Review: Dark Matter, by Blake Crouch

Blake Crouch's Dark Matter is a well-oiled plot machine, written with the purpose of being a best seller, and at that it succeeds. And succeeds entertainingly, I might add, but only because it ingeniously makes use of science - quantum mechanics - and not because of any big ideas or strong characters. Those last two are mostly missing. Everything that happens and exists in this fast-paced novel (well, mostly everything) is for the purpose of reaching that conclusion. Crouch's prose is barren of superfluous detail, which means that there may not be a lot to contemplate from these pages long after you've closed this book, but you will be entertained while reading it.

For me, the novel doesn't really get good until a third of the way in, and even then it sputters a bit before picking up in the last quarter or so. The early parts of the book establish that Crouch is a good writer. He's an economical writer, in the vein of Dean Koontz, with one sentence paragraphs, but his prose is not terse in the vein of Hemingway - Crouch makes use of luxurious flourishes within his brief paragraphs. What stood out to me was how entertaining Crouch's prose was in the early sections of the novel. The opening chapter does its plot job of expository work. It lets us know the main character is Jason Derullo, a professor who sacrificed big money and more important work for a family. His wife, Daniela, has similarly sacrificed the life of a successful artist for her family. The two of them have a son, Charlie. And Jason's former best friend, Ryan, is out celebrating the big science award that could have been Jason's had he chosen a different path. Funny how books and movies portray life in such black and white terms. You either have a perfect family or career success. There's no in between.

Anyway, what these opening moments do a good job of is establishing key plot points. What they do not do a great job at is developing characters with any depth. Though Crouch makes some attempts at giving Daniela depth, he largely falls short. That Jason madly loves her, even after fifteen years of marriage, is a key to the story's credibility, but in that Crouch also falls short. These characters are mainly names, representations of ideas - Daniela the beautiful, loving wife, and Charlie, the son, the product of their love. Jason can't be quantified so simply because he's the main character of the story, but he isn't blessed with much depth either, despite having a brilliant scientific mind.

The plot wheels turn as, after describing his family life, Jason becomes abducted and knocked unconscious by somebody whose identity is fairly obvious from the get go, but Jason won't realize it until two-thirds of the way through. He wakes up in a world that's very similar, but different. Any fan of science fiction would realize what's happened to Jason right away, but it takes the novel about one hundred pages to finally explain it. And it's a shame, because between Jason waking up in a different world and realizing what's going on, the novel sputters. When it does get into the science parts, all of a sudden the novel comes to life. It becomes enjoyable for a while, stalls again, and then in the finale inserts a new twist that makes it enjoyable yet again. For the ingenious ways that Crouch makes use of quantum mechanics in his plot, I would say this is an entertaining read, and a quick one. If you read this as just an entertainment, you'll find it enjoyable. The problems come when you expect a little more depth, more contemplation of bigger ideas, because here Crouch fails to deliver.

First off, Crouch's prose is a double-edged sword. Writing all of those one sentence paragraphs helps it move along at a brisk pace and keeps the pages turning, as its meant to. Yet, it has the drawback of preventing strong character development, and it also hinders the emotional impact of the story. When Jason is first abducted, a great writer would make the reader feel afraid. I did not feel afraid for Jason. Perhaps it's because his character wasn't made real enough for me, but it could also be that I could see the rails upon which the plot was placed. The fact that Jason decided to walk back home the long way, the more dangerous way, made it all too obvious. I felt I was being played, and any emotional urgency was removed. Ditto the love Jason and Daniela feel. Crouch provides some mixed messages about how Jason feels about his marriage early on, such that when Jason decides later that Daniela is his purpose in life, it's not believable. Crouch's economical prose did not allow Daniela to become fleshed out as a person.

In terms of plot, understanding that Jason wants nothing more than to be with Daniela - his Daniela - is key to enjoying what happens. Failing to add much complexity to the character of Daniela does not allow the reader to connect with her, or Jason's desire to be with her, very strongly. There is some attempt early on at making her human. She has bouts of depression, but not much more than that. Later in the novel she turns into little more than a strikingly beautiful woman, an object of desire. She does as the plot requires - trusts rather than asks questions.

In terms of bigger ideas, Crouch largely leaves these off the table as well. There are moments, understandably, of identity crisis. When seeing other versions of yourself, of your world, your apt to wonder who you are. Outside of identity, Crouch does not dig too deeply into the complexities of human thought and feeling. In Jason's despairing situation, for example, he never wavers in the fact that he wants Daniela back - his Daniela. This seems to position Crouch into suggesting that there are soul mates, and that once one finds this true love nothing could get in the way of it. This, although it is known that people, in desperate situations, are likely to revert to survival instincts. Jason is made too pure of heart to accept the offer of love from his companion on his bizarre journey, or to even give it any thought. To go in that direction would take a braver writer.

Still, I think most people would be willing to accept the premise of the novel at its surface and enjoy it as the thriller it is. And it is an entertaining thriller. My review points out many of its shortcomings, but as a plot-driven sci-fi action story, it is well-done, with ingenious imaginings of what might happen if quantum technology is used as it is here. I find that the novel is a great medium to teach quantum mechanics, the basics at least, to a broader population. Crouch explains it in understandable ways, and even adds a little to my understanding of it. William Sleator's The Last Universe is another novel that does a nice job of explaining quantum. While Sleator's novel does not feature the ingenious plotting of Crouch's novel, one thing Sleator succeeds at that Crouch does not is taking a complex look at the human element. Sleator also takes bigger risks. If somehow the two authors could merge into one, they might write one tremendous novel based on quantum mechanics.

Review: Into the Dream, by William Sleator

Probably the most powerful takeaway from William Sleator's, Into the Dream, is his insightful look into how a person views others and themselves, and how those views may change. The telepathic link between two characters serves to illuminate this even more strongly. While readers may be intrigued by the sci-fi/fantasy of the telepathy and UFOs, or horrified by the recurring dream had by the main character, Paul, and foreboding something terrible, or enraptured by the pseudo romantic comedy as you follow the conflicted relation between Paul and the second main character, Francine, it is the way the two characters change in their regard for one another that is most intriguing and insightful. Shortcomings aside, there is plenty to admire in this short YA novel.

Paul has a nightmare that he doesn't understand, except that it makes him more and more frightened each time he views it. It feels so real, like a warning. In the dream a young boy appears to be in danger, but doesn't realize it, as hulking beasts surround him. Each time Paul dreams it, he discovers something new. The problem is, nobody understands him when he explains this dream. A dream is always more meaningful to the dreamer than it is to somebody listening to you explain the dream. It frustrates Paul the way his friends and family either shrug off the dream as if to say, "It's just a dream," or the way they try to interpret it by discussing how it shows Paul's mood or state of mind. It's more than that to Paul. It's real, and soon he withdraws from the world because nobody will listen to or understand him.

Until Francine, that is. Francine is a girl in Paul's school, but the sort of girl who doesn't interest Paul - a "silly" girl. She hangs out with other "silly" girls, girls who aren't interested in academics like Paul is. Francine is the type of girl Paul would never talk to if it weren't for a special connection (and here it's tough to avoid spoilers). They discover a telepathic link to each other, catching occasional glimpses into each other's thoughts or mood or life. Each time Paul learns something new about her, he grows to like her a little more. Seeing a new part of her, such as where she lives, catching a glimpse of her family's poverty compared to his life of luxury, in comparison, takes him away from his own egotistical world and allows him to empathize with Francine. The same is true of her. While telepathy is not possible in the real world, Sleator is showing how people can let go of animosity if only they take time to understand one another. When nobody understands him, Paul pulls away from the world, but when he finds somebody who grows to understand him and who he grows to understand, he becomes happier and better connected. The way Sleator shows this is quite powerful.

While Sleator nails the human element, especially in that middle school age range, the plot staggers at the end. For about three-quarters of the book, the plot moves along nicely, with twists and turns that keep the reader guessing and the pages turning. It's peppered with humor, particularly the tense exchanges between Paul and Francine. And the reveals get more and more interesting, seeming to lead up to something big. I don't want to spoil anything, but more than likely you will find the ending disappointing, anti-climatic, like Sleator could have done more with his short little novel but ran out of steam far too early. The ending makes sense, of course, and fits in the world of magical realism that Sleator establishes, but for all the hype and tension the end fizzles rather than erupts. And yet, in many ways this is a book that will stay with me for some time to come.

Review: Diary of a Wimpy Kid, by Jeff Kinney

Jeff Kinney's Diary of a Wimpy Kid is nothing more than the days in the life of his main character, Greg. There's no real plot to speak of. Only Greg's day-to-day interactions, including minor conflicts that pop up and are resolved in a matter of pages, only for something new to come up. And yet, the descriptions of these conflicts and events, told with the aid of simple, yet unique, drawings, are very entertaining. Kinney writes with a dry, flat tone and simple style that make his jokes somehow funnier, and the drawings, too, are incredibly entertaining. There is not one dull page in this 200+ page first book, and in spite of myself I want to read more.

I think part of the appeal of these books is that they are not patronizing. Kinney is not trying to teach a lesson. He is merely trying to entertain. There is no big message, and yet it is filled with thematic value. Through Greg, Kinney has things to say about family, school, friendship, boredom, and just every day life, especially the life of a teenage boy, and it all feels real - it all feels like something that anyone can relate to. And it's refreshing that Kinney's tone lacks any cynicism or the sulkiness of many young adult books. Kinney portrays the negatives of life with a comedic silliness, as if to laugh off those little nuisances that a teenager like Greg might take seriously. It's nice when a book makes you feel like you can connect with the characters, feel that you're not alone, and then makes you realize that there are some things we shouldn't take so seriously about ourselves. Kinney does that here.

The comedy works largely because Kinney does not stray from his flat characters. There are no sudden changes in character, no moment when they suddenly realize they were wrong. Because, let's face it, people rarely realize or admit when they are wrong. And that's what makes Greg such a great character, though he doesn't have a whole lot of depth. Kinney portrays him as a self-centered teenager without disparaging said teenager. We can laugh at Greg's mistaken perspective as a flaw in his person and as a flaw in many young people (and sometimes not so young). For example, when Greg's grandmother's house is toilet papered, partly due to Greg's actions, he feels bad but decides that she probably doesn't mind because she's retired and has a lot of time on her hands anyway. Greg's logic makes sense, but a wise reader will realize that, retired or not, nobody wants to clean toilet paper off their home.

As funny as Greg's perspective is, the supporting characters help out a lot as well. Rowley, his best friend, the one Greg is embarrassed to admit as his best friend, is reliably nerdy, either taking things too seriously, or unable to control his laughter over childish jokes. Rodrick, Greg's older brother, is reliably rebellious. Manny, Greg's younger brother, always calls Greg "Bubby," a name he doesn't want his friends knowing, and also always gets whatever he wants, just like the youngest generally seems to. There is also Greg's mom, whose purpose in life is to embarrass her children, and Greg's father, who is pleased when Greg decides he wants to take up weightlifting. And this is but a small assortment of the many characters who make their way through this story. Everyone meanders into Greg's life, and his diary, occasionally and leave without explanation only to return again. And in the end it all feels just right.

Review: A Long Walk to Water, by Linda Sue Park

This is a devastating and touching portrait of what happens to people and society in war-torn, impoverished nations. As bleak as it often is, this is not a hopeless caricature of human civilization at its worst. In fact, it is hopeful and it shows how people often persevere when things get tough and this perseverance can help elevate a person's situation, even if it does take some time. Linda Sue Park's unsentimental, simple prose allows the story to flow smoothly and easily and adds to the power of the tragic and uplifting moments. Where this story excels is not in character, but in plot and its portrayal of life in a third world nation. This is a story everyone should read.

The story opens with Nya's story in Southern Sudan, 2008. She has to walk eight hours everyday to get water for her family. Nya's story is briefly told, just enough to give us an idea of survival in modern day rural Sudan, revolving around that ever-important source of life: water. The book mainly focuses on Salva, a boy, in Southern Sudan of 1985. His story opens with civil war forcing him to flee without his family, unsure if his family is even alive. He finds himself alone, unwanted, because adults fear he will just drag them down and use too much of their scarce resources. He finds help and kindness from very few adults, and as a young boy he little understands what is going on, except that his life is at stake.

These alternating story lines eventually connect, of course, but during much of the story they seem connected only by geographic place. Students of mine who have read, or attempted to read, have complained about confusion from these alternating perspectives. In that way, it teaches students the importance of prediction, as any good reader will trust that there is a purpose in telling these two stories, separated so far as they are by time - 33 years. But 33 years isn't all that far apart, in reality. We see that the conditions for Nya have not improved much, if at all, from where Salva comes, and where some things are better for Nya (no war), others are worse (harder to get water, no school). And the connection made between both stories teaches a powerful lesson about how history impacts us today. That is one of Park's many gifts from this book, to so powerfully, so simply, and so clearly show this connection between the past and now. A terrific read.

Review: The Adventures of Captain Underpants, by Dav Pilkey

It's not hard to see why, twenty years later, Dav Pilkey's The Adventures of Captain Underpants is still seeing reprints and now has a movie (which is largely what spurred me to read this). The adult in me sees the cover and title with contempt. This story can't be anything but stupid, I think. But the adolescent inside me snickers at the superhero dressed in whitey-tighties and a red cape. So while the kids all open the book with glee, the adult scoffs. What the adult may be surprised to find is that this is not stupid, not at all. It's actually pretty clever. Yes, it's definitely something better enjoyed as a pre-teen or teenager, but adults can breathe easy knowing that their young boys and girls are not reading trash, but something with real humor and even heart.

The Adventures of Captain Underpants is a graphic novel that combines prose and dialogue with colorful pictures. These pictures do not just serve to enhance the story, but also help tell it. In the opening chapter, for example, the prose explains that the two main characters, Harold and George, are troublemakers, while the pictures show how they cause trouble when they change a flower shop sign from "Pick your own roses!" to "Pick our noses!"

But Harold and George don't just pull pranks, they also create a comic book series called "The Adventures of Captain Underpants" to distribute to classmates. This series features the titular superhero taking care of elementary school related problems, sometimes with monsters involved. But the book is not about their comic book. It's about how they transform their mean principal into Captain Underpants by using hypnosis. But they underestimate how Mr. Krupp, said principal, will take on this role, which is surprisingly well, running around in his underwear and trying to stop, among other things, bank robbers.

Pilkey's prose is simple and to the point. There's a lightness to his writing that gives the sense he is not trying too hard for laughs, nor that he's trying to dumb things down for the age level the story's aimed at. The drawings are also amusing, and at one point they even become interactive, as Pilkey provides instructions for his "Flip-o-Rama" during an action scene, providing a mini-cartoon activity that's as amusing to watch as it is fun to do. The story is also, apparently, semi-autobiographical. Apparently Pilkey got the idea back in elementary school, and it's sad to learn that his teacher reprimanded him for his work rather than praise him. Lucky for Pilkey it all worked out. Not all class clowns get to turn their mischief into success later in life. And Pilkey proves that you can't write something off just because it appears immature and adolescent.

Review: Dragonwatch, by Brandon Mull

With Dragonwatch, Brandon Mull takes a rather safe, conservative approach to fantasy. There's never really a sense of danger or terror, not much of a sense of adventure. That's because in Mull's fantasy world characters largely remain within magical safe havens that protect them from demons and dragons and ogres. Perhaps this is nothing new for readers of Mull's Fablehaven series, which I have not read, and if you haven't read it, there are plenty of spoilers in Dragonwatch. What you will find in Dragonwatch is a mildly amusing fantasy adventure.

Seth and Kendra are hot off their Fablehaven adventures when we first see them. Seth is finishing a quest for some witches, testing his new abilities as a shadow charmer (something that doesn't see much use in this book, actually). Kendra is back home, relaxing and exercising. She is now Fairy Kind, an ability that gets some use. Now that the demons have been defeated, things feel safe, but both Seth and Kendra receive some warnings about the dragons, who are enemies of the demons. With the demons defeated, the dragons stand ready to fill the vacuum left behind. As it turns out, with their newfound abilities, Seth and Kendra will have a major role to play in protecting the world against the dragons.

As exciting as that sounds, you won't find a whole lot of excitement in Book One until the end, and even there it's sort of rushed through and drained of suspense. Some of the plotting is amusing and holds promise, but the characters are all paper-thin dull. Seth and Kendra serve as the two perspective characters. The narrator alternates between them at will and sometimes even seems to forget about them. Both have personalities that could be explained in one word. Seth is reckless and Kendra is cautious. Not a whole lot of complexity, and it's made easier by having the characters fall into society's expectations of gender roles. And like other YA heroines, Kendra swoons at the sight of cute boys, including the unicorn Bracken and then later another boy, which bothers her because she thinks she loves Bracken. Seth has no romantic interest, but he's at the age where boys apparently think girls are gross. Parents can rest assured that Mull plays it safe with the young girl and boy, but this means they do lack the sort of depth that might make them more intriguing characters.

Plenty of fantasy appears to revel in combining the real world with the fantasy world, from Neil Gaiman's work to Harry Potter to The Spiderwick Chronicles. This is probably most comparable to Spiderwick, but in that series the characters feel real and so does the danger. Where Spiderwick could scare with small goblins and other beasties, Mull's massive dragons are tame by comparison. Never once did Mull have me believe any of these characters were ever in harm's way, even when they did inevitably venture out from their safe havens. Fans of Mull and YA fantasy will probably find enjoyment here, and I didn't find the book without amusement. It's a fast-paced, unchallenging work that will likely have readers curious to know what will happen next.

Review: The Last Universe, by William Sleator

What begins as a rather mundane tale about a girl whose older brother has been crippled by multiple sclerosis transforms into something pretty amazing by the end. William Sleator is an author I've discovered only recently, and I'm glad I did. His stories tend to involve regular young teenagers who are cast into extraordinary circumstances, generally involving some bizarre science phenomenon. Boltzmon! has its hero meet an apparently real being that is able to teleport him between alternate worlds, and The Boxes introduces a young boy to clockwork creatures that are able to play with time. And now The Last Universe is about a pair of teenagers who discover the awesome, yet unpredictable, power of quantum mechanics. Yes, the human story, and even the story of the crippling disease, is rather weak. But when Sleator introduces the science elements, things begin to grow interesting, and I even learned a thing or two about quantum mechanics.

For Susan, it is sad that her brother is slowly dying from a disease that physically weakens him, but it's also a drag. She's stuck at home, being kicked off her instant message chats with friends in order to take her brother, Gary, for walks in his wheelchair. He likes to go for walks around the expansive garden that comprises the backyard, though he isn't necessarily piqued by the idea that he can't actually walk himself. In the backyard they often run into the gardener from Cambodia, Luke, and his cat, oddly-named Sro-dee, though it makes sense later on (and for those who know a little about quantum mechanics). Lately, odd things have been happening in the garden. The pond where Susan and Gary's Aunt Caroline drowned has been growing lotus flowers, which Luke claims can't bloom in that sort of climate. Gary seems different too, sometimes more lively, sometimes sulky. He's interested in finding the maze that Susan can see from the kitchen window, but can't ever seem to find it in person, for some reason.

This story is about discovery. About discovering a scientific concept, a new part of the world, and trying to use it to improve oneself. Gary seeks a way to reverse his disease and is confident the maze holds the key. But discovery does not always go the way humans hope. This story shows what happens when people try to use the power of an unpredictable science for their own betterment. This isn't necessarily a story of hope or a story of warning, but a story about the unpredictability of life. No matter how strong-willed one is, and Gary and Susan are certainly strong-willed, the world doesn't bend to that will. I don't want to give away what happens, but I will end by saying that this is a story whose science elements makes it a much better story than it initially seems.

Review: The Sellout, by Paul Beatty

I laughed quite a bit reading this book. Paul Beatty's imaginative inventions are clever and often hilarious, things that seem pulled out of left field, but that are put together much more carefully than they initially appear. And while I can't say I've read many books that caused me to laugh out loud more often than this one, something about it, somehow, still ended up feeling unsatisfying. This feels like a lengthy stand-up routine with loose strands of plot, and I guess when something is built up as a "Swiftian satire" and "a powerful novel of vital import," there's bound to be disappointment.

Beatty's manic energy is overwhelming at first, especially when coupled with his massively long sentence structure. A paragraph later you're left breathless, both because of the laughter and because you're still trying to digest what you just read. The style almost forces the reader to forge ahead recklessly along with him, even though there are speed bumps telling you to slow down, such as the many references scattered throughout his work, many of which you might not know (I sure didn't). This mania does slow down eventually, and this is where the novel is at its best. The description of the main character's father, a psychologist whose social experiments on his son are simultaneously hilarious and sad. The satire comes from the fact that some of the novel's characters want to institute some form of racism, such as the black ex-Little Rascals actor who wants to be a slave or the bus that magically becomes safer when a sign indicating "Whites Only" is placed at the front.

But The Sellout isn't just social satire. There is plenty of humor of the self-deprecating variety, especially in regards to the main character's failed love life. These parts, along with the comical attempt to put a town, Dickens, back on the map (labeling one border with the opening line of A Tale of Two Cities), are feeble attempts at plot. Beatty doesn't seem very interested in plot, really. He allows his writing to travel where his mind takes it, offering plenty of social commentary, often in the form of a series of three lists. So many of the jokes begin to feel repetitive due to Beatty's insistence on using lists as his jokes, and usually one of the three items includes a basketball player's silly smugness over the ability to throw a ball into a hoop. Funny, yes. Hilariously funny, in fact. Glad I read it? Yes. Did it change my life or my perspective on race or the U.S.? Perhaps not. In a world of information overload, this is probably inevitable, so I guess it's okay to have a good laugh along the way.

Review: The Underground Railroad, by Colson Whitehead

An unflinching look at slavery and fugitive slaves, Colson Whitehead doesn't romanticize the era, neither slave nor slaveowner, doesn't elevate anyone to a status of hero or villain. The protagonist, Cora, is certainly the hero of the novel, but her acts of violence leave her feeling guilty and mark her as less than good. And the antagonist, the slave catcher Ridgeway, is just making a living carrying out the law of the land, as inhumane as that law was. While the underground railroad that Whitehead portrays is a fantasy, a literal railroad under the ground, the story of slavery is a real one, a harsh reality that reveals the depths of depravity that the people of the United States of America, the country of equality, had once reached. Whitehead shows how slavery not only brought down slaves and blacks as a whole, but was also harmful to whites. In her attempt to escape, Cora learns that it's not so easy to shake off the shackles of slavery and its deleterious effects remain for a long time.

Cora's grandmother was a first generation slave, having traveled from plantation to plantation until ending up in Georgia on the Randall farm. Cora's mother, Mabel, was famed as the only slave to escape the farm successfully, and Cora never forgave her for leaving her behind. But a more learned slave, Caesar, who winds up on the farm when his previous owner duplicitously split his family up, seeks her help to escape. Cora's reluctant. Successful escapes are rare. The whole country is turned against the slave and slave catchers can be ruthless in their hunt. And those who escape often meet horrendous ends. Of course she relents, or there would be no story. Her owner, James, passes away and is replaced by his brother, Terrence, a cruel, vicious man who marks her as his by slipping his hand down her shirt in front of the whole plantation.

While the history books portray slave escapes in simple terms, heroicizing the person who helps the slave fugitive, Whitehead shows the whole process to be messy and bumbling, full of errors. The person helping the slaves escape is not always kind-hearted, but hardened to the work, fearful of discovery, even cowardly. Even the escaping slave is not a model of moral virtue, no Uncle Tom. Cora, in her escape, kills a twelve-year-old boy. Yes, he was trying to capture her and she was fighting for her life, but at twelve, he was innocent, and the charge of murder is a dangerous label for the runaways. It's also a taint on her character. Slavery has shaped her into a vicious person, especially when she senses her life is in danger, and has hardened her from any softness except in rare instances.

I mention romanticism and heroics because often that's how stories of slavery are painted, whether historical or fictional. Many stories about slavery are often concerned with whether a master is kind or cruel, as if that trumps the fact that the slave is a piece of property and not a human being. The slave is portrayed as morally pure, religious, and loving. This strips them of their humanity - no person fits all of those qualities so perfectly. There's a scene where Cora earns work in a museum as a living exhibit piece on a set about slavery. She soon realizes that the slaves are the only ones played by real people. All of the white actors are mannequins. This gives the impression of Cora as a creature in a zoo exhibit. Plus, Cora notices that the stories the exhibit shares about slavery don't mesh with reality. I've visited my share of museums showing slavery in a way that strips it of its violence. Whitehead wants to dispel that myth, of ignoring the bloody violence of the institution. This is made clear when a fugitive slave returned to the Randall farm is punished by having his genitals cut from him, sewn in his mouth, and after three days he is burned alive.

Whitehead's prose is detached and choppy. He uses sentence fragments throughout and his style lacks any smoothness. It's rough, just like the treatment of slaves. Detached as the narrator is, Whitehead doesn't allow this narrator to keep emotional weight at bay. This is an emotionally powerful story, full of suspense, despair, sorrow, and, at times, even triumph. It's also an action-packed story, carrying the reader across several states, lulling the reader and characters into false senses of security before stripping it away. At times Whitehead does spend a bit much time on tangents, philosophizing on the personhood of the slave. While interesting, it does slow down the plot and it's not anything new for those versed on their slavery history. Yet it's only natural that he includes these passages. This is a thoughtful work, one that is filled with powerful moments and never dull.

Review: Passing for Human, by Jody Scott

The only thing that Jody Scott's Passing for Human seems sure about is its manic energy. Each page crackles with an energy unsurpassed by none, and yet this energy is its undoing. Scott, I assume, is attempting to tackle serious social issues, yet her flippant tone makes it hard to take anything that happens seriously. The breathless way Scott jumps from action to action, idea to idea, leaves the reader with nothing to grasp, whether ideologically or visually. I see that the book was originally published in 1977, but never really took off, and now Scott's estate would like to see if her book will fare better after her death. I'm afraid this has aged a lot and many readers won't understand references to Emma Peel or Brenda Starr, though maybe that doesn't matter. The writing style may appeal to those who like frequent mentions of "zowie!" but to others it will grow tiring. This is sci-fi-lite, satire-lite, and just light stuff in general.

An alien race, the Rymesians, are observing Earth to determine whether the planet's dominant species, humans, known to Rymesians as bushmen, deserve to remain alive or not. On this quest is anthropologist Benaroya, often confusingly referred to as simply B. (lazy editing?), Brenda Starr, Brenda, Miss Star, Emma Peel, Emma, and Miss Peel, among other names. This grows more confusing when more Rymesians enter the fold and are referred interchangeably by their Rymesian name and their human body name. These Rymesians have dolphin bodies in their natural form, but a body is not truly important to them. Their souls, or consciousness, or what have you, are able to jump from body to body. Not in the sense that they can take control of any person, but they can jump into any empty body at any time. This is nothing based in any sort of science, but more of a spiritualism. Anyway.

A cliche story would take this concept and cause the alien to come to love the human race and want to save it. This is not a cliche story, but that's not to say this isn't what happens. It's very confusing, actually, what happens. Benaroya begins flying down the highway in a fancy car, being chased by police officers. Her skillful driving skills, however, cause them to crash and die. Then she provokes a frustrated woman into a race, causing her to crash and die as well. Benaroya, in her bikini Brenda Starr body, is arrested and within the hour has seduced her lawyer into having sex with her in his office and professing his love, and all the while she's just excited to have mated with a human so quickly. This may sound amusing, with a few zowies! and zoinks! thrown in for good measure, but it's actually more tiring than it sounds.

For one, Scott, or maybe just her characters, shovels venom upon the human race. It's tough to tell if Scott is the one so spiteful of the human race or just her alien characters, and it's also tough to tell exactly why she or they are so spiteful. Everything from the shape and makeup of human bodies to humanity's careless handling of Earth's resources is an object of scorn. But the scorn fails to do any true cutting because it's fired off like a five year old boy trying to aim his urine into the toilet and hitting the seat and floor instead. Somebody who agrees with her might not see a problem with some of her remarks, and I don't necessarily disagree, but the level of vitriol isn't really earned in the novel.

Scott certainly writes with a lot of manic energy, but another word I would use to describe her writing style is ephemeral. It fails to grasp anything - setting, character, satire - and the reader will have trouble grasping these things as well. The action at the beginning feels impossible. The car races through the streets seemingly without other vehicles or objects, without the limitations or noises or feelings of driving at such a speed. Characters move from area to area as though by means of teleportation. Benaroya proclaims hatred of the human species early in the book and mere chapters later somehow has a fondness of them and does not want them destroyed. I know Scott is trying to be funny and satirical, but her satire crosses some lines and teeters dangerously near to her seeming misanthropic. Scott seems to be using her Rymesians as a stand in for humans who view other humans and animal species as inferior and deserving of scorn. On the other hand, Scott also seems to be using her Rymesians as a vessel for her own dire view of humanity. While critiques of humanity are always needed, and always coming, there should be at least something constructive, not just hate.