The Maze Runner
The Maze Runner by James Dashner
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The newest trend in teen fiction, following the paranormal romance craze that followed Twilight (and the less said about that, the better), is dystopian science fiction. I guess we have The Hunger Games to thank for that (although, now that I think about it, Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies series preceded it by a few years), but at least in this case, the genre offers more for readers who aren’t starry-eyed fifteen year-olds. The Maze Runner is another series in this genre, and while it may not be deep enough to win a bunch of awards, it’s certainly a heck of a lot of fun to read.
Thomas, the sixteen year-old main character and point-of-view for the story, awakens in an elevator as he arrives at a place called The Glades, with no memory of his history before he awakes. Occupied by about 50 other teenagers, The Glades is the central point of a large maze. The teens live in The Glades pretty successfully, with a farm, complete with animals and produce, a kitchen, and even a small jail, but the most important part of The Glades is the Map Room, where they store the maps of the maze. One of the occupations among the teens is being a Maze Runner, a person who runs out into the maze to map whatever changes happen from one day to the next. See, parts of the maze move at night, and what the runners are trying to find is a way out. They have a limited time each day to examine the maze, though, since Grievers — a biomechanical critter than kills anyone found in the maze — roam the maze at night. The story is about how Thomas joins the group and helps them fight against the maze.
I’ve read a number of negative reviews about the book, focusing on how Dashner does more telling than showing, and how the one female character is as one-dimensional as most of the other secondary characters, and I honestly can’t argue those points. The thing is, I’m not convinced that Dashner set out to write anything more than an exciting, male-dominated story of survival. In that case, he succeeded in doing what he set out to do, and I think he did it fairly well. Action/suspense stories typically sacrifice characterization and lofty prose for pacing and plot, and while I think he missed an opportunity to make the female character more than just a shell (I get that he was writing this for male readers, but for a good two-thirds of the book, she was “the hot chick” or the “I call dibs!” girl), I can’t deny that he wrote a compelling, exciting read.
There’s a good chance that the reason I liked the book as much as I did is because I didn’t expect much out of it, but I enjoyed it enough to want to read the other books in the series (two more in the main series, a prequel, and a “between the volumes” novel). Without spoiling anything, it looks like the rest of the books in the series will follow a different path from The Maze Runner, which is reassuring. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.
Let the Right One In
Let the Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist
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Sweden, based on a lot of things I’ve read about the country, sounds like a great place to live. The country is supposedly one of the happiest countries in the world, which is surprising to me, since the only exposure I have to the country is through the fiction that comes from there. Stieg Larsson’s works had a vein of happiness running through an otherwise bleak series, but then there’s Let the Right One In, and I don’t really know what to think.
The story is a little hard to pin down, since it’s not easy to identify the protagonist and the antagonist. Is the story Oskar versus Jonny, or Eli versus the rest of the world, or Oskar and Eli against Håkan, or something else entirely? Part of what makes it difficult to determine is that it’s not a traditional vampire novel. Where other authors might focus on the mythology, or what makes their vampires different from all the rest, Lindqvust uses the vampirism as just a small part of a larger, more complex work. The theme of the novel is abuse, either self-inflicted or inflicted by others, but amid it all is this odd, seemingly genuine relationship between two juveniles, one human and one vampire.
Eli, the vampire, is certainly creepy, but the really disturbing characters are the humans that orbit about her. Håkan, her protector, is a pedophile whose main interest in keeping her safe is the fact that she’s a two-hundred year-old woman in a twelve year-old body, which he thinks justifies his desire for her; Oskar, the boy who comes to care for Eli, is a bullied young boy with a violent, psychopathic streak. Oskar is the most sympathetic of the characters in the story (his violent tendency only surfaces at the start of the story, and once he gains the confidence that Eli provides, what violence he exhibits is in self-defense against the bullies), but he’s still not an entirely “good” character. Even though we root for him, and even though the relationship that develops between him and Eli feels genuine, his motivations are questionable. Jonny, the bully, and one of the antagonists in the novel, has a sadistic streak that crosses the line, a lot like Henry Bowers from It. The torment, while not small in the emotional sense, isn’t physically damaging, but as Oskar starts to gain his confidence against him and his cronies, the torment becomes more serious, and more severe.
Lindqvist puts a lot of effort into describing the gorier, most disturbing moments in the story, enough so that it reminds me of the splatterpunk movement from the 1980s (which, now that I think about it, is somewhat fitting since the novel is set in 1981), but in this case, it doesn’t feel like graphic descriptions just for the sake of being shocking. That description is needed to raise the level of how disturbing the rest of the moments are. Let the Right One In is horror along the same lines as Geek Love; there are certainly creepy moments, and a lot of violence, but what makes the story truly disturbing is the characters who populate it, and what they’re willing to do to further their own needs. Instead of it being a plot-driven story, it’s a character study, only one that does a lot deeper than one would expect.
This isn’t a novel for everyone, and not even a novel for every horror fan. It’s received a lot of acclaim, and rightly so, but those readers going into it thinking it’s a “vampire novel” are likely to be disappointed.
Inferno
Inferno by Dan Brown
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Earlier in this blog, I mentioned that the works of Preston & Child are a guilty pleasure of mine. In my mind, I envision them like potato chips: tasty and crunchy, yes, but not something that I could live on exclusively. Dan Brown is another guilty pleasure, but in this case, I envision his books like a convenience store microwave burrito: borderline tasty, something I thought I would like more than I actually did, and something I regretted a soon as I started eating it.
Don’t get me wrong, and don’t think that I’m jumping too quickly on the “Dan Brown is a hack” bandwagon. His books are quick, compelling reads, but they’re nothing that hold up under much scrutiny. Aside from his odd turn of phrase, and his need to put a bunch of unnecessary description throughout the narrative, he seems to be in love with the interrobang (?!). I mean, that sucker was everywhere in the first 50 pages, since Robert Langdon was suffering from amnesia and finding it hard to believe that people were shooting at him (?!), he was in Venice (?!), and he seemed to be carrying something that he didn’t even know about (?!). It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a creative writing class, but I remember hearing that you wanted to limit the number of exclamation points you used in your dialogue. Not only that, but every time I saw one of those things (and I really should have kept track of them, because they were everywhere), I was reminded of a teenager communicating on Facebook. It doesn’t help Brown’s reputation as a hack that he overuses the exclamation point and the interrobang in such a short amount of time.
Like The Lost Symbol, there was a lot of character inconsistencies as the main characters would often flip-flop between knowing everything and knowing nothing as the plot required it. Characters remember critical details in the weirdest, most convoluted ways possible, to the point where I was reading this story, thinking Why is anyone buying this? And am I the only one who would probably slap the shit out of someone like Robert Langdon in real life if I ever had to put up with more then ten minutes of his pompous, condescending, ingratiating tone of being the smartest man in the room? How in the world is this guy supposed to be a sympathetic character?
Oh, I forgot: he isn’t. There is absolutely no character development in the way of Robert Langdon in this novel. The novel just starts with him coming to in a hospital, with no recollection of the last two days of his life. Brown apparently expects us to know exactly who this guy is, for having read the other books in the series. I get it — folks who read this book most likely read the other books and already know who he is, so why waste the effort in giving us any additional background on him? The problem is that it’s a lazy way to write a story, and one that’s, frankly, insulting to the reader. Plus, in other series with continual characters, there’s at least some development in the way of the characters that changes their outlook on things; Robert Langdon is just a shell of a character who’s defining traits lie in his condescension.
Brown’s style of writing is tedious, too. A key element to the story is the existence of a video, which we see played about seven different times. I mean, it could have been something like, “So-and-so watched the video, and felt disturbed,” and then later “So-and-so showed thus-and-such the video, and both had concerns,” and then yet later, “Thus-and-such passed the video on to whatshisname to watch and ponder,” and so on, until it gets to the final reveal of the video when it’s finally necessary to know all the details. Instead, we get to see this video play out a number of times, always with the same bit of detail, and always with the same reaction of the persons viewing it.
The story is one of a lot of unbelievable sequences of events, culminating in possibly the dumbest reveal I’ve read since Son of Rosemary (and no, if I’m being honest, it’s not as bad as that train wreck — nothing could be as dumb and ridiculous as that piece of shit novel). At that point, it veers away from “Okay, this is a little ridiculous, but I’m still along for the ride” territory, and straight into “OH MY GOD is he seriously expecting me to buy this crap? (?!)” land. If were Robert Langdon, I might take this moment to expound on what the willful suspension of disbelief is and how far you can take it (in my most condescending, know-it-all voice, of course), but I’ll refrain. Suffice it to say, the novel gives us a great example near the end of the book.
I’ll give Brown credit for two things: first, he does manage to give the additional characters (protagonists and antagonists alike) enough background to make them more than just a shell; and second, thrillers and action novels sacrifice characterization for plot. I get that, but Brown doesn’t give us any reason to care about what happens to Langdon. And when you can’t care about your main character, there’s no emotional connection to him, and there’s no reason to worry over the conflict that becomes the story. I mean, I’ve defended this guy for being a good storyteller, if not a good writer, but now I’m not even sure if he’s that.
So. Is Inferno an intriguing read? Yes. Is it a compelling read? Yes. Is it an interesting read? Eh. Without the connection through the main character, it’s just too hard to give a crap one way or another what happens in the story. Brown has proven that despite his odd writing style, folks will flock to any new release and buy them up and keep him rich and happy. Hell, up until this book, I was one of those people. But not again. Angels & Demons was good, and The da Vinci Code was good, but everything after that has just been more of an example of how piss-poor of a writer he is. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.
Doctor Sleep
Doctor Sleep by Stephen King
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Sequels that aren’t written as part of an ongoing series make me apprehensive. Sequels that aren’t written as part of an ongoing series that are also sequels to books written 37 years ago make me really apprehensive. It doesn’t help that King has done this before, though I suppose I should credit King for making Black House less a sequel to The Talisman and more a “Whatever happened to Jack Sawyer?” novel. It doesn’t change the fact that the book was disappointing, though.
A lot of what bothered me about Black House was the fact that it didn’t really need to feature Jack Sawyer at all. King took the novel as another opportunity to tie his universe into that of the Dark Tower, and while it made sense (the idea of “Lighting out for the Territories” jives with the dual-worlds that inhabit the Dark Tower series), it felt like it was just an opportunity to cash in on the fond memories people had of the original book. Given the changes, not just in the book, but in the authors themselves, it seemed like the book could have featured a new character and have had very few changes made to make it a non-sequel.
I mention all this because King took the same approach with Doctor Sleep, the so-called sequel to The Shining. The story isn’t so much what happened after Wendy and Danny escaped Jack and the Overlook as it is about who Danny is as an adult. King starts the story off in a wonderful fashion, looking at the time that elapsed between the end of The Shining and the start of the proper story in Doctor Sleep, going into full detail how Danny tumbled into the life of an alcoholic. It was well done and convincing, and my only gripe is that I wish he had spent more time covering those years. I know that sounds crazy, but after reading 11/22/63, I found that I liked those lengthy backstories that King created for his characters.
Today, King is well known for using psychic children as his relevant plot points, and that happens here in Doctor Sleep, as well, but at least here we’re revisiting early King characters, and not seeing that ability tacked on to move the story along when he needs a convenient way to have a character possess information he doesn’t know (a la Under the Dome, Joyland, Cell, etc.). And while this story is as much about Abra as it is about Danny, it doesn’t feel tacked on to Abra, since we’re already in a world where this sort of thing exists.
Like any King novel, it’s compellingly readable, with likeable, sympathetic characters, but also like most of King’s works, it tends to show its fringe when the story comes around to its conclusion. It wrapped up quickly (more quickly than I would have expected for a King novel, at least) and easily, without the typical back-and-forth that usually comes from dealing with an antagonist, and it relied too much on a convenience than having the protagonists solve the problems themselves. It did bring the story full circle, but I didn’t find it to be as convincing as I would have liked.
So, Doctor Sleep is a solid read, right on par with what you would expect from Stephen King (e.g., if you like everything else he reads, you should find a lot to like here, too), but it’s not going to be another Bag of Bones or 11/22/63.
The Wise Man’s Fear
The Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss
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After I finished The Name of the Wind last year, I found a lot of reviews and comments complaining about Kvothe being a Mary Sue character. I sort of got it, but at the same time, I thought to myself that fantasy characters are all about wish fulfillment, so it makes sense that the main characters are really good at what they do. But now that I’ve finished The Wise Man’s Fear, I get it. Kvothe isn’t just the youngest person to ever attend University, or the only one to get his tuition paid for, or the youngest to earn his pipes, or the best ever to pick up a lute and play it (man, how is it that I didn’t pick up on this with the first book?), but he’s also the only outsider to ever receive training in some super-secret ninja clan, the only person EVAR to escape from Feleurian, and even manages to win a Lord’s favor to cover his tuition at University for the rest of his time there, even after he offends the Lord’s wife. So, yeah, the Mary Sue-ness of his character finally revealed itself to me. It was a little tiring, not just because Kvothe was so good at everything, but also because suddenly there was no real tension in the events of the story. We already had a slight removal of tension by having the novel narrated through flashback (i.e., we know the hero survives, so we don’t have to worry about him dying), but his overall perfection at everything he does removes it further. Why should we worry over him when we know he’s just going to be the best at what he does?
Story-wise, I got a little annoyed when it shifted to him being in the world of Faerie, since it seemed tacked on and, honestly, out of place. I get that this is a fantasy novel, but it felt like a fantasy novel where there are creatures of the night, systems of magic, and other fantastical elements, but it didn’t feel like a “Oh, Faeries are in our midst!” fantasy novel. That part of the story was a left turn that, while interesting, didn’t really fit in with everything else that was going on in the series. It was thrown in, it seemed, to show that Kvothe had one more aspect to his character that he would master, and that he was trained in the art of said aspect by the master of sex herself. That’s an issue in and of itself, but outside of that was the fact that the entire sequence didn’t seem to belong with all the rest.
Halfway through the novel, the story diverted from Kvothe being at University, and followed him as he had adventures outside of it. I didn’t find it out of place (save for the Faerie bit), but I did wonder why this book wasn’t broken down into two different volumes. The first half of the book feels complete, with conflicts that Kvothe has to overcome, and him finding his way to do so, as does the second half. Given that the book was over 1100 pages, I could see it having been broken apart and still being two complete stories. I mean, yes, 11/22/63 also had two fairly complete stories embedded within, but that was just a one-volume story; we already know that these books are part of a series, so why not break them apart and make them separate?
Despite those complaints, though, I still have to say that I really enjoyed the book. This is still a story well told, and Rothfuss paints the picture of the events very well. The constant tension between Kvothe and Denna was well done, especially near the end of the story. I think that would have been a perfect place to end the story, but then Rothfuss had to go and have one more “Oh, Kvothe, you’re so perfect!” moment that reminded me too much of Twilight. I’m still looking forward to the end of the series, but I won’t deny that I have a little more apprehension about it, now that I’ve picked up on him being a Mary Sue.
Fables: Snow White
Fables: Snow White by Bill Willingham, et al.
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I’ve heard through the grapevine that Fables will be ending its run with issue 150. While I’ve had a lot of fun with this series and seeing how Willingham has developed the idea of fairy tale characters come to life, living in our world, I have to say I’m glad that he’s opting to end it. The series is still going strong, and Willingham has proven that he has enough ideas to keep it from becoming too stale, but there have been some re-hashing of old ideas that have popped up along the way. The recurring theme of Gepetto and his war has grown a little tiresome, though it seems like, with this volume, Willingham is starting to look at taking that in a different direction. I’ll have to wait to see what happens.
This collection starts off rather poorly, with a throwaway story about the Oz characters rebelling against the Nome King. This story must have taken 2-3 issues to tell in the periodical printing, and had I been reading the series through the individual issues, I would have gotten a little fed up with it. It seemed rather pointless and uninteresting, which is a shame, since Willingham’s other “cleanse the palate” interludes have been a lot better than this one. I’d recommend skipping over it all together, if you can.
The rest of the collection is pretty standard fare, with Brandish returning to claim Snow White as his bride, while Bigby is out trying to find where their missing children are. Snow White falls unwillingly into the “damsel in distress” here, though she still retains enough of her independence and fortitude to try to get out of the dilemma on her own. Brandish is just too powerful, and has planned too far ahead for her to be able to outwit him. In the end, the story isn’t about outwitting him, but simply overpowering him, and even though Bigby returns to save her, she still manages to be the one to get rid of Brandish (though not without paying a price of her own). Since Brandish is a stereotypical male chauvinist character, it’s fitting that she be the one to defeat him.
I’m curious to see how Willingham will end the series, and I get the feeling that this volume is setting the stage for how it’s going to develop. I’m curious to know, though, if it will end with a happy ending, or if it will end in destruction and disaster. Given how Willingham has run the series so far, I could honestly see it going either way.
Extraction
“Extraction” by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
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Preston and Child are a guilty pleasure of mine. I describe their books as “Indiana Jones movies in book form,” because they tend to strain credibility and believability, but they’re just so much fun to read. I’ve had fun with all the books of theirs I’ve read (Riptide was an awesome book, made even more awesome by the fact that I was at the beach when I read it), even though I know they’re not going to win any awards. A friend encouraged me to read this story, since it was short, and featured Agent Pendergast from the long-running series featuring him.
The thing is, it’s been a long time since I’ve read an Agent Pendergast story, so a lot of the references at the start of “Extraction” were a bit foreign to me. I didn’t understand who the other people in the start of the story were, or how they tied in with the main character. I get the feeling that folks who are caught up with the series will know who they are and have some context about them, but I didn’t get a real sense of either character. There was no development or explanation that I could find, for any of them; they were just there, at the start of the story, with the expectation being that the reader would know who all those people were. The story winds up being a flashback to when Pendergast was a child, so none of the characters introduced have much to do with the story itself, but then I have to ask if it was necessary to include them at all.
The story itself has some inconsistencies, as well, with the idea that the “Tooth Fairy” in their hometown could possibly have gone as long as he did without someone catching wind of it (if the kids were talking about it, the adults surely must have known) being pretty absurd. Pendergast casually mentions that his uncle and the Tooth Fairy disappear, with nothing else to say about it. It winds up coming off as a creepypasta story, and a poor one at that. For one thing, it wasn’t as creepy as it could have been; for another, nothing was explained or resolved.
Preston and Child are accomplished enough writers to be able to do better than this, even when their stories aren’t going to be deep, thoughtful affairs. My understanding is that this is their first short story, and if this is standard for what they would do with a shorter form, I think I’ll just stick to their novels.
Shelf Indulgence 