The machine is large, and cranked into high gear. The exact design isn’t clear, but it’s probably shaped like an antique aquatic car, and powered by a twelve cylinder, 3,760 horsepower marine diesel. From a specialized conveyor belt jutting out from the side comes book, after book, after book. The machine is the Cussler.
Clive, to be more specific.
He’s probably America’s number-one action author, and is responsible for three different action lines – with heroes Dirk Pitt, Kurt Austin, and Juan Cabrillo. There are a couple of titles just out and several due this year from Clive Cussler, Paul Kemprecos, and Jack Du Brul, the three men primarily responsible for the action-output.
“Polar Shift” has been out long enough to find in paperback. It’s a Kurt Austin adventure with Paul Kemprecos doing the bulk of the writing. To his credit, he is able to maintain the flying-at-the-edge-of-believability quality of Cussler’s style, and duplicates the wise-cracking, pulp-fiction dialogue that fans have come to expect.
A group of well-funded bad guys have invented a giant spark plug that they dangle from a huge ship, and when they throw the switch, it creates tidal waves, boat-sucking whirlpools, electrical flares, radioactive rays, a shifting of the earth’s crust over the core, and car chases. (To be honest, the car chases are an indirect result.) The pretty archeologist is threatened by thugs, the dwarf wooly mammoths are threatened with extinction, and it falls to Kurt to save the day.
Cussler novels have long been filled with technical jargon. The bad guy never wields a rifle. He’s usually described as having a gas-operated Automat Kalashnikova modernized AK-47 7.62mm with machined receiver capable of 600 rounds per minute. The pilot never flies a simple airplane; it’s always the same lengthy description.
Kemprecos manages to tone down the internet-driven descriptions and keep the fiction moving at a Cussler-inspired pace, and fans will find familiar lines and action a’ plenty…enough to satisfy until the next unit is ejected from the machine.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Break No Bones
Time to break out the shovels and dig into the latest Temperance Brennan suspense story. Tempe, as she is called, is the forensic pathologist creation of novelist Kathy Reichs, who writes her crime stories in a way that would do CSI proud.
In “Break No Bones,” Doctor Brennan is teaching an archeology class, and finds recent bones at the ancient site. The county coroner is deathly ill, so it’s up to Tempe to prescribe an ID for the victim.
Forensic pathologists will revel in the graphic detail given to the cutting, slicing, and dicing in the procedures – the rest of us can look up the medical terminology or skip over the passages. (It’s forgiven just like looking away when the CSI gets up-close and personal in TV autopsies.) In fact, if you’ve seen “Bones” on the Fox network, you’ve been watching Doctor B at work.
“Break No Bones” is the ninth book in her series, but Reichs manages to seamlessly present the backstory, allowing first-time readers to keep up with seasoned fans, and Tempe is a down-to-earth character with a real-life outside the morgue.
The story involves a free health clinic in South Carolina, a missing private eye, and bodies that begin turning up as regularly as Southern hospitality. It doesn’t take much detective work to figure out what is going on, but that may be a good thing, since Tempe is more of a Watson than a Holmes. She huffs and blusters, and in the end, the crime gets solved.
Fans of Patricia Cornwell will find an updated heroine. Especially if short sentences appeal. And clause fragments. Really.
Even for those who’d rather be outside while the autopsy is on, Reichs provides a solid story, a believable character, and an understanding of the science that brings it all together.
In “Break No Bones,” Doctor Brennan is teaching an archeology class, and finds recent bones at the ancient site. The county coroner is deathly ill, so it’s up to Tempe to prescribe an ID for the victim.
Forensic pathologists will revel in the graphic detail given to the cutting, slicing, and dicing in the procedures – the rest of us can look up the medical terminology or skip over the passages. (It’s forgiven just like looking away when the CSI gets up-close and personal in TV autopsies.) In fact, if you’ve seen “Bones” on the Fox network, you’ve been watching Doctor B at work.
“Break No Bones” is the ninth book in her series, but Reichs manages to seamlessly present the backstory, allowing first-time readers to keep up with seasoned fans, and Tempe is a down-to-earth character with a real-life outside the morgue.
The story involves a free health clinic in South Carolina, a missing private eye, and bodies that begin turning up as regularly as Southern hospitality. It doesn’t take much detective work to figure out what is going on, but that may be a good thing, since Tempe is more of a Watson than a Holmes. She huffs and blusters, and in the end, the crime gets solved.
Fans of Patricia Cornwell will find an updated heroine. Especially if short sentences appeal. And clause fragments. Really.
Even for those who’d rather be outside while the autopsy is on, Reichs provides a solid story, a believable character, and an understanding of the science that brings it all together.
The Alexandria Link
Don't ask suspense author Steve Berry why his secret-agent character is nicknamed "Cotton."
In his latest Da Vinci style thriller, Berry makes a point of saying it's "a long story." If the explanation is longer than "The Alexandria Link" it's no wonder readers are left guessing. At 500 pages, there should be plenty of time for character basics (like their nicknames) - but Berry relies on Action! Action! Action! in chasing down the lost library at Alexandria, a collection of scrolls that disappeared 1,500 years ago.
The premise that the library still exists could make for an interesting book, but in "The Alexandria Link" the hunt is reduced to a series of cryptic scavenger hunt clues.
Plenty of readers will love Cotton Malone, a former agent for the U.S. Justice Department, who tired of the chase and settled down in Copenhagen to run a bookstore. (Berry also doesn't explain his character's decision to leave the US and his young son behind.)
His ex-wife no sooner appears in the shop claiming their son has been kidnapped, when the store explodes and the two are left clinging to an upper-story window ledge, arguing over their failed marriage.
Cotton Malone speaks several languages, has special agent weapons training and a photographic memory, but he doesn't recall a handgun with an ammunition clip is not a "revolver." He forgets his training too, particularly in removing his bullets so the gun will go Click, Click, Click and the enemy will stand up in triumph - the way they always do, presumably.
There's also a European business cartel in league with al Qaeda, a biblical mystery involving the major religions, a double-crossing government employee, and a plot to kill the US president.
As to the origin of Cotton Malone's nickname, Berry may be saving that for another five-hundred-page-thriller.
In his latest Da Vinci style thriller, Berry makes a point of saying it's "a long story." If the explanation is longer than "The Alexandria Link" it's no wonder readers are left guessing. At 500 pages, there should be plenty of time for character basics (like their nicknames) - but Berry relies on Action! Action! Action! in chasing down the lost library at Alexandria, a collection of scrolls that disappeared 1,500 years ago.
The premise that the library still exists could make for an interesting book, but in "The Alexandria Link" the hunt is reduced to a series of cryptic scavenger hunt clues.
Plenty of readers will love Cotton Malone, a former agent for the U.S. Justice Department, who tired of the chase and settled down in Copenhagen to run a bookstore. (Berry also doesn't explain his character's decision to leave the US and his young son behind.)
His ex-wife no sooner appears in the shop claiming their son has been kidnapped, when the store explodes and the two are left clinging to an upper-story window ledge, arguing over their failed marriage.
Cotton Malone speaks several languages, has special agent weapons training and a photographic memory, but he doesn't recall a handgun with an ammunition clip is not a "revolver." He forgets his training too, particularly in removing his bullets so the gun will go Click, Click, Click and the enemy will stand up in triumph - the way they always do, presumably.
There's also a European business cartel in league with al Qaeda, a biblical mystery involving the major religions, a double-crossing government employee, and a plot to kill the US president.
As to the origin of Cotton Malone's nickname, Berry may be saving that for another five-hundred-page-thriller.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Red Dirt from the Historical Perspective
History books often deal with unknown people in far-away places, but Timothy Egan’s “The Worst Hard Time” is near and timely enough that some may have first-hand memories.
The Pulitzer Prize-winner author presents a true story of the dust-bowl disaster of the early 1900’s, the time of the land runs and Sooners that began the new populating of the state. Generally, at the mention of “dust bowl,” Steinbeck and Tom Joad come to mind, but “The Grapes of Wrath” dealt with Oklahomans who left the miserable conditions for new lives in California, while Egan focuses his attention on those who remained behind.
It may read like fiction, but Egan’s recounting of the hardships faced by those poor plainsmen comes from first hand accounts and source materials that vividly portray the desperation of those facing the towering black clouds of dust.
Given that the disaster was the product of land mismanagement, the story also takes on a man versus nature aspect, a confrontation that demonstrates the power of the planet and the far-reaching results of seemingly harmless tampering. The homesteaders had no idea that the plowing of the grasslands would unleash a storm of blowing dirt and a decade of misery.
“The Worst Hard Time” is also a study of those who remained behind, in many cases people who viewed their homestead as the first real achievement after generations of sharecropping or tenant farming. The diaries kept by those early settlers give heart-wrenching insights into the true extent of the disaster, and the grim determination of those who thought they could ride out the storm.
Certainly, not everyone in Oklahoma is descended from someone who went through the disaster of that era, but understanding that time may give us all a better sense of who we are as a state today.
The Pulitzer Prize-winner author presents a true story of the dust-bowl disaster of the early 1900’s, the time of the land runs and Sooners that began the new populating of the state. Generally, at the mention of “dust bowl,” Steinbeck and Tom Joad come to mind, but “The Grapes of Wrath” dealt with Oklahomans who left the miserable conditions for new lives in California, while Egan focuses his attention on those who remained behind.
It may read like fiction, but Egan’s recounting of the hardships faced by those poor plainsmen comes from first hand accounts and source materials that vividly portray the desperation of those facing the towering black clouds of dust.
Given that the disaster was the product of land mismanagement, the story also takes on a man versus nature aspect, a confrontation that demonstrates the power of the planet and the far-reaching results of seemingly harmless tampering. The homesteaders had no idea that the plowing of the grasslands would unleash a storm of blowing dirt and a decade of misery.
“The Worst Hard Time” is also a study of those who remained behind, in many cases people who viewed their homestead as the first real achievement after generations of sharecropping or tenant farming. The diaries kept by those early settlers give heart-wrenching insights into the true extent of the disaster, and the grim determination of those who thought they could ride out the storm.
Certainly, not everyone in Oklahoma is descended from someone who went through the disaster of that era, but understanding that time may give us all a better sense of who we are as a state today.
A Bridge from Childhood
It’s easy to think of the “Chronicles of Narnia” after seeing the movie ads promoting “Bridge to Tarabithia,” based on the coming of age story by Katherine Paterson. The movie will have to stray greatly from the book to reach that level of fantasy, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Paterson’s story – a Newberry Award winner – needs no talking animals to deliver an emotional message of self-discovery, a story springing from a real-life event in the author’s life.
Jess Aarons is a fifth grader in a poor rural community who wants nothing more than to be the fastest runner in school. When a family moves into the run-down farmhouse next door, Jess will have nothing to do with the tomboy daughter, a girl named Leslie who not only possesses a quick wit, but is fast on her feet as well. It turns out she is so fast that the fun of the recess race quickly fades for the boys of Lark Creek Elementary.
Surprisingly, Jess finds that Leslie turns out to be more than a great competitor, and in short order, the two become inseparable friends who find escape in a make-believe world they call Tarabithia. It’s just a crude fort in the woods, but there they rule as king and queen over legions of imagined subjects. Leslie spins tales as easily as do her book-writing parents and Jess soon finds greater causes in the world than winning footraces, and discovers an inner strength born of great tragedy.
Her books are geared to young adults, but Katherine Paterson is – above all else – a first-rate storyteller. The book is now in its thirtieth year, and beyond an innocuous reference or two, has a completely undated timeliness that will serve it well for another thirty, with or without a talking lion.
Paterson’s story – a Newberry Award winner – needs no talking animals to deliver an emotional message of self-discovery, a story springing from a real-life event in the author’s life.
Jess Aarons is a fifth grader in a poor rural community who wants nothing more than to be the fastest runner in school. When a family moves into the run-down farmhouse next door, Jess will have nothing to do with the tomboy daughter, a girl named Leslie who not only possesses a quick wit, but is fast on her feet as well. It turns out she is so fast that the fun of the recess race quickly fades for the boys of Lark Creek Elementary.
Surprisingly, Jess finds that Leslie turns out to be more than a great competitor, and in short order, the two become inseparable friends who find escape in a make-believe world they call Tarabithia. It’s just a crude fort in the woods, but there they rule as king and queen over legions of imagined subjects. Leslie spins tales as easily as do her book-writing parents and Jess soon finds greater causes in the world than winning footraces, and discovers an inner strength born of great tragedy.
Her books are geared to young adults, but Katherine Paterson is – above all else – a first-rate storyteller. The book is now in its thirtieth year, and beyond an innocuous reference or two, has a completely undated timeliness that will serve it well for another thirty, with or without a talking lion.
A Twisting Path through the Woods
The sleepy Irish village of Rossmore gets a wake-up call when a planned road through nearby “Whitethorn Woods” threatens the local shrine to St. Ann, and while the thoroughfare is a common thread, each chapter of Mauve Binchy’s latest novel is a small story unto itself.
Binchy favors tales of the rural Irish, but in “Whitethorn Woods”, she employs a writing style somewhat reminiscent of Willa Cather’s classic “My Antonia,” and each section is a vignette that spotlights a particular character in the unfolding story. Having a road run through a religious shrine may sound like a political puff story, but Binchy offers her own brand of intrigue that includes disappearances, alcoholism, greed, and infidelity, surrounded by the small-town charm of a changing Ireland.
While all of the many characters bring their own piece of the story, particularly compelling are the wonderfully drawn players such as Neddy Nolan, who is sheltered through his young life as one who is “not the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Out on his own, however, Neddy exhibits a cleverness and a gift of uncommon common sense that almost begs a novel of its own.
St. Ann’s well, a shrine believed by some to have a miraculous power to heal broken arms, broken hearts, and broken dreams, becomes the center of the story as the village priest tries to decide which side of the debate will receive his support. Although he is almost embarrassed by the site’s continuing allure and the number of daily visitors, he eventually lays his own troubles at the well in seeking a solution.
Her Irish-flavored novels have been well-received for years, and Whitethorn Woods” is another superbly constructed tale, at once both compelling and tenderly affecting, aptly demonstrating that Maeve Binchy is among the sharpest in the literary drawer.
Binchy favors tales of the rural Irish, but in “Whitethorn Woods”, she employs a writing style somewhat reminiscent of Willa Cather’s classic “My Antonia,” and each section is a vignette that spotlights a particular character in the unfolding story. Having a road run through a religious shrine may sound like a political puff story, but Binchy offers her own brand of intrigue that includes disappearances, alcoholism, greed, and infidelity, surrounded by the small-town charm of a changing Ireland.
While all of the many characters bring their own piece of the story, particularly compelling are the wonderfully drawn players such as Neddy Nolan, who is sheltered through his young life as one who is “not the sharpest knife in the drawer.” Out on his own, however, Neddy exhibits a cleverness and a gift of uncommon common sense that almost begs a novel of its own.
St. Ann’s well, a shrine believed by some to have a miraculous power to heal broken arms, broken hearts, and broken dreams, becomes the center of the story as the village priest tries to decide which side of the debate will receive his support. Although he is almost embarrassed by the site’s continuing allure and the number of daily visitors, he eventually lays his own troubles at the well in seeking a solution.
Her Irish-flavored novels have been well-received for years, and Whitethorn Woods” is another superbly constructed tale, at once both compelling and tenderly affecting, aptly demonstrating that Maeve Binchy is among the sharpest in the literary drawer.
A Class Unto Itself
Aubrey Menen wrote that “A Separate Peace” was the “best-written, best-designed, and most moving novel” he had read in years – which begs the question…who is Aubrey Menen? ("Was" is more appropriate, as the satirist died in India in 1989, after a career as an ad exec and novelist.) His observations were on target, though, and some of Menen's best writing is observed in the cover-blurbs regarding John Knowles’ 1959 coming of age story.
As a title that appears on a number of high school required-reading lists, it might be easy to dismiss “A Separate Peace” as another tedious assignment bent on beating the life out of students. The presence of sixteen-year-olds in the story likely reduced it to an assignment to begin with, but the quality of the writing is what keeps it there.
Although generations removed from the time when general conscription filled the ranks of the armed forces, “A Separate Peace” is able to recapture the uneasiness of that era, and the distinction between those old enough for the WWII draft, and those who have another year of relative innocence. Gene and Phineas are in that latter class, attending an underpopulated summer session at an exclusive New England boy’s school. Gene is an intellectual who tends to read between the lines, while Phineas is athletic smooth-talker who has the ability to get away with anything.
The two wind up as roommates and unlikely best friends, although Gene can scarcely contain his jealousy of Finny’s winning ways. He alternately views his friend as naive and crafty, and in an instant of competitive retribution, Gene bounces on the tree limb on which they are balanced, causing Finny to fall and shatter his leg.
The emotions Knowles touches on in dealing with Gene’s resulting guilt, and the shame of knowing he has permanently changed the life of his friend, are eloquently stated, and certainly identifiable as part of the angst-ridden years of growing toward adulthood. Without giving away details of the story, later complications compound the situation, and Gene – already burdened with intellectual introspection – forces himself to reason or rationalize the ordeal.
Part of the joy of the book is Phineas himself, the sort of character some are fortunate to meet in real life, among those treasured acquaintances who seem to streak like wondrous meteors across the skies of our lives, before disappearing forever from our sight, and - assigned or not - “A Separate Peace” soars as one of life’s extra-credit literary pleasures.
As a title that appears on a number of high school required-reading lists, it might be easy to dismiss “A Separate Peace” as another tedious assignment bent on beating the life out of students. The presence of sixteen-year-olds in the story likely reduced it to an assignment to begin with, but the quality of the writing is what keeps it there.
Although generations removed from the time when general conscription filled the ranks of the armed forces, “A Separate Peace” is able to recapture the uneasiness of that era, and the distinction between those old enough for the WWII draft, and those who have another year of relative innocence. Gene and Phineas are in that latter class, attending an underpopulated summer session at an exclusive New England boy’s school. Gene is an intellectual who tends to read between the lines, while Phineas is athletic smooth-talker who has the ability to get away with anything.
The two wind up as roommates and unlikely best friends, although Gene can scarcely contain his jealousy of Finny’s winning ways. He alternately views his friend as naive and crafty, and in an instant of competitive retribution, Gene bounces on the tree limb on which they are balanced, causing Finny to fall and shatter his leg.
The emotions Knowles touches on in dealing with Gene’s resulting guilt, and the shame of knowing he has permanently changed the life of his friend, are eloquently stated, and certainly identifiable as part of the angst-ridden years of growing toward adulthood. Without giving away details of the story, later complications compound the situation, and Gene – already burdened with intellectual introspection – forces himself to reason or rationalize the ordeal.
Part of the joy of the book is Phineas himself, the sort of character some are fortunate to meet in real life, among those treasured acquaintances who seem to streak like wondrous meteors across the skies of our lives, before disappearing forever from our sight, and - assigned or not - “A Separate Peace” soars as one of life’s extra-credit literary pleasures.
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