Zombie by J.R. Angelella

Published by Soho Press on June 5, 2012

The best news about Zombie is that the only zombies in the story are metaphorical.  Jesus is one (back from the dead).  So is a pill-popping mom who is usually zoned out (the living dead).  As befits its title, the story takes a horrific twist but it never quite becomes a horror novel.  Zombie is too funny to be frightening, but it also makes serious points about the nature of everyday monsters.

Like all straight teenage boys, Jeremy Barker is obsessed with girls, although he gets nosebleeds when he’s aroused.  The highlight of his summer was seeing his neighbor Tricia naked.  Jeremy is also obsessed with zombies.  He thinks the high school he’s about to enter should have security measures in place to counteract a potential zombie attack.  Although he’s attending the Byron Hall Catholic School for Boys, he seems wholly unprepared for the rituals (including confession) in which he is expected to participate.  On the other hand, when a priest tells Jeremy that “zombies have more in common with Catholics than most people care to admit,” Jeremy knows he has found a friend.  The priest, in fact, recommends The Greatest Story Ever Told as an underappreciated zombie movie.

Jeremy is supposed to be taking Ritalin but he isn’t fond of pills.  Jeremy’s mother, who is a bigger fan of pills than Jeremy, left his father some time ago, leaving behind stacks of women’s magazines that Jeremy devours.  Jeremy’s brother has also moved out, leaving Jeremy alone with his dad.  Jeremy’s father (Ballantine) lives in his own world, a world that includes Jeremy only when his father wants to impart fatherly advice, including the kind of knot Jeremy should sport on his necktie (the bigger the knot, the bigger the … or so Jeremy’s dad believes).  Ballantine disappears every night and Jeremy doesn’t believe his claim that he’s spending his time with a nurse.  The mystery of Ballantine’s secret life deepens when Jeremy finds a disturbing DVD among his father’s belongings -- disturbing in part because Jeremy recognizes his English teacher in the video.

Jeremy offers opinions on varied topics -- boxers versus briefs, how to survive a zombie apocalypse or an art exhibit -- while his friends dispense dating advice, providing amusing digressions from an amusingly meandering story.  The lurking mystery of Ballantine’s nocturnal activities is resolved in a manner that mixes Dostoevsky, Frankenstein, Eyes Wide Shut, and existential philosophy.  That doesn’t sound funny, but it is, in a twisted sort of way.

Fans of zombie movies might appreciate Jeremy’s running commentary on the many zombie films he’s seen (including the underrated Zombie Strippers).  Jeremy sees zombie movies as morality tales or parables in which zombies, having no stake in humanity, represent amorality in its purest form.  Of course, it isn’t necessary to be a zombie to be soulless -- witness those around the world (including Jeremy’s father during the Vietnam War) who have made a profession of torturing others.

Zombie is written in an informal, chatty style.  Chapters are short, sentences are snappy, dialog is sharp.  It is a quick and fun read, yet the book has a surprising degree of literary merit.  Characters are smart and brash and they analyze each other in insightful ways.

If you don’t like books with depressing endings, you might want to give Zombie a pass.  My larger complaint about the ending is its abruptness.  A number of story threads are left dangling; a number of characters who seemed to be important to the story simply disappear.  Still, I think Zombie accomplishes its goal.  This is a novel about survival, and despite the depressing outcome, there’s a degree of warmth and hopefulness in Jeremy’s ability to survive a metaphorical zombie apocalypse.

(Like most boys attending a Catholic boy’s school, Jeremy has a foul mouth.  That adds to the humor, and I mention it only for the benefit of readers who screen books for their kids or who choose to avoid reading naughty language.)

RECOMMENDED

Amped by Daniel H. Wilson

Published by Doubleday on June 5, 2012 

Amped is a variation on a science fiction theme with a rich tradition:  an exploration of the rights to which artificially intelligent beings are entitled.  Although the theme has most often involved machines that take on the characteristics of humans, Daniel Wilson applies it to humans who have been physically and cognitively enhanced by technology.  The result isn’t particularly profound or original, but taken as a thriller with science fiction trappings, Amped is enjoyable escapist fiction.

Amped begins with a familiar premise:  a device implanted in the brain amplifies intelligence by focusing concentration.  Not surprisingly, there is a public outcry against those who, having obtained the device, are perceived as having an unfair advantage.  Since those with amplified concentration will inevitably be the smartest students, they are banned from many public schools, an outcome advocated by the Pure Human Citizen’s Council but condemned by the Free Body Liberty Group (who put an interesting spin on “pro-choice”).  The PHCC, led by Senator Joseph Vaughn, has convinced a growing segment of the population that enhanced intelligence is both unpatriotic and a threat to the American way of life.

As a technological enhancement that (supposedly) makes life better, the amp is arguably not so different from the neural implant that controls Owen Gray’s epileptic seizures.  Because the maintenance hub in his temple is indistinguishable from an amp’s hub, however, Owen experiences hostility from “normal” people who believe he has an amp.  Owen’s empathy for amps is therefore understandable, but his understanding of his own existence is radically altered when his father reveals a secret about Owen’s past.  The disclosure sends Owen on a trip to an Oklahoma trailer park called Eden.  Meanwhile, a disbanded group of amped soldiers called the Echo Squad is blamed for terrorizing the country.  One of them, a cowboy named Lyle Crosby, becomes central to the story.

Unfortunately, the story’s background is better than the story itself.  A third of the way in, Amped becomes a tale of resistance:  the amped, led by the Echo Squad, against the regular (“reggie”) folk who oppress them.  Amped later turns into a political conspiracy action-adventure story flavored with Superman and a bit of romance.  At times it reads like military science fiction without the military trappings; at other times it resembles a condensed version of a Ludlum novel.

One of Amped’s most interesting themes is the nature of heroism.  The difference between freedom fighter and terrorist, as we have often heard and as the story demonstrates, is simply a matter of perspective.  Another theme is the consequence of oppression.  Those who fight back reinforce the fears of the oppressors while persuading the ambivalent that they have something to fear from a suddenly violent minority.  Those who don’t fight back are consigning themselves to a life of oppression.

Amped’s primary theme is, of course, fear and hatred of people who are different from the norm.  An important but underdeveloped character (an advocate for peaceful resistance) perceptively argues that most people are good, but not when they’re afraid.  Fear is easy to instill and a powerful tool for manipulation of opinion, a point that Wilson makes in a heavy-handed way.

Unfortunately, Amped buries these serious themes in an action-adventure story that fails to do them justice.  The story takes a (not entirely unexpected) twist at the end, the sort of ploy that thrillers rely upon to startle readers.  As an action-adventure-thriller-science fiction story, Amped isn’t bad, but a disappointing ending cheapens a strong setup.  It is only partially redeemed by an epilog that, despite being a little too warm and fuzzy, delivers an important message.

Despite my criticisms, Amped make a number of points rather effectively:  the media’s willingness to slant stories in a way that both reflects and shapes popular opinion as dictated by the prevailing power structure; the ability of oppressors to spin the truth by portraying themselves as the oppressed; the godlike sense that often develops in people who have profoundly superior abilities.  The parallel between those who call for human purity (i.e., unenhanced brain functions) and those who, in the past, have supported racial purity or religious purity or political purity is obvious but nonetheless insightful.

Wilson writes with unwavering intensity and fierce energy.  While the story is ordinary, Amped is worth reading for the well-conceived background and for the thoughtful messages it delivers.

RECOMMENDED

Drowned by Therese Bohman

First published in Swedish in 2010; published in translation by Other Press on May 22, 2012 

I'm amazed to find a work of Scandinavian fiction in which the characters aren't endlessly complaining about how depressed they become during the long, frigid winters. In the first half of Drowned, the characters complain about how depressed they have become during the unusually hot summer. Part Two takes place in the fall and the characters complain that the rain and rotting leaves have created "a state of torpor." It seems that an unremitting feeling of depression is a consistent feature of Scandinavian fiction, no matter what the season might be.

Marina, an art history student in Stockholm, takes a train to the country to visit her sister Stella, who is living with an older man, a novelist named Gabriel. Unsurprisingly, something develops between Marina and Gabriel. Much of the story (written in the first person from Marina's perspective) takes place inside Marina's head as she ponders the meaning behind the brief kiss Gabriel gave her, her life-long jealousy and resentment of Stella, and her relationship with her absent boyfriend. One external event becomes significant: a burn mark on Stella's inner thigh that she can't adequately explain.

Things have changed by November, including Marina's relationship with Gabriel, when the novel's second half opens with Marina's return to the country. I won't reveal the plot-altering event that leads to the second visit for the sake of not spoiling it, although it is something the reader will probably anticipate long before it happens. Mild tension develops as the reader wonders how that event came to pass.

Some of its promotional blurbs describe Drowned as a thriller. Readers who come to the novel expecting it to thrill are likely to be disappointed. Nothing mysterious -- or even eventful -- happens until the story's last quarter. All of the action (and there isn't much) is crowded into the final pages. Even then, the story is more strange than suspenseful. The ending leaves many questions unanswered, and while that isn't always a bad thing, in this case I think too much is left open. The story seems incomplete.

Drowned is not for readers who only enjoy plot-driven, energetic novels. The tone is hushed, the pace is languid, and the content is based on thought rather than action. Therese Bohman's focus is on the creation of character rather than the tension that usually defines a thriller. Of course, the character Bohman develops is Marina, so when Gabriel, late in the novel, becomes more significant to the plot, it seems that we're meeting him for the first time. Gabriel's actions seem out of character but only because he was such a hollow character for most of the novel. If Bohman intended to create a sense of foreboding (and I think she did), she waited too long to do it.

Bohman has a nice eye for descriptive detail but she doesn't go overboard. Although she often seems on the verge of writing run-on sentences and is addicted to comma splices -- a writing style I generally disfavor -- Bohman makes it work. The sentences hurry forward, creating the illusion of urgency even when nothing much is happening. References to art and poetry pop up with some frequency; at least some of those have an allegorical relationship to Bohman's story. All of that kept me reading but, in the end, it isn't enough to make the novel succeed. Although there are many aspects of Drowned that I appreciated, it ultimately left me frustrated, in a state of torpor.

RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS

Midnight Alley by Miles Corwin

Published by Oceanview on April 16, 2012

Ash Levine is a homicide detective with LAPD whose job is interfering with his attempt to reconcile with Robin, his almost-ex-wife. Levine is assigned to "Felony Special," a citywide division that handles high profile crimes (those that are deemed worthy of solving because the press is watching). When Raymond Pinkney is shot to death, Levine gets the case. Pinkney's father is a councilman who is often critical of LAPD. The other victim of the double homicide, Teshay Winfield, is a recent veteran. Their bodies are found in an alley in a gang-ridden neighborhood.

Several other characters in Midnight Alley, both good guys and bad guys, are also veterans. Asher is a veteran of the Israeli Army. A veteran named Mullin is a sociopath. A man named Delfour hires Mullin to kill Levine. Eventually the Russian Mafia joins the plot, which revolves around the theft of an ancient, jewel-studded mask.

All of this is a promising start but the plot eventually veers into strange territory as Levine finds himself accused of shooting an unarmed man. After some rather uninspired detective work (threatening to throw someone off a building doesn't produce a confession that will stand up in court although Levine seems to think it will), Levine uncovers a criminal plot that I would charitably describe as wildly implausible. Still, Miles Corwin manages to pull all the plot threads together by the time the story ends.

Corwin highlights a number of political and social issues in Midnight Alley, ranging from racism in LAPD to the notion that America is a "Christian nation" to mismanagement of the second war in Iraq. Corwin's most perceptive take concerns the skewed priorities that result from asset forfeiture laws: because the police get to keep certain proceeds from criminal activity that they seize, Levine finds his homicide investigation trumped by the more lucrative investigation of a drug cartel.  Alas, astute social commentary does not suffice to make a novel worth reading.

Frequent references to Levine's religion and enjoyment of food are apparently intended to give Levine depth, or at least a personality, but those efforts are insufficient to make Levine interesting. We're continually told that Levine is a rebellious, nonconformist officer but we don't see him behaving that way until near the story's end, when he commits a series of crimes to prove that he didn't commit the crime of which he's accused. Usually he's wavering between self-righteous and self-pitying, qualities that do not serve a thriller hero well. Supporting characters are no better; Corwin creates a defense lawyer who is a caricature of an actual attorney while cops, thugs, and veterans are all pulled from central casting.

Some lengthy scenes, including a clichéd family dinner, add nothing but tedium to the story. Corwin's writing style is competent but occasionally marred by stilted dialog and trite expressions. As crime novels go, Midnight Alley has some entertaining moments but fails to distinguish itself from a slew of similar novels.

NOT RECOMMENDED

A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar by Suzanne Joinson

Published by Bloomsbury USA on May 22, 2012

The alternating chapters of A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar tell two stories. One begins in 1923 and takes place largely in the ancient Silk Road city of Kashgar. The other is set in present day London.

Pretending to have a "calling" she does not actually feel, Eva English has joined two missionaries, her sister Lizzie and Lizzie's friend Millicent Frost, on a bicycling trip, all the while journaling her thoughts for a book she intends to write. The three women have reached Kashgar, where Millicent, having assisted in the delivery of a baby, stands accused of causing the death of the baby's mother. They are placed under house arrest at a residence on the outskirts of the city. This does not stop Millicent and Lizzie from infiltrating harems and other gatherings of women to "gossip the gospel" in an effort to convert them. Whether the women are in serious trouble is an open question through much of the novel and the source of slowly growing tension. Eva is more concerned, however, about the strange behavior of Millicent and Lizzie, who seem to be hiding secrets from her, and about the fate of the baby, to whom she has formed a motherly attachment.

Frieda Blakeman is surprised to receive a letter informing her that she is next-of-kin to the recently deceased Irene Guy, a name that means nothing to her. Tayeb Yafai is an illegal immigrant, a frustrated filmmaker from Yemen who is homeless in London. His story intersects with Frieda's when, after spending the night in her hallway, he helps her sort through Irene's property. Frieda's effort to learn about Irene brings her back into contact with her mother, from whom she has been, if not estranged, at least distant.

The linkage between the two stories is not revealed until late in the novel. The connection will nonetheless be obvious to most readers long before it is unveiled.

By far the better of the two, Eva's story is filled with vivid images: Lizzie lashing herself to a tree so she can photograph a sandstorm (a form of self-punishment); the relentless drumming that signals an uprising against foreigners; a long trek to Urumchi through a dangerous desert. The story is at its best when tension develops between Millicent, a crusader for Christ whose mission gives her tunnel-vision, and Eva, who understands that their work is causing newly converted believers to be put to death. To Millicent, the death of the innocent is the necessary cost of spreading her faith. When Millicent quotes a "vicious, vitriolic passage of revenge" from Hosea, the distinction between Millicent and Eva is sharply drawn: Millicent welcomes martyrdom while Eva is grounded in the increasingly desperate reality of their plight.

Although Eva and Frieda are drawn in detail, Eva is more convincing, and the only character with whom I felt an affinity. Frieda and Tayeb exist only to draw parallels between past and present: where Eva was an ill-treated outsider in Kashgar, Tayeb is the same in London. Unfortunately, the creative potential of this idea is never quite fulfilled. Tayeb is an interesting character but his story doesn't come into focus until the concluding chapters, creating the sense of an underdeveloped character attaining momentary significance. Millicent and Lizzie have mental health issues that serve to advance Eva's story while limiting their interest as characters. Frieda's mother is more a caricature than a character.

Once Eva reaches Urumchi, her story loses much of its force. Her story's ending would have been better left unwritten. It seems to have been contrived for those readers who insist on knowing how a character's life turns out after the real story is over. Frieda's (and Tayeb's) story, on the other hand, never has any force to lose; it just fades away.

Despite its faults, A Lady Cyclist's Guide to Kashgar is enjoyable for its graceful prose and for its stirring account of Eva's time in Kashgar. I look forward to Suzanne Johnson's next effort.

RECOMMENDED