Category Archives: Mystery

The Demonologist: Plot comes first

I’m generally wary of self-described “literary” texts. It feels like a bit of a pre-emptive strike or (to mix analogies) like arrogance masking insecurity to claim “this is a literary thriller.” All the same, this is getting close to a literary thriller (note I said *close*).

There’s certainly the pacing and plot of a thriller: Kidnappings, women in fashionable suits, private jets and fancy hotel rooms, hitmen and demons Not surprising the acknowledgements of the book point out that this book is being turned into a movie. And this is one of my complaints with the plot: it reads like it wants – desperately – to be turned into a movie. Forget spending time examining the thoughts and beliefs of any one character – or how they might change! – we! have! plot! to! consider! It is a gripping plot, though. I made it through the book in two days and wanted, very much, to be reading it. 

I do have other complaints though – are these outweighed by the compelling plot? hard to say. I was okay with the demons and the parallels with the Da Vinci Code (mostly because this was much better written). I was less okay with the various explanations for why our narrator was beset with demons. The novel suggests that demons are all around us, and those suffering from depression may be more likely or more able to “see” these demons. Okay. I’ll accept. But then the novel trots out – almost on a chapterly basis – different hypotheses for why the demons have decided to wreak havoc with David’s life. Not that I’m not interested in the theories, but that each one was presented as “the” reason, so I’d try to absorb that reason and make it fit with the bizzare plot elements only to have “the” reason change a chapter later. It made character motivation and action hard to believe and it made subsequent “reasons” for the demons feel like they were created to suit the particular plot point.

That is to say, the plot was so overpowering that everything else – including reasons for plot points – had to be subsumed to the whim of plot. 

So there’s no real character development – David doesn’t come to understand his father, brother, lover, wife, daughter or self any differently than he did before, now he just accepts demons exist because they showed up and ate his face (not really) – no sense of setting (they drive across the continent and it reads like a movie script describing them in a car rather than the setting having any meaningful relationship to the story). No real thematic or moral question, except perhaps “what would you do for a demon?”

So yeah. “Literary”  if you take literary in the sense that the writing wasn’t terrible – there were some okay descriptions and useful figurative language. And for all those complaints, still undeniably readable. LIke gobble it up readable. I might even read Pyper’s other – more famous – “Lost Girls” if only to see if the idea of “literary thriller” exists or if my bias against the genre outweighs any strength in the writing,

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Filed under Canadian Literature, Fiction, Mystery

Mr Peanut: Hates Women

I think Adam Ross thinks that *Mr Peanut* isn’t a novel about hating women. I also think maybe Ross thought he had to be overly simplistic and overly didactic in theme because otherwise his reader might not get it.  The reason I think Adam Ross thinks this way and not the speaker or a character is that *Mr Peanut* is as much a book about metafiction as it is a meditation on gender, matrimony and identity. 

The novel opens with a brilliant montage of possible ways a wife could die. The images set up the premise of the novel: husbands (note: not partners, but definitely male spouses) want their wives to disappear, and the easiest (or least imaginative) way for that to happen is for them to die.

I don’t think Adam Ross trusts the reader to be very clever, because the rest of the novel belabours this premise with repetitious lines like “if only she would disappear,” or “she became invisible” or “she disappeared” or “she vanished.” These direct statements are couple with the none-to-metaphorical “disappearance” of Alice as she loses 200 pounds or the growing invisibility of whatsherface as she takes on jobs outside the home. 

Where the novel is brilliant is in the nesting of the detective’s narrative within the murder mystery – a doubling of mysteries that resonates into the readers present as a matryoshka doll where eventually you are meant to lose track of who the narrator is and wonder/realize that we’re all meant to either want to kill/disappear our wives, or we are all women on our way to being replaced/disappeared.

And why erase women? Principally, it seems, because we are bodily. We have materiality – blood, fluids, gases – that make us inconvenient distractions from the pursuits of the mind: fantasy, abstraction, *metafiction*. The male mind – taken to such abstraction as to be avatars (hammered home again in the last line of the novel *as if we didn’t get it* from David’s job as a video game designer and the repeated descriptions of him enacting GTA-like adventures with voluptuous women). The contrast of the bleeding (heart) women with the obtuse/abstruse (purposefully juxtaposed here) men serves no thoughtful purpose. That is to say, I’m okay, or at least willing to entertain, a reductionist rendering of gender if it *does something interesting*, if it draws attention, or asks a question, or forces us to look again. But this rendering of the gender dynamic – for all the self-congratulatory self-awareness our author seems to possess – appears to take place without recognition of its gross essentialism.   

So while I enjoyed moments of *Mr Peanut* for being clever, I was, overall, dissatisfied because the novel didn’t trust *me* to be clever: far too much explaining, too much symbolic/dialogue repetition of key themes, far too little in the way of mystery for a book purportedly a murder mystery. And while I enjoyed the exploration of men’s perversity and the unsettling realization that our lives are *not* unfolding in multiple universes (with as many iterations as there are attempts to play a video game) nor are they unfolding with the glamour of a video game – I found the essentialist rendering of gender to be both uninteresting and offensive.

And not offensive because I am a feminist, but offensive because I’m a smart reader. 

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Filed under Fiction, Mystery

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks: Something not quite right

           There’s something off in Rebecca Skoot’s *The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks*. It might be the wiff of pretension from the author – she’s the only one who over understood how to approach/respect the Lack’s family? – or maybe it’s that secretly this book is very much about Rebecca Skoot becoming the author she wanted to be and this goes more or less unacknowledged in the frenetic attempts to foreground that this story belongs to the Lacks family and that Skoot is “doing a favour” by writing it. As if she’s not benefiting from the story – from Henrietta – too. Oh sure, she tells us that she’s funding the research with credit cards and student loans, but this reader is skeptical. 

So yes – I’m concerned about the authorial tone – both the tone of the author and the author’s tone as one that has authority (wham bam!).

That said, the book presents an *incredibly* interesting and accessible account of the life of Henrietta Lacks and the history of the HeLa cell, cell culturation. It asks provocative questions about who owns biological materials, whether ‘life’ can be subject to patent and ownership in the first place, and who ought to benefit from medical advances that rely on human subject participation. It raises questions about the end of life, the bound between living and non-living material (indeed, one of the more interesting chapters looks at how HeLa has become its *own* organism, but unfortunately doesn’t go into much depth here).

I suppose the aspect I most enjoyed of the book was its ability to weave between the personal narrative of Henrietta and the scientific “biography” of the cell and the medical field (like the Biography of Cancer – this book allows that an unconscious living thing might be just as fit a subject of a biography as any person). The introduction to HeLa as something that is *everywhere* and the supportive player in much medical advance was humbling for this Humanities scholar: I didn’t know; I should have known.

But all the same. There’s something not quite right here. I want to cry “exploitation!” but the book goes to such painful lengths to promise that no one has been exploited, quite the contrary: everyone here are friends. And yet… I’m not convinced.

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Filed under Mystery, Prize Winner

State of Wonder: The Horror, the horror

Here’s how I think it happened:

Ann Patchett read Conrad’s *Heart of Darkness* and thought, “hey – there’s something interesting going on here: snakes make neat metaphors!” And she entirely missed the bits about colonialism. 

So she set *State of Wonder* in the present day Amazon and made it about the quest for a pharmaceutical way to prolong fertility. The premise sounds so rich and so fruitful (kind of like the jungle?!) with all kinds of ethical questions about whether fertility ought to be extended, about the exploitation of the environment and indigenous cultures for the benefit of consumption and about the relationship between science and nature. Not to mention the usual colonial questions that *Heart of Darkness* invites. 

But what the reader gets is a mystery plot with a well written setting and a jumble of thematic questions that don’t come out anywhere close to coherent. With the hodgepodge of symbols and the patchwork and the wavering attempt at taking on moral questions it reads as a mess. And annoying mess for the lost potential. 

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Filed under Book I'll Forget I Read, Mystery, Worst Books