A Review of “The Accident Man”

The Accident Man (Samuel Carver, #1)The Accident Man by Tom Cain
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Fictional stories that spin off of historical events are always fascinating. I don’t mean fictional accounts of the lives of historical people…although those are fascinating as well. I mean novels that take a historical event and ask, “what if?” That is what Tom Cain does with The Accident Man, and he chooses a particularly sensitive subject historically: the death of Princess Diana. Specifically, Cain uses the fictional premise (although he specifically denies attempting to set forth or support any sort of conspiracy theory in his preface) that Princess Diana’s death was not accidental, but rather an assassination. His protagonist, Samuel Carver (who will debut here and will recur in future novels), is the assassin. He specializes in making his hits look like accidents, and only assassinates people whom he deems to truly deserve their fate, without knowing from whom his orders come. With this job, however, Carver has been double-crossed, and unknowingly murders one of the world’s most loved public figures, in order to further the political and financial goals of his employers. The rest of the book is about his discovery of this, his employers’ attempts to in turn kill him when he displays a conscience, and his quest for revenge.

I’ve always loved the espionage and suspense genre, and have gravitated toward books like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo or the Bourne trilogy. I grew up devouring the entirety of the James Bond library, from Ian Fleming’s original works forward. What strikes me the most about this book is the consistency between Cain’s world and Fleming’s world for Bond. For example, when Carver takes a shower, he first takes a steaming hot shower, followed by an ice cold shower. This was a trademark of James Bond when Ian Fleming wrote him; Bond always took his showers this way. I was also struck by the female character’s (an unwitting spy who is drawn into a job she hates by people she hates) line after they sleep together, something to the effect of “it’s never been like that before.” I thought to myself, if that wasn’t a James Bond-like line, I don’t know what is.

The reason that I find this fascinating is because this is the first of Cain’s books featuring Carver’s character. He is creating a character much like Bond, and doing it well. However, he is creating a darker version of Bond, one that doesn’t function with patriotic allegiance, but rather with allegiance to the highest bidder, justifying his relativistic ethics with a survival instinct. This can be taken as an interesting commentary on how our world is now as opposed to the Cold War era of Fleming. In essence, Cain is asking a second question in this novel: what would James Bond look like in a modern world of blurred lines between nations where patriotism is no longer an acceptable motive and anyone or anything can be purchased, including life and death?

Cain develops his protagonist fully as he follows a very Bond-like plot, mastering what Fleming did so well with his master spy: balancing his human vulnerability with his deadly professional expertise. Carver’s backstory is interspersed well throughout the book, never bogging the reader down and always contributing to what Carver is doing at that moment. Cain uses interesting language choices for his narration, drawing emotional analogies to the sorts of physical items that would appear in a spy’s life, for example. Cain also develops his other characters, although his villain is not nearly as original or even as memorable as a Bond villain. He makes up for this, however, in the brutality of his villain.

And therein lies part of the problem. The story absorbs the reader breathlessly until around page 300. From that point until the end of the book, Cain moves the plot in a direction that is decidedly like Casino Royale, with some notable differences: the twist with the female character doubles back on itself, the torture scene is even more savage (as unbelievable as that sounds), and the protagonist is not pictured as recovering well. In fact, we wonder how he will return in future books at all after the abuse he survives and the condition in which it leaves him. The interrogation and torture scene goes on for multiple chapters, and left me disturbed well into the next day. I found this to be un-necessary (especially as other characters undergo interrogation during the course of the book, with significantly less graphic descriptions) and so long that it completely robbed the story of its momentum in the closing chapters. The plot line for these adventures, after all, is relatively predictable: we know the protagonist will be captured and interrogated. That’s just part of the genre. This is one area, however, in which Cain shouldn’t have attempted to out-do Fleming, especially as Cain had done so well at making his violence succinct and effective up until this point.

Cain’s dark, post-modern version of Bond is worth reading, if only to experience this contemporary take on the master-spy character in literature. If you like the genre, and can handle the graphic violence in the closing chapters, this would be a good book for you. Tom Cain has given us a character to consider, and Samuel Carver may well be a spy that will be mentioned in all future discussions of the genre. Time will tell. Will I read another Samuel Carver novel? Only time will tell that, as well.

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A Review of “Incendiary”

IncendiaryIncendiary by Chris Cleave
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Epistolary books aren’t generally my taste, but this one surprised me. As with most books that take me aback, I read this at the suggestion of friends…it was nominated by popular vote in a book club in which I participate. First off, the narrator of the audiobook version adds an amazing amount of depth to the book, even to the point of leading me to pick up on some British humor that I might otherwise not have grasped. The book is a relatively quick read, weighing in at just over 300 pages in paperback, or 8 hours in audio.

And it is funny!

In fact, Cleave is amazingly adept at stepping between dry, witty humor and poignant explorations of loss that leaves the reader wanting to cry. The narrator, during a sexual romp with her lover, loses her husband and son to an al Queda terrorist attack on London. This book is her letter to Osama bin Laden following that attack. As you can see, the premise is humorous from the beginning, and it only gets funnier…and more heartbreaking.

On the surface, this is a gripping story about a woman who has lost everything to a senseless act of terror, and, while traveling a grief-stricken journey to determine who to blame, slowly loses her grip on her sanity. At a deeper level, there is cultural critique here: not just on the barbarity of terrorists, but on the barbarity of the civilized world’s response. As Cleave’s protagonist loses her sanity to grief, the world around her (read: us) loses its sanity to fear. The image of a dark, near-future London with balloons hanging over the city bearing painted images of the dead haunts the reader for some time.

The fascinating development of characters runs even deeper, however. The protagonist’s lover’s girlfriend is nearly a mirror image of our distraught narrator, and the juxtaposition of a woman who loses while holding onto her core values against another version of herself who wins through self-serving, opportunistic means is amazingly well done. This, I think, is what stayed with me the longest from this book.

Incendiary is a quick read that will take you through an emotional journey that is well worth your time. The mirror that this novel holds to a post-September 11 world is provocative, and the conspiracy theorist twist at the end…well, let’s just say that it is all too believable.

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You can purchase Incendiary here.

A Review of “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Millennium, #1)The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Should you find yourself in search of a good audiobook for traveling over the Holidays, I would recommend “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.” Whatever medium in which you choose to read the book, however, you should do so, especially if you enjoy mysteries.  The “whodunit” factor of the plot kept me entertained, and there are enough turns and unexpected twists to keep you guessing. Also, one of the great contributions of reading this in audiobook format is that the narrator had a great sense of the characters, and the voices added a great deal to helping me visualizing them.

The mystery, however, isn’t what stayed with me the most.

The original title of the book (pre-translation, it’s “Men Who Hate Women”) seems appropriate, as that’s certainly the over-arching theme of the book. My wife commented that Mikael is a foil to this theme.  There are basically three types of attitudes toward women presented here: hatred, love, and uncertainty, all represented in different characters. In fact, Mikael seems to be a participant on further inspection, as a passive “hater” in his failure to respect the women in his life through an intentional lack of commitment and willingness to use them for his own gratification.

Lisbeth’s character is heart-wrenching. She’s a great depiction of Asperger’s Syndrome, combined with a healthy dose of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This poor, brilliant woman has no clue how to have a normal, functioning friendship with someone without permitting herself to be objectified. We see her exist in a perpetual loneliness brought about through events beyond her power, and watch as her coping mechanisms lead her to assume a role of subtle but great power over others.

I saw two other themes at work here: justice and forgiveness. Justice, in that Lisbeth is a sort of data vigalante who is unrestrained by societal norms and free to mete out justice of her own variety and in ways that she sees fit. Yet, we never question her ethics, because of what she has experienced. Are we right to view her in that sort of victim mentality? Are we wrong to oppose her?

Also, to piggyback on some discussion I listened to about the book (the Kindlings Muse podcast discussed this at length), the theme of forgiveness and second chances is strong. Lisbeth reprents the secrets that we all want to hide. In an era where someone with her skills can get their hands on every dirty secret we’ve ever typed or recorded anywhere during our lives, can we ever be offered any sort of grace? Is forgiveness possible in a world where nothing can ever be forgotten?

The book caught my attention through it’s heavy marketing in bookstores and on iTunes. I was actually sort of surprised that it is a mystery novel, as I thought it would be more of an espionage novel at first blush. I was in no way disappointed, however. The life of the late Larsson and how it influenced his writing make this book even more fascinating. There are violent sequences in the book, some of the specific details of which could perhaps have been spared the reader without losing any of the impact of the events. I found them to be slightly gratuitous at times. Larsson dwells in his details (perhaps a bit exhaustively in the first chapters), even during the action of the book, and right into the poignant ending. He chooses his words well, and this is an excellent translation from the original language. I’m left aching in sympathy for Lisbeth while cheering her on, and looking very forward to reading the rest of the trilogy.

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A Review of “Snow Crash”

Snow CrashSnow Crash by Neal Stephenson
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Shuffled naturally into science-fiction as I was during my childhood, I grew up with the post-apocalyptic noir of the cyber-punk genre, and grew to love the visual aesthetic. I had looked forward to reading Snow Crash for some time, and was immediately drawn into frenzied pace of the first pizza delivery.

Something that good science fiction does is present a statement, often a warning, of the outcomes of current courses of events. One of the markers for good science fiction in my mind is if I’m troubled by the world presented, and can think, “I see how we get there from here.” Science fiction plays with the “what if?” that society needs to read and see to be aware of where we could be headed if we keep doing what we’re doing.

In that vein, the world that Stephenson presents is instantly captivating. Even within cyber-punk, this is the most original setting I’ve read for some time. Within these pages is a wonderful commentary on the ludicrous impulse of the American experiment to privatize everything. This is what happens if the Libertarians take power. The characters are living in the context of the anarchy that complete privatization and lack of government brings. Then, they create the Metaverse (the last peaceful place in existence), but it, too, becomes violent. Man remains unable to find himself benevolent in any way as his narcissistic collection of franchised conformity spirals out of control around him in a hail of bullets.

What took me aback about Snow Crash was the religious component. There’s a theology at work in Stephenson’s thought; a really strange, mish-mashed attempt at a theology, at least, that reaches a disappointing fruition. In cyber-punk, humanity melds itself with technology in an attempt to make it’s own eschatology. Here, Stephenson seems to make a full-blown religion out of man’s technological foray. His thrust is that modern “hackers,” or dualistic philosophers (he ties binary code to philosophical dualism), are simply the modern extension of his own little creation narrative. That creation narrative is complete with it’s own Fall narrative. And Hiro (aptly named) becomes a savior metaphor of sorts. The theology unravels, though, into a nihilism: anything spiritual is notably absent, and only the practice of religion can keep the virus (read: sin) from permanently destroying man. The sin is never defeated, only held back. This doubles back on itself, though, because he’s also painting religion as the “bad guy,” in the sense that the conspiracy for the Snow Crash virus is packaged within religious practice. He’s essentially saying that all religion, despite the fact that it’s holding this virus back, is bunk, or has become that way, as the quantifiable world rules out faith.

So, his theology is a dis-jointed one…almost a theology of an absence of theology.

While Stephenson’s imagination is energizing, his craft is disappointing to me. His writing style smacks of a Hollywood action flick, and many of the fast moving  sequences of the book felt like Tron meets the Transformers. For a book considered to be (as I understood it) a modern science fiction classic, I had higher expectations. Heinlein or Asimov this guy isn’t. His characters are left extremely two-dimensional and undeveloped, although his rapid and abrupt changes in points of view do occasionally place the reader well into their psyches.

That said, there is something oddly arresting about Y.T., the skateboarding teenage professional messenger who throws out some of the most amazing lines in the story. I found her to be the only character I could completely visualize as I read the novel…the only one who truly had a face.

The best thing I took away from the book is the view of the future. As a speculative warning of what the future could hold, I think this book was excellent. And, as I said, that’s what good science fiction does. As an attempt at a metaphysical or theological statement, I think it failed miserably. Stephenson provides his backstory and ties together his loose ends well, yet still manages an ending that falls flat.

In the end, I found this book to be wanting.

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