Should Come With a Free Bottle of Purell

The Things That Keep Us Here
by Carla Buckley
Published by Delacorte Press
3 Out of 5 Stars

The Things That Keep Us Here explores what would happen to an average American family in the event of a worldwide pandemic and, in capturing the rapidly deteriorating conditions, the perpetual paranoia, and the tedium of isolation while cut off from all forms of communication, it largely succeeds. For days after reading it, I found myself making mental checklists. Do we have enough candles? Check. Do we have enough canned goods? Check. Do we have enough hand sanitizer? Check. Do we have enough paper books to wait out the pandemic? F'ing A, check. As a germaphobe, I started washing my hands like I was scrubbing in for surgery and wiping down the shopping cart with an attention to detail that has the Wal-Mart door greeter eyeing me with both suspicion and sympathy. During the "peace be with you" handshake at church, all I can think of is "flu be with you," "flu be with you." This book has not been good for my psyche.

But is it a good book? I guess the best way to answer that is with the time-tested pros and cons list!

What I Liked 
*For the most part, Buckley creates believable characters and family relationships. The growing tension between the daughters, between the parents, between the parents and the daughters as day after day passes in boredom and as life regresses to a focus on the basics of survival is realistically portrayed. 
*The rapid breakdown of city, state and national services is thought provoking. I think many people wonder if they personally are prepared for such a disaster, but what about the institutions (government and commercial) we rely on daily? After all, we've seen the response to events like Katrina. What if we faced a pandemic that wiped out nearly half of the country's population? That's some pretty chilling stuff.
*Ann's response to taking in a possibly infected baby and putting her own children at risk presents the moral dilemmas one would likely face in such an event. At what point does caring for one's own family trump one's compassion for others? 
*Unlike many pandemic thrillers, it doesn't focus on the science and the race to find a vaccine. Seeing a real family cope felt like a new twist for the genre.

What I Did Not Like 
*While Buckley does realistically capture the minutiae of daily life in such a scenario, I'd be lying if I said it always made for riveting reading. A good portion of the book reads like one really long snow break. Also, Buckley's writing is serviceable, but a stylist she is not.
*Much of the book is contrived in a way that is unnecessary. When the book begins, Ann and Peter Brooks have been separated for a year. We learn (very early on--this isn't spoiler territory) their marriage has become increasingly unhappy after the death of their infant son. Of course, the pandemic brings Peter back home. This smacks of Hallmark Hall of Fame "will disaster bring them back together again?" territory. When Peter arrives, he has a beautiful young foreign exchange student, Shazia, in tow. Ann is forced to wonder whether or not this is Peter's new lover, but graciously allows Shazia to stay with her newly reconstituted family. Buckley was probably angling for a subplot that would help move the story forward since writing about realistic day to day life (keeping the house warm, keeping the kids fed, keeping the laundry done, etc.) could become monotonous. However, these forced relationship dynamics are distracting and drain away some of the tension and suspense. 
*Also distracting is the constant veiled references to what happened to their baby. The story of how and why the child died is purposely withheld for no clear reason other than to give a "surprise" twist at the end that didn't contribute to the family's experience during the pandemic and lacked any kind of emotional payoff.
*Peter is a virologist. Why? Other than finding a flock of dead birds in the beginning and occasionally checking in with his colleagues whenever the power comes back on to read up on whether or not a vaccine is available, his job has no bearing on the outcome of the novel. It particularly bothered me that someone whose job is to study viruses would make one of the most ridiculous decisions in the novel.*(see below for spoiler)

In the end, it's fair to say that this is just an okay book. WhileThe Things That Keep Us Here certainly causes some reflection and brings a human element to the often statistical hypotheticals about the impact of a pandemic, honestly, a newspaper or magazine article about this subject triggers the same level of fear and unease within me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've typed the word "pandemic" so many times that I have an overwhelming urge to go wash my hands.





SPOILER AHEAD!!!



*After becoming exposed to the virus, Peter protects his family by staying in the garage for 48 hours (the incubation time for the flu). But that's it--48 hours. The minute that 48 hours is up, he's back in the house, hugging everyone and engaging the missus in a late night laundry room "whew, can't believe I just cheated death" shag-a-thon. Any parent, with or without a virologist's knowledge, probably would have given it one more day just to play it safe. But, no, the virologist doesn't even think about the damn virus mutating and Peter's joyous return home from the garage turns into a potential Oprah-esque "You get a virus! And you get a virus! And you get a virus!" scenario. 

Who Says Words Will Never Hurt You?

Lexicon
by Max Barry
Published by
3 1/2 Stars

Are you a cat or a dog person?

In the world of Lexicon, your answer reveals everything they need to know about you.  Who are "they"?  They are the poets, people who are hardwired to resist persuasion and to use language as a weapon against the rest of us.  Studying linguistics, personality and psychology, poets have the ability to subvert free will and compel us do as they wish.  The most powerful poets are given pseudonyms that appropriately demonstrate their mastery over language and, thus, over society:  T. S. Eliot, Charlotte Bronte, W. B. Yeats, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf.

Lexicon tells the story of Emily Ruff, a homeless teenage grifter who shows promise as a poet, and Wil Parke, a man who unknowingly survived an apocalyptic event in Broken Hill, Australia.  As Emily is recruited by the poets and sent to an exclusive school to cultivate her gifts, Wil is on the run from would be assassins for reasons unknown.  As their stories intertwine, Barry explores the power of words and the sway they hold over us.

Lexicon is a clever exploration of modern society.  In our media saturated culture, we are surrounded by words from a variety of sources, most of whom have a vested interest in persuading us to adopt their viewpoint or engage in action that is beneficial to them.  What are politicians, corporations, pundits, and advertising executives if not "poets"?  And, more often than not, they succeed in manipulating and coercing the American public.  There is so much spin that it's often hard to tell where the truth ends and the fiction begins--even more chilling is that many people don't even care, content to let the bias of others "think" for them.

While I enjoyed the premise of Lexicon and was certainly drawn in by Barry's fast-pace, the sense that it could have been more nagged at me.  Its premise is one that could lend itself to a more complex, nuanced examination of the ability of speech to influence, but Barry keeps it at surface level.  While Barry's intent seems to have been to write a fun, intelligent thriller, I would have readily signed on for something more substantial.  For example, the purpose of the poets and the intricacies of their organization is never revealed, and the specifics of how their influence works is given only a basic "nuts and bolts" explanation.

However, I was still set to give this a 4 star rating just for its inventiveness and the fun I had along the way, until the unsatisfying end.  No spoilers here--I'll only say that, for all the originality of the premise, the ending was underwhelming and predictable.

A Dull Shine

The Shining Girls
by Lauren Beukes
Published by Mulholland Books
3 Out of 5 Stars

While fleeing the law in Depression era Chicago, Harper Curtis stumbles upon the key to a derelict house with magical properties. Despite its outward appearance, the inside of the house is one of grandeur (well, except for the dead body in the hallway, but real estate being what it is during the Depression, one can't be too picky). There's a stash of cash and a haphazard collection of kitschy objects from different time periods, but that's not the only secret hidden by this house--it is also a portal to the past and the future. As Harper explores the house, it speaks to him and it becomes clear that he's been drawn here for a purpose. He must seek out "The Shining Girls," women from different times and different walks of life who must die by his knife.

So, serial killer stories aren't normally my thing. I'm not particularly intrigued by how a psychopath's mind works, never really interested in his methods and his madness, and I find the whodunit aspect of most of these novels tiresome. But I found that I couldn't ignore the hype surrounding The Shining Girls. The promise of a serial killer who could travel through time and disappear without a trace? Now that is certainly something that I've never read before and it appealed to the part of me that enjoys science fiction. I thought there might be something new and inventive here--something that might help it rise above others of its ilk. However, it proved to be disappointingly, well, average.

Harper Curtis is a casebook psychopath, complete with a childhood history of torturing animals and an inability to empathize with others. In terms of character, there's very little to distinguish him from other literary serial killers--he's fairly bland in comparison to, say, a Hannibal Lecter. Harper's only distinction is provided by the house itself and, unfortunately, the house only serves as a vehicle for Harper. An inventive premise, to be sure, but it's ultimately as riveting as knowing the make and model of the vehicle a killer might use to get from one place to another. Its origin is never explained and its role in the events that transpire is never really clear.

The hunt for Harper is led by the only woman to have survived his brutal attack, Kirby Mazrachi. Kirby is an appealing and interesting character. She's strong, quirky, and hellbent on finding the man who did this to her. As a means of doing so, she becomes an intern for a former criminal reporter, Dan Velasquez, at the Chicago Sun-Times. While he's now on the sports beat, Kirby hopes that she can convince him to help her gain access to files and reports that might help her track down the man who left her for dead. Kirby's investigations seem a little slapdash, moved along by heaping dollops of happenstance and coincidence that fall too neatly into place. I loved Kirby's headstrong nature, but to all those who compare this novel to The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo I must point out that a few punk rock t-shirts and a nose ring do not a Lisbeth Salander make.

As it weaves back and forth through time, the novel alternates its chapters between Harper, Kirby, Harper's other victims (whose stories, while poignant, aren't as fleshed out as I would have liked them to be), and a few minor characters. The chapters read quickly, but all of the back and forth through time caused it to lose some momentum and suspense for me. By the time the denouement occurs, it is, despite all the weirdness that leads up to it, fairly average and not much different from the resolution one might expect in a more traditional serial killer narrative.

There's no doubt that Lauren Beukes has an interesting idea behind The Shining Girls, but it never really delivered for me. Her writing is serviceable and occasionally finds moments of beauty, profundity, or wit; I particularly enjoyed the chapters focusing on Dan, a middle-aged man who knows he's falling for the much younger and damaged Kirby. Beukes hit the right note of guilt, longing, and restraint in his internal monologues. Despite its strong female protagonist and its creativity, I can only say that I liked the book but never truly fell in love.

A Cross to Bear

Sign of the Cross
by Chris Kuzneski
Published by Jove
1 Out of 5 Stars

Have you ever had that experience that occurs when people find out that you're a reader and so the next time they see you, they're clutching a book in hand that they force upon you while insisting that you read it? And not when you can get around to it, oh, no, they want you to read it NOW. They look so damn hopeful that you, too, will love it that you just can't say no. That's how I came upon this little turd-nugget of a book. This is one of the most pitifully written books I've ever read. Every other chapter ends with a statement like, "Little did he know that in two hours, he would be dead" or "Little did she know that she held in her hands a secret that could destroy history." Gee, foreshadow much? It reads as though it was written by a testosterone fueled 13 year old boy who just can't stuff a story with enough oozing blood, explosions, high tech weaponry, fast cars, and macho banter between two special ops characters. Now mind you, I'm all for the mindless bit of entertaining fluff as long as it's well written. However, this is so terribly written that I found myself groaning aloud and longing to fling it across the room. But I couldn't, because I have to return it and, with a forced smile, say it was entertaining and that, no, I have far too many books to read, so I really can't accept another.

Or You Could Just Wait for the Inevitable Movie

The Inquisitor
by Mark Allen Smith
Published by Henry Holt and Co.
3 Out of 5 Stars

In The Inquisitor, our protagonist wakes up in New York City with no knowledge of who he is or where he's been, but possesses a keen survival instinct. Managing to get work on construction sites for cash, he eventually gives himself the moniker of Geiger and earns the trust of the local mob. His friends in dark places provide him with the economic means to utilize his true talents and start up his own company in "information retrieval." An unconventional business model, sure, but a man with amnesia has got to make a living. 

For the past 15 years, Geiger has become extremely skilled in his chosen profession and knows the best ways to push people to their limits through psychological rather than physical torture. Whether working for the government or for criminal enterprises, Geiger has only one drive: to get to the truth (there's some pretty broad symbolism in his name; like a Geiger counter detects radiation, our Geiger can detect the truth amid his victim's desperate lies). When a child is brought to him under questionable circumstances, Geiger finds a conscience and helps the boy, Ezra, escape. In doing so, the walls his mind put up to keep out the demons of his past begin to crumble, threatening not just his safety, but that of those he's vowed to protect. 

I thought I would be getting a fresh take on the thriller and, while this is a serviceable entry into the genre, it tells a safe, by the numbers tale. Like most of its ilk, it's completely implausible, but it is better written than most, falling somewhere between David Morrell and Robert Ludlum. Still, it has a highly-polished movie script feel to it. (In my mind, I was already playing casting director, and that's not a particularly good sign as it usually means I'd rather be seeing the movie version--by the way, I've settled on either Jeremy Renner or Daniel Craig to play Geiger; have their people call my people and let's make this thing happen, baby). The big reveal in the end is a letdown and doesn't really seem like the type of thing that would kick up all of the fuss in the novel.

The biggest problem for me was the character of Geiger himself. Seemingly emotionless not just in the interrogation room, but in life as well, Geiger isn't the type of character one can connect or empathize with. He approaches his torture with a cold, clinical precision, but I suppose we're supposed to see the moral core hidden deep, deep down in his psyche because he tries to actively avoid physical harm. His lack of relationships and his refusal to engage with the world outside the limited one he's built for himself make him seem inhuman. There's some definite overtones of Terminator 2: Judgment Day here. Like the Arnold Schwarzenegger character, Geiger is a badass mofo who protects the young Ezra and in a hesitating, halting manner, begins to express human-like emotions. It's dude-lit in which men get to envision themselves as steely-eyed, square-jawed, testosterone-fueled protectors willing to sacrifice themselves so that others may live. Like I said, we've been here before.

The one thing that should make Geiger intriguing, his repressed past with a father whose motivations are unclear, is never as fully explored as I hoped (is he trying to protect his son from a known danger, or is he just a sadistic survivalist intent on making his boy as tough as possible?). While we do begin to get a clearer picture of what the young Geiger endured, Smith isn't putting all of his cards on the table yet as this is clearly intended to be an enduring series.

The Inquisitor is what it is and, for what it is, it's fairly well done. However, the stock characters and lack of psychological depth means I probably won't be coming back for seconds.

Doesn't Play by the Numbers

Numbers

by Rachel Ward

Published by Chicken House/Scholastic

3 Out of 5 Stars

Jem has an unusual gift--when she looks people in the eye, a set of numbers pops into her head. When she was younger, she thought nothing of this. However, when her mother dies of an overdose, the numbers suddenly make sense to 6 year old Jem: the numbers are the month, day, and year on which the person in question will die.

Now 15 years old, Jem has lived a tough life in inner-city London. Shuffled from foster home to foster home and understandably withdrawn and guarded because of her secret, Jem keeps to herself and avoids making contact with anyone else. Kind of tough to make friends when every time you look at them you’re reminded of the date they’re going to kick it, right? All of this changes for Jem when she meets Spider, an energetic boy from the wrong side of the tracks who forces his way into Jem’s life. The problem? Jem knows that Spider will die in two weeks unless she figures out how to manipulate the numbers. Things don’t get any easier for the two when they are spotted fleeing the scene moments before a terrorist attack on the London Eye. Now on the run, time and fate seem to be forcing Jem and Spider into dangerous situations that will surely result in Spider’s rapidly approaching expiration date.

I really enjoyed that Rachel Ward took some risks in this young adult novel. These are not the spoiled, beautiful teenagers that populate so much of this genre today. Life for Jem and Spider is grim and gritty, a lifetime of disappointment and failure all mapped out for them as victims of cyclical poverty and its associated pitfalls. They’ve both been in trouble with the law, and the reader can see how their inherent distrust of a system whose deck seems to be stacked against them leads to one poor decision after another. They’re also both stubbornly obtuse to the fact that they are as much perpetrator as victim in the downward spiral that is their lives.

The one fault that consistently nagged at me was that Jem’s gift is forgotten for entire chapters and seems almost secondary once the characters are on the run. From that point on, it’s a typical chase narrative with Jem and Spider struggling to stay ahead of the mounting manhunt. I was just expecting a little more of the plot to hinge upon Jem’s ability and was disappointed when it didn’t. If I had such a power, I would seriously be messing with some people’s heads. However, because of its strong characterization and one hell of an ending, I enjoyed it enough to give the sequel a shot when it becomes available.

The Only Terror Was Knowing I Had to Finish It

The Terror

by Dan Simmons

Published by Little, Brown and Company

1 Out of 5 Stars

September 7, 2010: I don't want to talk about it right now. It's too soon and the pain is still too fresh. I shall review on another day.

September 17, 2010: It's been well over a week since my encounter with The Terror and the thought of writing a review still exhausts me, but here it goes.

I have read many glowing reviews of The Terror. That is, in fact, why I bought it. I mean, check out this kick ass plot:

Two British ships, the Terror and the Erebus, are frozen in the polar sea for years, waiting in vain for a summer thaw. This is, of course, based upon the doomed Franklin expedition, so we have some serious history going on here. Now, add to that a dash of the supernatural--something is out there on the ice. It terrorizes the men, seeming to materialize from nowhere. It's three times the size of a polar bear and has the vicious, bloodthirsty nature of a predator, as well as the keen intelligence of a man. It's like a giant cat toying with the two ships as if they were terrified mice in a corner. There's nowhere to go, guns don't faze the the thing the men dub "The Terror", and, now, the food supply is running out.

That's some frightening shit. It's the arctic. That alone is frightening. It can drive a man insane. It's the nothingness. The whiteness. The endless-ness. Howard Moon and Vince Noir knew not to take the tundra lightly.

And that's part of what ruined the book in the beginning. All I could think as I read the first few chapters was "ice floe, nowhere to go." I think that might have taken away from the tone a bit.

But here are some other more text-based reasons for the seething black pit of hatred that I have for this book:

a) History or supernatural, Simmons needs to pick a side because the two storylines always seemed to run parallel to one another and never quite came together. It was like, "Okay, for 100 pages, I'm going to have the men fearing for their lives as this thing attacks them. I'm going to build tension and suspense and have my readers empathetically shitting down both legs! And then I'm going to flashback for 50 pages to boring nautical talk amongst stuffy British types before the expedition and then spend 150 pages talking about Welsh Wigs and Goldner food tins and building sledges and maybe I'll even talk about buggering, but no mention whatsoever of the monster for another 50 pages!" Simmons was at his best when describing the encounters between the men and the thing on the ice, but these moments were so few and far between that I just got to the point where I didn't care anymore.

b) Too much historical minutiae. The book should have been 300 pages shorter. There were entire sections that didn't add anything to the narrative. I like my history like I like my men: short and concise.

c) Scurvy is some wicked bad shite. A slow death by scurvy is undoubtedly one of the worst ways to die. But do you know what's worse? A slow death by reading endless accounts of the symptoms of scurvy.

d) There are no likeable characters. In fact, there is little to differentiate one man from another. If you left out the dialogue tags, it would have sounded like one man having a conversation with himself. The only character I like is Pangle, who, alas, appears in just a chapter or two of this 766 page behemoth.

e) I was really pissed when I finally found out what the thing was. The main reason? THAT'S what I wanted to read more about. And it took roughly 700 pages to get to a point where I was actually interested and intrigued and it cut me off.

There were some bright spots. When Simmons wrote about the thing attacking the men, leaving bait for them and taunting them, he evoked moments that were truly terrifying and suspenseful. However, there just weren't enough of them. Sure, the attempts to survive against cold, hunger, and disease should have been compelling stuff, but they made for anemic reading when pitted against a terrifying adversary without name or shape. Also, the chapter in which the men throw a carnivale and erect tents that mirror the rooms in Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death is admittedly brilliant.

When it comes right down to it, though, The Mighty Boosh did a far superior job of capturing the terror of the arctic. When Howard admonishes Vince that "The arctic is no respecter of fashion," I still get chills. The same cannot be said of my reaction to The Terror. 

One Rainy Night, the End of the World Began . . . and It Was B-O-R-I-N-G

The Taking

by Dean Koontz

Published by Bantam

2 Out of 5 Stars

Well, I don't want to give too much away as a book such as this relies heavily upon suspense. Simply put, it was okay. The basic premise: it begins raining one night, but this is no ordinary rain--it's one bad mamma-jamma: torrential, luminous, and occurring at precisely the exact same time all over the world. Defense satellites are out of commission, strange alien creatures run amok, and people begin to go insane. And that's all before the crap really hits the proverbial fan.

Now the other thing about books such as this is that the most obvious explanation for whatever creepiness is going down is beaten like a dead horse to the point that you know it can't possibly be that explanation. Instead, you have to pay attention to the theory that's being ruled out as a possibility, yet mentioned peripherally and in often subtle ways throughout the book. Therein lies the problem with The Taking--the clues weren't subtle enough and I pretty much had it all figured out from the very first one (seriously, can you mention "Legion" and not be obvious?) I desperately hoped that Koontz was going to throw in a plot twist so craftily, well, crafted before the end that I would have to cede the victory to him ("Well played, Dean," I imagined myself saying by the book's end, "but you shant cozen me next time with your verbal trickery.") Instead, all I can say is, "Better luck next time, and play your cards a little closer to the vest--don't name the freakin' dog Virgil."

The Girl Who Wrote Three Reviews

 

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

by Stieg Larsson

Published by Vintage Crime/Black Lizard

4 Out of 5 Stars

While stranded in a Barnes and Noble for a couple of hours without the book I was currently reading, I started The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo mainly to see what all the fuss was about. I was pretty certain that I wasn't going to like it as I'm generally not a big mystery fan, but saw this as an opportunity to at least have a passing acquaintance with this cultural phenomenon. I was hooked by page 65. Why? Two words: Lisbeth Salander. And why was I so fascinated by Lisbeth? Because she is 4' 11", 90 lbs. soaking wet, and she can still kick your ass.

The plot is fairly convoluted and, in the interest of maintaining suspense, I won't provide a huge plot summary. Basically, journalist Mikael Blomkvist is hired by Henrik Vanger, a wealthy but aging Swedish industry magnate, to find out the truth behind how his niece, Harriet Vanger, disappeared decades earlier. Reeling from a set of professional setbacks, Mikael accepts the case though he has little hope of unearthing any new evidence about Harriet's likely murder. As the novel progresses, he hires Lisbeth Salander to help him as he begins to unravel the truth behind Harriet's disappearance and stumbles upon several dark secrets hidden by the wealthy Vanger family.

As previously mentioned, I avoid mysteries because the "whodunit" aspect is usually unrewarding to me. As the daughter of a mother who could, 15 minutes into a suspense movie, point to a character, and off-handedly say, "He did it," I'm fairly adept at figuring it out before the end. But Larsson threw me; I smugly thought I knew who did it, Larsson let me believe I was right (even including a lengthy scene which I thought was building to the denouement), and then--WTF?!?--a twist I never saw coming. I was right, but at the same time was not right. Well played, Mr. Larsson. I thoroughly enjoyed being caught off-guard.

In addition, he had strong and compelling characters in the form of Blomkvist and Salander. Blomkvist is an admirable, yet flawed man (though they are, for the most part, flaws we can easily forgive and make him seem all the more human; most derive from the fact that his passion for his job supersedes what should be more important human relationships). Lisbeth Salander, however, is the real driving force in the novel. I probably wouldn't have made it through the first few chapters of the novel if I weren't eagerly awaiting my next peek at Salander. I've read in other reviews, and agree, that Salander is like a character from a Tarantino movie. She is over-the-top awesome, but that's what is so enjoyable about her. Pierced and tattooed, antisocial, and seemingly emotionless, we learn why Salander is the way she is. Salander is the product of a state-run system that mislabeled her mental state early on; she is the monster created when no one wants to take the time or initiative to properly diagnose an emotionally or mentally troubled individual. Despite what should have been obvious setbacks, Salander is a genius but understandably has some serious authority issues. She is at once a fascinating, yet troubling character that I look forward to reading more about in Larsson's sequels.

 

The Girl Who Played with Fire

by Stieg Larsson

Published by Vintage Crime/Black Lizard

4 Out of 5 Stars

If loving the Millennium books is wrong, baby, I don't want to be right.

In scanning through the other reviews, I have to concur with many of the problems mentioned: superfluous detail (specific IKEA furniture is mentioned several times--as if I know what any of it looks like just because I have the model number provided, sandwiches are made, coffee is brewed, Billy's Pan Pizzas are consumed); a real dearth of poetic or stylized language; a cast of hundreds (maybe not quite, but it can certainly feel like it); people whose physical injuries should kill them miraculously survive; suspense build-up that has all the subtlety of dramatic chipmunk.

And you know what? Don't care. Don't give a shit. Because all I ask of genre literature is that it tell a helluva good story and Larsson, for all of his sins against the church of high literature, can tell a helluva story. Because a book like this relies so much on plot, here's the basic summary without any spoilers: Lisbeth Salander returns to Sweden after months of living abroad on the billions she stole from Wennerstrom; Mikael Blomkvist is now a media celebrity, though he continues to doggedly search for Salander; Millennium plans to publish a book on the Swedish sex trade (and they plan to name names of police officers and politicians who are involved, as well as bring charges against them upon the date of publication); both Salander and the author of the book become obsessed (for very different reasons) with finding a man named Zala; IKEA's 2010 spring catalog is described in detail; Salander is accused of a double murder and has to go into hiding; and Blomkvist doggedly attempts to prove an uncooperative Salander innocent. Of course all of these plot threads, as well as many others, are brought together in the end.

What makes this novel really work is the character of Lisbeth Salander. In The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Salander is established as a bad ass you do not want to tangle with. In the movies, we have become accustomed to our female action characters as being towering Amazons with pouty lips, glamorous wardrobes, and double D's spilling out of Victoria's Secret push-up bras. The irony of strong women in film (and many books) is that they have to be model beautiful and highly sexualized femme fatales that are desired by fanboys everywhere. And in Lisbeth Salander, Larsson has created the antithesis to all of that hyper-feminine-but-I'll-kick-your-ass-and-look-good-doing-it bullshit. Salander is not tall, she is not glamorous, she is not beautiful. She's described by others as looking like a rag doll or a teenage boy. She's the last person you would expect to hand you your ass on a silver platter. But if you cross her, you can expect things in your life to go very wrong very quickly.

The other genius thing Larsson has done with Salander in this novel is that she's beginning to evolve. Using her unexpected wealth, Salander has traveled the world and learned more about herself. She's begun to question her previous lifestyle and has realized that she has few true friends--and that it's her fault. Being anti-social and emotionally closed off has always been a defense mechanism for her, but it's beginning to dawn on her that the price she has paid for keeping her guard up may be too high. For the first time in her life, she has the opportunity to live a different life, but she's not quite sure how to go about it. There's an unexpectedly poignant scene in which Blomkvist looks around Salander's mansion-sized apartment and finds that she is only living out of 3 of the 21 rooms. He notes that, despite all of the new furniture, her home is soulless and completely devoid of mementos, photographs, or anything personal; it's as if she's uncertain how to make this a home and the loneliness of her life is evident. Despite this, she certainly hasn't lost her edge and she still lives a life of stringent moral standards, punishing her enemies without mercy and basically ignoring her friends. I also appreciate that Larsson does not set her up as someone who should be emulated (when Blomkvist blames Salander's mental state on her past, Holger Palmgren tells him, "I hope you understand that there really is something wrong with Lisbeth . . . Her problems go way beyond problems she had at home"). To me, Salander is a tragic figure. Sure she's MENSA-level intelligent, has a photographic memory, the ability to kick ass and take names, but who would want to be her? We also learn much more about her troubled background in this novel, which further explains some components of her behavior.

As for the central mystery of the novel, I didn't find it as compelling as that of Tattoo and there's a twist at the ending worthy of a soap opera reveal, but I still enjoyed the ride enough that I've already ordered my copy of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest.

 

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest

by Stieg Larsson

Published by Vintage Crime/Black Lizard

4 Out of 5 Stars

I knew the end was coming. I knew it couldn't last forever. I had braced myself for it (or so I thought), and now that it's here I don't know what to say. That's probably a good thing because there's not a lot you can say about The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest without giving away spoilers and there's little new to say.

The book opens with Lisbeth Salander in the hospital and recovering from the gunshot wounds she received in The Girl Who Played with Fire. Under perpetual guard and severely injured, Lisbeth is helpless to act on the events occurring outside of her hospital room. After quite thoroughly stirring the shit in Fire, Lisbeth has made powerful enemies that will not stop until they destroy her credibility or take her life. She's become a loose end that must be dealt with and the only person standing between her and the world that has constantly misjudged and needlessly penalized her is Mikael Blomkvist. This is not to say that Lisbeth becomes needy or dependent on Blomkvist.  While her situation seems desperate, Blomkvist helps return Lisbeth's power to her and she takes an active (albeit secret) role in affecting the outcome of her upcoming trial while Blomkvist makes plans of his own to turn the vitriolic media firestorm against Salander to her favor.

The problems with the novel are the usual suspects: too much detail, over the top and implausible plot twists, subplots that seemingly have nothing to do with the story, but I absolve Larsson of all these sins simply for the creation of Lisbeth Salander. Also, this novel came back around and neatly tied up some subplots that, at the time I was reading them in Tattoo and Fire, seemed trivial and inconsequential. Instead, they turned out to be key elements in affecting the outcome of Hornet's Nest. There may be subplots (such as Erica Berger's cyber-stalker) that would have come back around to play a pivotal role in later novels of the series had Larsson lived.

While other reviewers bemoaned the lack of Salander in this novel, I actually enjoyed the renewed interest in Blomkvist. While he's not my favorite character in the novel, he, like Lisbeth, is a force to be reckoned with. That they both have the same inability to compromise their morals, that both seek retribution against those who have sinned, and both intelligently and precisely use the tools at their disposal to exact vengeance, reminds us of why they made such a good pair in Tattoo. In addition, both take a firm stance on women's rights. Blomkvist says more than once that Lisbeth "hates men who hate women," and so does Blomkvist (yes, yes, he sleeps around, but he's honest about it and expects the women in his life to have the same sexual freedoms enjoyed by men; he does not objectify the women in his life and he never loses sight of who they are as people). Lisbeth and Blomkvist have much more in common than one might initially realize.

As I mentioned in my review of Fire, Lisbeth seems to be a constantly evolving character and this change realistically continues throughout this novel. As others work tirelessly to free her and protect her, Lisbeth begins to come to grips with the idea that she owes other people because they care about her--a concept that is alien to her. That's part of what makes Lisbeth so intriguing. In what direction would Larsson have taken this waif-like BAMF as she begins reaching outside of her protective shell and developing relationships that will sustain her? We, of course, will never know, but I think the final scene of the novel provides a poignant bit of closure to what fate might hold for Lisbeth Salander.