White Dog Fell from the Sky by Eleanor Morse

Published by Viking on January 3, 2013 

White Dog Fell from the Sky begins with a startling scene.  A hearse stops on a dusty road.  Isaac Muthethe’s body is removed from a coffin and laid on the ground.  When Isaac revives, a white dog is sitting next to him.  He is relieved to discover that he is in Botswana.  Formerly a medical student in South Africa, Isaac became a follower of Stephen Biko’s movement to end apartheid.  Isaac fled after officers of the South African Defense Force murdered his friend.

In Botswana, Isaac searches for work in an affluent neighborhood where foreigners hire servants and gardeners. The white dog follows faithfully as he goes from door to door. He eventually finds employment as a gardener for an American woman named Alice, whose marital woes seem inconsequential compared to Isaac's problems. Isaac understands that "the bitter heart eats its owner," but he cannot forget the hardships endured by his family. Early in the novel the reader wonders whether Isaac will join the armed resistance against the South African Defense Force, particularly after its members enter Botswana and kill people who are close to him. Unfortunately, some choices are out of Isaac's hands.

The novel shines when it focuses on Isaac. He is a remarkable young man, caring and selfless, forced into a life of hardship and confusion. The novel's shine is tarnished when Alice's mundane problems come to the forefront. Alice is something of a twit. She feels no desire for her husband ("her body felt nothing for his") and tells him so, but seems surprised when he has an affair. She spends a good deal of the novel fretting about her life while showing little inclination to improve it.

Unfortunately, Isaac all but disappears for a large part of the novel and Alice's story becomes the dominant one. Alice meets a fellow named Ian who wants to cut the fences that are harming the nation's wildlife   Despite her generally low opinion of men, she immediately falls for Ian, then falls away in an overly sensitive reaction to something she overhears, then is madly in love with him, all within the space of 24 hours. Why Ian thinks she's worth pursuing in unclear, but after being with her for a day he can't live without her. Their love story is predictably chaotic. Ian is no prize, as he quickly proves, but by working to document the vanishing culture of the San, he is at least trying to accomplish something meaningful while he's in Africa. Had the entire Alice and Ian section been excised from the novel, nothing of value would have been lost. When Alice (minus Ian) resumes center stage, there is very little left worth reading about. After Isaac finally resurfaces, he reignites the story's spark, but it comes too late to redeem the novel.

Although it is obvious that Eleanor Morse once lived in Botswana, descriptions of the country read as if they were cribbed from a Rough Guide. Despite Morse's fluid writing style, the country doesn't come alive; the atmosphere isn't vivid. The historical information about the San is interesting but it reads like an article in National Geographic. The discussion of the San comes across as academic, rather than the passionate, first-person account we would expect to hear from Ian if he were a real person.

The image of the white dog is interesting ("White Dog knew things from the other world, things that most dogs don't know") but the symbolism of White Dog's steadfast devotion and patience is a bit forced. I think the novel is trying to deliver a message but I'm not sure what it is. Good things come to dogs who wait? Life is tragic for everyone? Love is complicated? It's better to be in love than to try to save the world? Ian's revelation in a moment of danger -- "without love, there's nothing" -- is awfully trite. The attempt to equate Alice's life with Isaac's, because they both "lost something" and feel empty, is ludicrous.

Ultimately, White Dog Fell from the Sky strikes me as a marvelous novel married to a mediocre novel.  Since the mediocre novel dominates, I cannot recommend the work as a whole with any enthusiasm.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Ratlines by Stuart Neville

Published by Soho Crime on January 2, 2013 

Three men have been assassinated: a Belgian and a Norwegian who, having allied themselves with the Reich, came to Ireland as refugees, and a German who worked for the SS. A note left in a victim's pocket suggests that the killer will soon be coming for Otto Skorzeny, formerly of the SS (a character who is borrowed from the real world). With President Kennedy about to visit Ireland, the Irish government can afford no political unpleasantness. The Directorate of Intelligence assigns Albert Ryan to investigate the killings. As Ryan pursues that task, the killings continue; a Breton who fought for Germany becomes the next person selected to deliver a message to Skorzeny. When it becomes clear that someone close to Skorzeny has betrayed him by acting as an informant, Ryan and Skorzeny are in a race to find the rat. Also putting pressure on Ryan to deliver information is a Mossad agent named Weiss who eventually becomes one of the novel's central characters.

The question of Irish neutrality during the war is directly addressed in a discussion between Ryan and a rabbi, but it provides a fascinating subtext that pervades the novel. Ryan is not a popular guy in his home town, in part because his family is Protestant, in part because he fought for the British during World War II -- the surest route he could find to leave home. In the eyes of many, he allied himself with his nation's enemy. Now he is being asked to ally himself with a former Nazi. Ryan's divided loyalties make him a more interesting character than is common in thrillers.

Weiss adds another layer of intrigue when he tries to exploit Ryan's sense of conflict for his own ends. Amidst the many competing agendas, the truth is obscured, at least for awhile, leaving Ryan even more unclear as to where his duty of loyalty may lie.

The plot is mildly complex but easy to follow. I wouldn't call it convoluted. It turns on a surprising twist that comes about two-thirds of the way into the story -- surprising but, I thought, credible. Stuart Neville creates a dark and gritty atmosphere while populating the novel with the kind of grim, morally questionable characters who serve as a perfect foil for Ryan. Action scenes are nicely interspersed with scenes of political intrigue.

Occasional moments of melodrama mar the story, and the characterization of Skorzeny is a bit over-the-top, but both of those are common flaws in modern thrillers, and neither is so pronounced as to trouble me. The ending, while satisfying, is a little too neat. On the whole, though, Ratlines is enjoyable and, at least on occasion, thought-provoking. That's more than I can say about most thrillers.

RECOMMENDED

Too Bright to Hear Too Loud to See by Juliann Garey

Published by Soho Press on December 26, 2012 

Too Bright to Hear Too Loud to See is an honest, searing examination of a man in pain, a man suffering from a mental illness that is beyond his understanding or control. The illness turns him into a raging a-hole, and because it is not a physical illness with easily identifiable symptoms, because he suffers from bipolar disorder rather than cancer, he is shunned, treated with derision rather than sympathy.

As the novel begins, Greyson Todd, a studio executive, is becoming increasingly reclusive. He can't handle the noise of life. His memory, once his strongest asset, is failing. He can no longer cope with responsibility. One day, after a bit of planning, he leaves his life and eight-year-old daughter behind. The story then begins to tumble in time until the reader realizes that in the present, Greyson is hospitalized, undergoing treatment for his condition.

Some of the novel is quite compelling, particularly the sections that directly address Greyson's mental illness. Juliann Garey describes Greyson's decaying mind in powerful, convincing prose. "Slowly, over time, like wallpaper, the face I have shown the world has peeled away. I am a building on the brink of being condemned." His description of depressive thinking and suicidal ideation is vivid. Greyson's attempts to anesthetize and to distract himself are frighteningly real. The descriptions of Greyson's treatment -- the ECT (a nice name for electroshock), the memory loss, the lethargy and other side effects of lithium -- are harrowing. They leave the reader wondering whether the cure is worse than the disease. There are also some touching moments as Greyson's mind begins to clear and he tries to reestablish relationships that may or may not be permanently damaged.

Other parts of the novel seem fragmented. I'm sure that's deliberate, a representation of a fragmented mind, and after an understanding of the novel's structure takes hold, the random jumps in time become easier to digest. The fragments, pieced together, tell the story of Greyson's life. Some work better than others. The early years (1957-60), showcasing Greyson's relationship with a father who had his own mental health problems, are insubstantial. The 1970s and early 1980s, when Greyson is advancing from agent to superstar agent to studio executive, tell a too familiar story of Hollywood excess. More interesting are the years after Greyson leaves his family: an erotic encounter with a Bedouin in the Negev; touring the sex menu in Bangkok; in apparent pursuit of a death wish, taking a dubious tour of the "real" Africa. Greyson's attempt to live independently in New York, characterized by isolation and paranoia and meltdowns, reflect some of the novel's strongest writing.

This is not a good choice for readers who want to bond with likable characters. It is easy to sympathize with Greyson, but an honest portrayal of a manic-depressive assures that the character will often be unlikable. Greyson's daughter is quite likable, as is an old man who befriends Greyson when he's living in New York, but they both play limited roles in the overall narrative. Readers looking for happy endings and closure might also be disappointed with the novel. Still, there is a sense of guarded hopefulness at the novel's end; the story isn't entirely bleak. The ending is realistic and, as Garey makes a point of saying, it isn't Hollywood cheesy.

The novel's message -- other than the need to understand rather than condemn the mentally ill -- is that bipolar disorder is an extreme manifestation of what most of us experience in our daily lives: highs and lows, mood swings, moments of irrational anger or unexplained exuberance. We manage to stay in control, "the ups and downs stay within a manageable range," but that reflects our good fortune, our good brain chemistry, not our good character. We can't take credit for it, any more than Greyson is to blame for the faulty wiring of his brain. I give Garey credit for conveying that message so effectively.

RECOMMENDED

Raised from the Ground by José Saramago

First published in Portuguese in 1980; published in translation by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt on December 4, 2012

José Saramago’s death in 2010 was a sad loss for the world of literature, but his novels endure.  It is often difficult to know what to make of a Saramago novel.  He infuses drama with humor so as to make them indistinguishable, relies upon fantasy to illuminate reality, distorts history to help us understand the present.  Saramago merges philosophy with storytelling.  With keen observation, he chronicles moral failings while remaining an extraordinarily forgiving writer.  Unlike nature, which “displays remarkable callousness when creating her various creatures,” Saramago displays compassion and understanding when creating his flawed characters.

Raised from the Ground is the story of the latifundio, the Portuguese landed estates and those who toil upon them. The laborers are the victims of "infinite misfortune, inconsolable grief, both of which lasted from the nineteenth century to the day before yesterday." Plagues, famines, wars, and the cruel overseers of the latifundio are the four horsemen of the apocalypse, the "great evils" that devastate the working poor. The workers spend their lives as if "tethered to a stake," governed by arbitrariness, and in a state of perpetual hunger. Is death the only escape, or is change possible? Fighting for a minimum wage and an eight hour day may seem futile, but futility is a way of life in the latifundio. It is the need to fight for change that compels the narrator to proclaim: "we are not men if we do not raise ourselves up from the ground."

With their meager possessions loaded onto a donkey cart, the shoemaker Domingos Mau-Tempo and his wife (Sara da Conceição) and son (João) make their way to their new home in São Cristóvão, the first of several relocations Domingos will impose upon his family. Domingos' miserable story (briefly interrupted in 1910 by the arrival of the Portuguese Republic and the end of the monarchy) segues into Sara's sad story and eventually becomes João's. Circumstances turn João into an unwitting labor leader, or at least he is mistaken for one; his support of a strike becomes the defining event of his life. The meandering story eventually introduces João's son António, who is drafted into the army despite his illiteracy, his daughter Gracinda, who wants to marry João's friend despite her poverty, and his granddaughter Maria, who shares his blue eyes. In 1974, the Carnation Revolution overthrows Portugal's dictatorship, an event that brings the living and dead together in celebration, a fitting end to a powerful story.

The novel's run-on sentences, assembled from words seemingly poured from buckets, flow with a rhythm that is uniquely Saramago's. Dialog is buried haphazardly in the text, always in keeping with the rhythm of the narrative, never set off by quotation marks, and while it's usually easy to understand who is speaking, some readers will be put off by the unconventional style. Although the narrator's identity is neither clear nor consistent, the narrator's chatty editorial voice is always present. As if conversing with a friend, the narrator will mention a town and say "you probably know the place." The narrator sometimes professes not to understand the mysteries of life that he is relating, sometimes says "let's see how things turn out." He gives the reader information that, he says, won't contribute to an understanding of the story, but will let us "know each other better, as the gospels urge us to do." He reminds us that "the seemingly unimportant and the seemingly important form part of the same narrative," and all of it, taken together, is "as good a way as any to explain the latifundio." He suggests that people who might take a different view of the latifundio "clearly don't know much about life." All of this is vintage Saramago: tongue-in-cheek, playful commentary masking profound wisdom shaped by boundless compassion.

Compassionate wisdom is abundant in this haunting story. Saramago reveals the dignity and tribulations of the working poor and the indifferent cruelty of those who exploit them. He explores poverty and charity and the great equalizing force of death. He bemoans wars that tax and kill the poor while benefitting the rich. He ridicules the labeling of striking farm workers as terrorists and exposes the true terrorists: the government agents who have the power to brand those who speak for the powerless as "dangerous elements." He describes the torture of a man from the standpoint of an ant that, unlike the torturers, has a conscience. He lampoons priests who pray for the landowners and lecture the poor. Most importantly, amidst all the agony and suffering that his novel documents, he wryly acknowledges that "life has its good points too." Travel and beauty and sex and birth bring joy and renewal, even if only for a moment. Yet if "each day brings some hope with its sorrow ... then the sorrow will never end and the hope will only ever be just that and nothing more."

Saramago's matter-of-fact presentation of the absurd is filled with deadpan wit and goofy digressions. He treats the reader to hilarious descriptions of peasantry sex ("they huff and puff, they're not exactly subtle"), a political rally ("Where do I go to take a piss?"), middle age ("if this is the prime of life, then allow me to weep"), and the revolution ("what kind of name is junta for a government, there must be some mistake"). António's tall hunting stories, including his technique for catching a hare with pepper and a newspaper, are reason enough to read the book. Yet even the funniest stories are in some sense allegorical. They illuminate life in the latifundio, which isn't much different for rabbits and men.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Nexus by Ramez Naam

Published by Angry Robot on December 18, 2012 

What does it mean to be posthuman? It means with the right software, you can fight like Bruce Lee and perform like Peter North. It means your mind can network with those of other posthumans. It means your intelligence is vastly superior to that of mere humans. But can humans and posthumans coexist? Does the rise of the posthuman necessitate the death of the human? The questions posed in Nexus aren't new, but they have rarely been explored in such an entertaining fashion.

Although it is swallowed like a drug, Nexus is a nano-structure that creates an interface between the brain and computer software. It acts as a networking platform and an operating system. It creates the potential for one Nexus user to control another. Nexus is both a regulated drug and a prohibited technology. In short, it is illegal. Should it be?

Kaden Lane is one of a select group of people who, in addition to researching Nexus, is permanently infected with it. He thinks Nexus should be available to everyone, although he's worried that some users (and some governments) will abuse it. Samantha Cataranes works for a division of Homeland Security that responds to emerging risks. She views Nexus as a risk. She could lock up Kaden but she'd prefer to enlist his help for a more critical mission: determining whether the Chinese are using Nexus to create remote controlled assassins. If Kaden doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison, his task is to cozy up to Su-Yong Shu, suspected of being the primary architect of China's neurotech program. She is also suspected of being posthuman.

Kaden is a well-rounded, believable character. He isn't the only one. Samantha is Kaden's backup on the mission, a role that troubles her because she will need to use Nexus. The thought frightens her because she knows she enjoys Nexus despite her moral opposition to it, adding a layer of complexity to her character. Watson Cole, on the other hand, has no such qualms. Nexus gave him the gift of empathy. Once a battle-hardened marine, Cole is now a disciple of peace. Cole has a mission of his own: to make Nexus available to everyone, so they can experience the same transformation. While Cole's transformation occurs before the novel begins, Kaden and Samantha are continually questioning their beliefs, reevaluating their loyalties, evolving in response to new experiences and discoveries. They are fascinating characters.

Nexus gains intellectual heft from a contemporary philosophical debate that Ramez Naam projects into the future. Drugs and technology can be abused or they can be used responsibly. Should government prevent abuse by prohibiting the possession of anything new that might be abused, or should government tolerate a degree of abuse to promote individual freedom and societal advances? By developing and potentially releasing the means to develop posthuman life, is Kaden "threatening to make real humans obsolete," as Samantha argues, or is he empowering people with options they've never had before? This is the sort of debate that science fiction does so well -- anticipating ethical dilemmas of the future and, in so doing, shining a light on ethical dilemmas of the present.

Nexus tackles other issues as well, including the acquiescence of scientists in the suppression of science (scientists who protest put their research grants at risk) and the tendency of American foreign policy to disrupt or destroy the lives of innocent foreigners. Other things I liked about Nexus: the imaginative surveillance technology; the eagerness (as always) of the government to become just as bad as the bad guys it condemns; the grounding of repressive legislation in fear that the government instills, and the willingness of Americans to surrender their rights in response to those fears; the layers of intrigue; the characters' ever-changing perspectives of right and wrong; the true and surprising nature of Su-Yong Shu; the incorporation of Buddhist philosophy; the use of a virally infected religious cult and a Waco-like incident to explain Samantha's background; the extrapolation of the "war on drugs" and "war on terror" to a "war on science"; the paradox that sharing minds might promote individuality rather than "groupthink"; the battle between the government, as it attempts to suppress information released virally, and net users who labor to defeat the government's efforts.

And then there's the writing. Neem writes clear prose that, if not particularly lush, is well suited to the kind of story he tells. Action scenes are vivid and more imaginative than most thriller writers manage. Once the background is established, the pace is furious. A touch of melodrama in the ending is easy for forgive, as is a needlessly preachy epilog.

Nexus is intense, exciting, and thought-provoking. It's also fun.

RECOMMENDED