.

Gordon captures the place and time in his vibrant descriptions of mills and barrel makers and horse-drawn carts. He convincingly recreates sleepy, gossipy village life. The Winemaker treats readers to a brief history of Spanish land reform and civil strife during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Of greater significance to wine lovers, the novel provides a unique glimpse of winemaking on a small nineteenth century Spanish farm. Gordon writes lovingly of the hardships of winemakers who are at the mercy of weather, pests, rotting vats and fickle soils. The description of the final stages of wine production -- the experimentation required to produce the perfect blend of varietals -- is fascinating. Wine lovers will certainly admire this novel, but I think most fans of character-driven fiction will enjoy it as well.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Woman in the Dunes by Kobo Abé

First published in Japanese in 1962; first published in English by Vintage in 1964

Sand takes on a life of its own in Kobo Abé's disturbing novel, The Woman in the Dunes. An entomologist spends his vacation scouring remote sand dunes in the hope that he will find a previously unknown beetle. As night falls, he accepts an invitation to stay in a villager's home. Since each village home is built at the bottom of a bowl that has been dug from the sand, the man must climb down a rope ladder to meet the woman who will be his host. The woman spends the night (as she does every night) shoveling sand from the home's perimeter; if she does not, the home will become engulfed in falling sand. In the morning, the rope ladder is gone, and the man realizes he has been trapped, forced to join the woman in her endless labor.

Notably, the man's absence is not quickly noticed. Given his lonely and judgmental nature, he has no friends. "He longs so much for freedom and action that he can only hate people." In the hole, he has exchanged one empty existence for another. Although the man plots (and attempts) various schemes to escape, we learn in the first pages that the man is declared missing after a seven year absence from his home and job.

The Woman in the Dunes is strange but compelling fiction. The man (we never learn his name) experiences the range of emotions associated with death, from denial through acceptance, as he endures his years in the hole. The woman explains that the sand never stops falling. Each night brings the Sisyphean task of shoveling sand into buckets that village employees will lift from the bowl on ropes. The next night the shoveling must start anew. "But this means you exist only for the purpose of clearing away the sand," the man observes. If ever there was a pointless existence, the man has stumbled into it.

Yet his new life may not be as bad as it might seem. Interestingly, the man comes to value pointless work; it is a tool that makes self-denial possible. The man's relationship with the woman changes over the years, from revulsion (he initially sees her as "an old tube that has been squeezed dry of all sex") to -- if not love -- at least understanding and empathy. Perhaps this is a manifestation of the Stockholm Syndrome, although the novel predates that term. The psychological and philosophical implications of the novel are fascinating.

The story has a surrealistic quality. Abé makes no attempt to explain why this village exists, yet I found it easy to accept the premise. While I am not usually a fan of the existential novel (like many people, I suspect existence is pointless but I find it comforting to pretend otherwise), The Woman in the Dunes is more than a commentary upon the futility of life. Yet as the man comes to terms with his plight -- as he ponders whether his enemies are the villagers who keep him captive, the woman who meekly shares his fate, or the sand itself -- the man is forced to reinvent himself. Much of the novel consists of his internal monologue, the moment-by-moment evolution of the man's reaction to his predicament and his constantly vacillating response (sometimes anger, sometimes desire, sometimes both at once) to the woman whose home (and body) he shares. The novel's ending is foreshadowed but, in the context of the story, it is perfect; no other resolution (if one could call it that) would be true to the events that preceded it.

In short, The Woman in the Dunes is a remarkable piece of fiction. It combines the qualities of a myth with the gritty realism of a suspense novel, all the while challenging the reader to make sense of the story's broader implications.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Coward's Tale by Vanessa Gebbie

First published in UK in 2011; published by Bloomsbury USA on February 28, 2012

When we take the time to look beneath the surface, people are not always what they seem to be.  Sometimes those who seem cowardly are not cowards at all.  Sometimes atonement is mistaken for guilt.  In her unapologetically humane novel, Vanessa Gebbie reminds us of the patience and effort that is required to understand another person, and of the rewards awaiting those who make the effort.

Eccentric doesn’t begin to describe the characters in The Coward’s Tale.  In Chaucer-like fashion, their stories are related by Ianto Passchendaele Jenkins, the town beggar, in exchange for coffee and toffee.  Some of the stories teach lessons; some are gossipy; some are funny and some are heartbreaking.  Occasionally it’s difficult to grasp the point of a particular story, but getting to know the peculiar characters is reason enough to read The Coward’s Tale.

Jenkins has a story about everyone in town, as well as their ancestors.  A few examples will give a flavor of Gebbie’s creations:  Icarus Evans, the shop teacher, is consumed by the challenge of making a wooden feather that will float on currents of air; he never stops trying to achieve the impossible.  Jimmy Half (for halfwit or half-alive) Harris, born dead and buried before coming to life, cannot speak, although he was born to be a poet.  Factual Philips, a deputy librarian who covers his walls with diagrams, maps, charts, and lists, with particular attention to the clues and deductions that lead Sherlock Holmes to the truth that lurks behind mystery, finally gets a chance to solve a mystery of his own.  Also obsessed by maps is the town undertaker, Tutt Bevan, who revisits his childhood as he walks through the town in a straight line.  Touching stories explain why the son of a man who died in a coal mine became a window washer, why the son of a thief sneaks into houses at night, why Ianto tells stories while others toil.

In addition to Ianto, a boy named Laddy Merridew furnishes a common thread to bind the stories together.  Laddy wanders about the town, observing and interacting with its inhabitants, feeling lost and unsettled, worrying about his divorcing parents and trying to decide where he should live, listening to Ianto’s stories and wondering whether they are true or just more lies told by an adult.  In many respects Laddy is a young version of Ianto, while Ianto sees his lost brother in Laddy.

As they progress, Ianto’s stories become more serious.  They begin to echo each other:  broken windows and shadows and reflections are recurring images.  The stories share and develop themes.  Maps are bad because “they stop us from finding new places” or they “make places different to how they are in our heads,” although a self-made map can help you confront fears and find your own path.  A nearby coal mine inaptly named the Kindly Light appears in many of the stories, eventually becoming the novel’s central focus.  It is the site of a disaster that worked unexpected changes upon the town and its people -- Ianto most of all.

Witty, wise, and charming, intense and powerful, The Coward’s Tale offers a remarkable blend of humor and pathos.  The novel illustrates the importance of storytelling as an instrument of healing and community bonding.  Ianto’s stories inspire hope even in their saddest moments.  They encourage forgiveness and understanding as they reveal the frailties and faults of the townspeople.  The sad but perfect ending is the final knot that ties the stories together.

Gebbie writes musically rhythmic prose, forming sentences as sharp and shimmery as broken glass.  Both in style and content, The Coward’s Tale is an outstanding novel.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Red Flags by Juris Jurevics

Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt on September 20, 2011

Solid writing, intense action, strong characters, and a vividly detailed setting make Red Flags a winning hybrid of war story and espionage thriller. The book also offers a nice history lesson in some lesser known aspects of America's involvement in Vietnam.

Erik Rider, an investigator with the Army's Criminal Investigation Division, is assigned to disrupt the manufacture, transportation, and sale of drugs that are used to finance the Viet Cong. Rider travels to Cheo Reo in his undercover role as a captain, where he meets the CO -- Lt. Col. Bennett -- and a CIA agent named John Ruchevsky. After Rider finds and destroys a marijuana field, there's a price on his head, but his real goal is take out the poppy fields. That goal proves to be unpopular with people in the money chain -- people who might be closer to him than he thinks. As Rider digs more deeply into the drug trade, Ruchevsky searches for the spy who is giving classified information to the North Vietnamese. The two investigations eventually become entangled.

Rider has an interesting relationship with a female doctor -- interesting because Juris Jurevics avoids treating the reader to a clichéd combat romance. In fact, nothing about Red Flags is clichéd. The story is original, the characters genuine.

Clean, crisp, evocative prose sets this novel apart from most war thrillers. Jurevics crafts scenes of war that are poignant and heartfelt. The action scenes in Red Flags are written with adrenalin-pumping power. Although the novel moves at a brisk pace, there are only a few combat sequences. Rather, Jurjevics creates stark images of the fighting's aftermath: devastated landscapes, bloated corpses, haunted soldiers and grieving civilians. He also builds tension with anticipation: you know the shooting is coming but you don't know when. Jurjevics masterfully conveys a soldier's sense of waiting in dread, always living somewhere between boredom and terror.

As background to Rider's personal story, Red Flags captures the political complexity of Vietnam during the war era. The novel's focus on drug trafficking -- an instrument that financed both sides of the war -- isn't new, nor is its depiction of widespread corruption among the South Vietnamese leadership, but its emphasis on the role played by the Montagnard is something I haven't seen in other Vietnam fiction. Jurjevics manages to explain the conflicts between the different political, ethnic, and religious factions in South Vietnam without slowing the novel's pace.

The plot is well constructed and a critical event near the novel's end, although foreshadowed in the prologue, comes as a shock. The novel doesn't have a happy ending but neither did the war. The ending is nonetheless satisfying. The story as a whole conveys a feeling of reality seldom found in the shallow tales of heroism that too often characterize military fiction. This is one of the best military espionage thrillers I've encountered.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED