Vacation Reading

We’ve been on vacation for the past week or so, which means that I’ve had a little more time than usual to get some reading in, including two review copies and a fun little twisty thriller. So, with so much to talk about (to say nothing of the movies and TV I’ve been ingesting), let’s do a few shorter reviews than usual.

894645323Evan Marshall Hernandez’s Breaking the Skies is an ambitious piece of work, especially for a more independent author. In broad terms, it’s a science-fiction war novel, opening its action with the final stand of a revolution set to end the reigning Queen on this planet. Hernandez’s heroes are largely on the side of the Queen for this novel, and yet Hernandez doesn’t necessarily make either side noticeably better or worse than the others. Indeed, many of the book’s pleasures come from the way it navigates moral complexity so well, establishing its heroes and villains clearly while letting everyone by fully realized, complex creations. More than that, Hernandez handles his action well, leaning both into the chaos of the war but also the morality of such violence, grappling with questions about who we ally ourselves with, the tactics we use in war, and humanity’s relationship with this alien planet.

But it’s that planet that makes for the most interesting material in the novel, which leans more heavily into the fantasy genre and brings out the best elements of the novel. Not content with just having complex human characters, Hernandez fills his planet with several animalistic races, each of which has its own personality, culture, and approach to the world. Even more interestingly, Hernandez offers his own variation on Philip Pullman’s daemons, pairing many of our heroes with creatures that are their partners and friends, which often tells you much about the people themselves. And Hernandez spends just as much time on these creatures as he does his human characters, investing them with backstories, culture, personality, and every bit as much richness as the others.

The end result is a rich, well-realized novel, one with enough complexity to the story to keep readers satisfied while never neglecting the world-building and detail that makes a fantasy world come to life. Breaking the Skies definitely feels like the first entry in a series, with sections that feel a bit drawn out at times, and some pacing that could use just a little more momentum at certain points. The sheer number of characters can be a little overwhelming at times, even while Hernandez makes them all work, and it ultimately feels like the book could be a bit shorter and lose little of its strengths. And yet, it’s a solid book that I don’t hesitate to recommend; its sheer imagination and solid storytelling, its great character work, and the fascinating world all work together wonderfully. The shortest, most focused recommendation I can give? I’m more than ready to read the second novel in the series at any time. Rating: ****

the-passenger-lisa-lutzLisa Lutz’s The Passenger kicks off with such a great opening that it’s almost a relief when the rest of the book lives up to it. It’s the story of a woman named…well, honestly, that’s complicated, given how many names she has over the course of this book. So let’s just say that it’s the story of a woman whose husband falls down the stairs and dies in a genuine accident. But she’s a) not that upset to see him go, b) worried that people might think she did it, and most importantly, c) seems awfully nervous for the police to go digging around. So she packs up and hits the road, calls a mysterious benefactor, and gets a new identity. And that goes well…for a few pages, at least.

Honestly, that’s about all I want to say about The Passenger, which is one of those books that are far more fun to read if you don’t know anything about them. Suffice to say, our heroine is on the move, constantly shifting identities based on the events around her, and only gradually revealing to us, the readers, exactly why she’s on the run in the first place. Even better, Lutz constantly raises the tension and the stakes, with dangerous run-ins, suspicious friends, and a kindred spirit who might be using her for nefarious means. It’s a gloriously twisty plot, one that uses every twist for maximum impact, whether to increase our unease or to stun with revelations.

But even better is our heroine, a complicated figure who lives comfortably in a world between villainy and heroism. Not a good person by any means, Lutz’s heroine also isn’t the antihero we might suspect; she’s a survivor, through and through, and as we learn more about her, her actions become more and more understandable. Her narration and pragmatic worldview make for a great aspect of the book, and the perfect companion for the twisty plot. The result is a great read, especially for the summer; it’s light but compelling, twisty but never unfair, dark but never horrific – in short, it’s a complete blast for anyone wanting a great thriller. Rating: **** ½

29468624Christopher Fowler’s Spanky was apparently originally released in the mid 90’s, a fact that feels right, given its central theme of a man who feels that his life has gotten off track and been far from what he hoped for. That was in the zeitgeist in that time, a fact that shows up in so many films of the time (American Beauty, Magnolia, Fight Club, and so on), to say nothing of other books (again, Fight Club, but more notably, Susan Faludi’s Stiffed). And so, in its broad strokes, Spanky‘s idea to marry that male anxiety to a modern riff on Faust, as a twenty-something Briton named Martyn gets offered a chance to turn his life around by a daemon named Spanky? That’s nothing too surprising, in hindsight.

That being said, what makes Spanky so much fun is how it uses its supernatural elements, first with a sly sense of humor, and then for absolutely horrific effect. Spanky starts as typical male wish-fulfillment stuff, but the titular daemon makes for a wonderfully anarchic figure in the midst of it all, playing Tyler Durden to Martyn (in his foreword, Fowler remarks that Fight Club, which came out after this, definitely feels like it’s almost the same book). As Martyn goes through his image makeover, dives into family trauma, and tries to meet women, Fowler keeps everything darkly funny and engaging, letting Martyn’s unease with some of it poke holes in the potentially toxic worldview.

But it’s really the novel’s second half, where Fowler lets the horror side of the story run wild, where Spanky shines. Fowler sets some tough boundaries on Spanky’s abilities, which could easily rob the horrors of their punch. Instead, they only make it better, as Martyn – and the reader – aren’t just subjected to twisted creatures and brutal violence, but thrust into an increasingly unreliable reality where we’re never sure what’s actually happening. It’s a great final act for a wonderfully nasty, fun read, one that holds up even twenty years (!) after its original release. Hopefully its American release will find it a new audience that enjoys it as much as I did. Rating: ****

Amazon: Breaking the Skies | The Passenger | Spanky

Coilhunter, by Dean F. Wilson / ****

51nzzo74xkl-_sy445_ql70_For a while, all I knew of Dean F. Wilson’s work was The Great Iron War series, a rich, involving steampunk war saga that I thoroughly enjoyed. Wilson’s prose was direct and effective – he had a clarity to his prose that befitted his action sequences, always keeping the battles clear, the environment understandable, and the various players clearly defined. What I didn’t realize – not until I read the first entry in Wilson’s Children of Agon series – was that Wilson’s prose was pared down and concise by design, not because that was just his style. Because Children of Agon read like Tolkien – it was epic fantasy, with dense, poetic prose and style to spare.

I mention this because, without that context, it could be easy to dismiss Coilhunter‘s prose as excessively colorful or too much. But within a couple of pages, I realized that that wasn’t a bug in Coilhunter; it was the design, creating a book that lived and breathed its Western atmosphere in every single word. With verbose killers, colorful turns of speech, and all sorts of fun writing, Coilhunter ends up being a lot of fun, and the prose is part of that, creating a rich, lived-in tapestry.

That Wilson is good as Westerns isn’t a surprise; what’s surprising to me is that Coilhunter is a Western in the first place, since it’s technically set in the same world as Wilson’s grim Great Iron War series. Wilson’s taken one of his more fascinating character – the titular Coilhunter, who makes his living as a bounty hunter in the less settled parts of that world – and written a book around him. The plot is pretty traditional fare, especially for the Western genre: the Coilhunter chases bounties, only to find that one he’s taken up could lead him to the killers of his family. But Wilson takes it on with style and panache, bringing his sci-fi steampunk Western world to vivid life, filling the pages with interesting characters and odd locales, and making it stand on its own.

More than that, Wilson has a great lead character in the Coilhunter, whose gadgets, tricks, and lethal abilities make him both a great hero and an exciting one to watch. Like so many Westerns, the question isn’t really if the Coilhunter is going to succeed; the question is, how will he pull it off. Even more to the point, though, Wilson makes his Western world all its own, making it stand out from the Great Iron War to the point where it feels less like a spinoff and more like its own series. With bounty hunter towns, old friends, and spectacular lawless zones, Wilson brings the world – and the characters – to life in a satisfying way, all while peppering things with his usual strong action sequences.

If there’s a knock on Coilhunter, it’s that the story feels more generic and formulaic than I’ve come to expect from Wilson; there’s little sense of surprise in what happens here or how things unfold. None of that keeps the book from being engaging or entertaining, mind you; it’s executed well enough that I tore through it quickly, eager to stay in this world for a while. But I’m more excited to see what happens in the next books in the series, now that Wilson has set the stage and cleared off some of the necessary backstory to get things moving. Here’s hoping it comes soon.

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Julian Comstock: A Story of 22nd-Century America, by Robert Charles Wilson / ***** 

51enpomf6alHaving read a pretty large swath of Robert Charles Wilson’s bibliography, I feel pretty comfortable in saying that I generally know what to expect from him. Wilson is a big picture kind of author; he takes what could easily be pulp sci-fi conceits – one day, the stars all disappear, all over the world; a series of monuments appear commemorating the future victories of a despotic warlord; aliens arrive at Earth and extend the offer of immortality – and explores them in remarkable depth, watching what would happen to society in the wake of such world-changing events. He explores religious, social, cultural, and even political ramifications, watching how a single moment can change our pictures of ourselves and our society.

And yet, while that aspect of Wilson is completely evident in Julian Comstock – this is, as the novel’s subtitle suggests, a novel of the 22nd century, set in an America that survived after oil ran out by turning back the technological clock, and at the same time, turned itself into a religious theocracy – this is also a wildly different book for him, one that feels more character-driven, more personal, and less sprawling. It’s a story more intimate than any I’ve really seen from Wilson before, and for all of its rich ideas and worldbuilding, at its core, it’s the story of two friends and their lives in this world so clearly inspired by ours, whether for good or for bad.

That different feel is evident as soon as the book’s structure reveals itself as a memoir – and more importantly, the memoir not of our main character, Adam Hazzard, but of his friend, the famous Julian Comstock. It follows our heroes from their unlikely boyhood together, through their times in war, all the way to the source of Julian’s fame – or infamy, depending on who you ask. It’s a humble-feeling book, one that feels like a tribute to a friend, and an effort to humanize an icon. But it’s also a great adventure story, and a coming of age story, as we watch these two boys become men and grapple with their place in the world.

If that sounds more conventional than you might expect from Wilson, well, that’s okay; rest assured, Wilson brings his usual gift for worldbuilding and scope to bear in his setting, as we come to understand more and more not only what 22nd-century America is, but how it came to be. We see how the oil shortages became rebranded as a “Tribulation,” and how the government and church came to unify. We see how the class system shifted, revolving around indentured servitude rather than freedom, and how ideas like science and Darwinism faded from the public conscience – but never went away. And that’s where Wilson finds much of his drama, as Julian becomes a crusader for science and rationalism in a world that doesn’t always welcome it.

All of that would be more than enough for most books, but Wilson brings even more to the book in the voice of our narrator, Adam Hazzard, a sheltered, less rebellious figure who doesn’t always fully appreciate the gap between what he thinks he knows and what’s really going on. (A tip: keep Google Translate handy for any passage of foreign language; the play between what people are saying and what Adam knows is always fun, and sometimes surprisingly illuminating.) Wilson plays with Adam’s naive perspective beautifully, letting him not always pick up on the subtextual relationships between people, or sometimes completely misread a situation – something Wilson never goes out of his way correct. It all works to make Adam a winning, endearing character, one whose sheltered worldview and warm, if naive, perspective give the book a rich flavor all its own.

Julian Comstock may not have the impact or scope of some of Wilson’s best works, but in the end, it may be his richest, warmest, and most accessible book. What he’s gotten away from in scope he’s picked up in characterization and vibrancy, making this one of the first books of his I’ve read that invested me more in the characters and their lives than it did the ideas and impact of its story. It’s a great read from one of the best science-fiction authors working today, and a nice reminder of how great it can be to find those moments when authors step out of their comfort zone to do something different.

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The Killbug Eulogies, by Will Madden / ****

34596837There’s something great about a book that embraces a constricting, careful conceit and finds a way to make it work, telling a story that couldn’t be told any other way. (For a great example of this, see Joe Hill’s superb short story “Twittering from the Circus of the Dead”.) What’s even better is when the conceit is instantly appealing, and Will Madden’s The Killbug Eulogies manages to do both. The idea here is simple: in a war initially reminiscent of that in Starship Troopers, soldiers are asked to deliver eulogies for the fallen, and the book consists solely of those eulogies, with no outside context. That’s a great idea from the get-go, but Madden really runs with it, creating, in effect, a series of short stories that collectively make up a larger arc, story, and novel.

Even better, though, the disconnected nature of the novel allows Madden to take on a wide variety of modes, tones, and ideas, ranging from hilarious to darkly satirical, from reverent to melancholy, from profane to sacred, and sometimes all of them at once. Within pages of the first eulogy beginning, we’re introduced to a soldier½ named Oogo (whose name was supposed to be Hugo, but the letter H was under strict rationing for the war) whose addiction for video game achievements leads to his death as he strives to cap the leaderboard for harvesting the left hand of the bugs. The result is gloriously silly and funny, making digs at so many social trends while still building its world, but it doesn’t prepare you for the next one, or the one after that, or the one after that, each of which finds their own voice, their own themes, and their own sensibility.

Sometimes, that can be a problem. Madden occasionally lets his eulogies turn into exposition, and it feels like he loses track of the thread, particularly in a late eulogy which gets into a long story thread about a captured bug who serves as a poet of sorts. It’s a great story, but gets away from the book’s conceit, and feels like it’s information he wanted to convey but couldn’t quite do organically. Similarly, those disconnected stories can lead to confusion – it’s not clear for some time that each of these eulogies is actually done by the same soldier, even when the tone and verbiage changes drastically in some of them.

And yet, those are both forgivable flaws, given how engaging, how funny, how rich these stories all are. Taken as a whole, Madden’s creating a complicated world, one that only slowly reveals its nuances and unreliability as it goes along. What seems like a cut and dry military conflict reveals itself to be something messier and more savage; the bugs rapidly become more than just cannon fodder; and our heroes…well, there may be a reason there’s so much depravity in these stories. And all of that doesn’t even get into the final chapter of the book, where Madden changes our perception of the whole book with some great – but completely fair – revelations that pull together all sorts of loose threads into a coherent whole, all without ever dodging the dark and silly humor that the book does so well.

The Killbug Eulogies isn’t just great science-fiction, though it’s undeniably that; Madden may seem like he’s just making jokes at first, but by the time you reach the end, you’ll realize just how sprawling, how complex his world building has been, even if it’s only carefully revealed. No, it’s also fantastic – and genuinely funny – satire with a dark bent, a thoughtful take on war, and a great piece of writing, one where form and function are intertwined in a way that leads you to realize that this book couldn’t have been done in any other way – at least, not without being this good, this fun, and this rich.

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Wayward / The Last Town, by Blake Crouch

There was a trend in Hollywood for a little while – about ten years ago – to approach trilogies in an odd fashion. The idea was to release a mostly standalone film – think The Matrix, or Pirates of the Caribbean – and if it did well, to turn it into a trilogy by filming the next two entries simultaneously. The result was always slightly odd-feeling, with a solid standalone film and then one long story split into halves, complete with the requisite cliffhanger. And more often than not, there was a sense of the unnecessary about those sequels – that however fun they might or might not be, they were less about telling the “whole” story, and more about extending the world of the original not once, but twice.

I mention all of this here because Blake Crouch’s Wayward Pines trilogy feels so much like it’s following in this model’s footsteps – down to the fact that none of it entirely feels needed. The original novel in the series, Pines, was a blast – a pulpy, twisty mystery about a Secret Service agent who ends up in a strange small town, and can’t leave. And by the time the book laid its cards on the table, things had escalated wildly, leading to a payoff and reveal that pushed way, way beyond what you ever would have guessed. It was a lot of fun, and if it had its flaws – some middling writing, some thin characters – the intriguing story and pulpy fun made up for it. (My original review is here, if you’re interested.)

But when I discovered that Crouch had turned the original book into a trilogy, I was a bit confused. Pines pretty well wraps up its story; while there’s more of this world you could explore, really, things are settled by the end. Our questions are answered. Our hero has made the important choices, and all is settled.

waywardp05But, to borrow from The Royal Tenenbaums, what this book presupposes is, what if it wasn’t?

Wayward, the second volume in the series, deals with the ramifications of the big reveal in the first book, particularly as they affect our main character. If you learned, as he did, something that changed how you saw the world, how would you deal with it? Would you help to keep that secret, or would you fight for the truth? Crouch anchors his book in this internal debate, letting Ethan slowly realize just what his role in this town will entail – and what it will mean that he has to do.

It’s a compelling enough idea to keep the story going, and as Crouch fills in some intriguing details around the edges – particularly as it regards the growing amount of resistance that’s coming together in the town – there starts to be a feeling that this sequel, while not quite necessary, at least intrigues in how it expands on the world Crouch has created. What’s more, it builds to a spectacular climax, one that pays off your patience beautifully – it’s big and showy, but satisfying, and makes you realize what Crouch’s big game is for the sequels. And the cliffhanger he sets up? Gleefully nasty and taunting.

Wayward, then, does what a good sequel should do, and what the second entry in these trilogies tries to do – it expands on the world, it goes deeper, and it tries to set up the big picture of the series. And if it still feels tacked on, it’s a fun sort of tacked on.

Now, if only The Last Town could stick the landing.

the-last-town-coverIn many ways, it’s in The Last Town that my earlier Matrix comparison hits its peak. Like The Matrix Reloaded, Wayward runs with the premise of the first book, taking it to logical extremes and exploring what it would all really mean. And like The Matrix Revolutions did, the last book ignores most of those interesting ideas and plans in favor of an overlong action sequence where a ton of characters die, most of whom we don’t really know or care about.

That’s not to say that the action isn’t exciting; indeed, if there’s one thing Crouch does well, it’s letting his inner horror writer loose as he does here, turning the attack into a visceral, unsettling nightmare. More than that, Crouch starts expanding his point of view, showing what’s going on all over the town, and the result is genuinely gripping, exciting stuff – it’s anarchic, terrifying, and violent. It also, though, ultimately feels a bit excessive and pointless, losing track of the intriguing story and the characters that we’re anchored with, and tossing out a lot of cannon fodder, hoping that we’re more invested in their fate than we are.

By the time we get past the action sequence, Crouch feels as though he could be setting up some interesting ideas – what it means to be a leader in dire circumstances, the harsh choices we’re forced to make, things like that. Instead, his choice for ending is an odd one, feeling both right for the material and simultaneously deeply unsatisfying. It doesn’t feel like a bad choice for the characters, per se, but it does feel like a whimper of an ending to the series. (And that’s not counting the cheesy, very brief epilogue, which could – and should – be easily ignored and skipped over.) And when the ending of a series is a letdown, it has a way of tainting the rest of the series (and once again, the Matrix comparison comes in, doesn’t it?)

It all ends up feeling like a missed opportunity, and while it’s clear that Crouch had some novel ideas about how to expand on Pines, you can’t help but feel that the original book would have been better as a standalone. Sure, the climax and payoff of Wayward is great, but when you don’t have a way to stick the cliffhanger or the ending, you end up feeling as though it retroactively shouldn’t have been done. In short? Stick with Pines as a standalone. If you’re really curious what happens “next”, you can read these…but be prepared for a bit of a letdown by where it all goes.

Wayward: *** ½
The Last Town: **

Amazon: Wayward | The Last Town

Stories of Your Life and Others, by Ted Chiang / *****

51fhqvpotulLike many people (I assume), I had never heard of author Ted Chiang before seeing the remarkable film Arrival, based off of his story “Story of Your Life”. But given my deep love of that film – and the heady, complex concepts it covers – I was intrigued to see what kind of story could have inspired such a complex piece of work. That only deepened as I heard more about Chiang – his astonishing reputation, the comments that the film was much more like the story than you might expect, etc.

Chiang isn’t exactly a prolific author; he mainly writes novellas and short stories, and it’s notable that this collection represents a large percentage of what he’s written, period. And yet, almost every one of these stories was released to astonishing acclaim, awards, and praise; what Chiang may lack in quantity, he more than makes up for in quality, given than this collection features some of the most fascinating, astonishing, thoughtful pieces of science fiction writing I have ever read, period.

Much like you might expect from Arrival, Chiang takes on complex, heady ideas, and runs with them in imaginative ways that push them to their utmost. The opening story, “Tower of Babylon,” is essentially a retelling of the Tower of Babel story…at first. But in Chiang’s rendition, the tower has reached Heaven. Entire communities exist at various points on the tower, adjusted to life at that point. Plants grow downward, in an effort to reach down to the sun, which the tower has surpassed. Stars crash into apartments. Bricks fall from the tower and are more heartbreaking to lose than people, simply because of the time to replace. And if all that’s not enough, there’s what’s waiting for them at the top, which is both astonishing and inevitable, adding even more complexity to Chiang’s rich world.

Or take “Seventy-Two Words,” in which Chiang imagines an alternate history in which the idea of the golem – an inanimate object brought to life by a sheet of paper with its name – becomes a field of study and a way of life. The nature of names becomes its own science, as automatons are shaped and reformed throughout generations. And what’s more, by understanding how these automatons work, we come to understand how human beings work, on a biological and spiritual level, in ways that we never imagined. Perhaps you’re more intrigued by “Liking What You See: A Documentary,” an oral history of a movement to shut off the parts of our brain that perceive physical beauty, and the social ramifications that follow. And if those aren’t enough, there’s the incredible “Hell is the Absence of God,” set in a world where divine appearances happen often, divine powers are applied inscrutably, and one man struggles with whether or not to believe in a God he perceives as cruel and heartless.

Chiang is a truly astonishing author, one whose ideas and worlds are so rich that they could sustain whole series of novels, not just short novellas. Even his shortest work, a faux scientific journal article that’s only a couple of pages long, gives hints about an entire alternative history of the world that he’s created in just a few pages. And yet, he never loses the chance to invest us in his characters and their worlds, filling his pages with moral questions, minor details, emotional beats, and more. That, of course, is much of what makes “Story of Your Life” so rich, as anyone who’s seen Arrival knows; that story marries rich, complex, thought-provoking ideas with an emotionally resonant, devastating hook that makes the story all the more powerful.

Chiang is that rarest of things: an incredible author who, like George Saunders, seems happiest working in short bursts, and yet one who constantly leaves you wanting more. The stories in this collection are, no exaggeration, some of the finest, richest storytelling I’ve read, leaving me thinking about their images, ideas, worlds, and characters long after I shut the book. It saddens me that there’s not much else out there of his to discover, but I’m excited to go see what I can find, and then join those who wait for his every new release.

Amazon

Dark Matter, by Blake Crouch / **** ½

27833670At this point, I’ve read a handful of books that Blake Crouch either wrote or co-wrote, and by and large, I’ve enjoyed them. Crouch is undeniably a pulpy author, and his prose is basically fine but unexceptional; for all of that, though, his ideas are rich and compelling, and Crouch has a knack for zigging when you think he’s going to zag (a talent that served him incredibly well in Pines, but less so in Eerie). With all of that being said, it’s been surprising seeing Dark Matter gain a more mainstream success – much more so than any other Crouch book, as far as I know. Crouch has always seemed like a fringe figure, a cult favorite, but never someone who could attain big, mainstream success.

But having read Dark Matter, I get why this has been his breakout novel. Between the gripping idea, the rich characterization, the surprisingly strong prose, and the emotional ideas that Crouch is playing with, it’s undeniably his most successful, intriguing, thrilling, and inventive novel, and one that makes the best use of his talents. It’s mind-bending, exciting, unpredictable, but best of all, it’s emotionally and thematically rich, delivering a surprisingly thoughtful tale out of a pulp premise.

Exactly what that premise is should best be learned slowly (although if, like me, you know the basic idea, don’t worry – Dark Matter has some surprises still coming your way). Suffice to say that the book opens in a typical night in the life of Jason Dessen, a physicist turned college professor who has a satisfying, if unexceptional, life with his wife and teenage son. But as he’s leaving a bar after celebrating a colleague’s success, he’s kidnapped and drugged, and awakes in a strange place where his life seems to be entirely different from the one he remembers. Was he dreaming? Is he dreaming now? What’s going on?

Again, I don’t want to dive too much into the basic premise of the book; if you’re an avid reader or science-fiction fan, you may have a good idea where this is going. But rest assured, even if you think you know, you don’t know exactly how Crouch is going to run with this premise, pushing it way further and more inventively than I’ve ever seen an author take it. More than that, though, Crouch uses his idea not as an end – as he did in Pines, whose primary fun came in its bizarre revelations – but as a means to explore his characters, letting it all play out like some nightmarish version of It’s a Wonderful Life, where Jason gets to see how his life could have turned out had he made one critical decision differently. Crouch invests us enough in Jason that we’re right there alongside him as he debates the merits of this new life, and we find ourselves exploring the same heady questions as he does – the way our decisions shape us, the way our priorities and experiences can make us into the person we are.

Mind you, this is still undeniably a Crouch book, which means it moves at a breakneck pace, keeps you guessing, and constantly evolves in front of your eyes. Dark Matter is as much a thriller as it is anything else, and although it’s rich with subtext (and text, really), that doesn’t mean that it’s not exciting and thrilling. It’s one of those books that’s going to be incredibly hard to stop reading once you start it – I basically read it in two sittings, and that one break was just because I had to force myself to go to bed. And while I was reading, I was absolutely riveted; Crouch knows how to keep a reader hooked, and manipulates you into keeping on turning those pages well past the point when you should stop.

The result is a real treat, and a deserved breakthrough for Crouch – not just in terms of success, but in terms of his talent. It’s easily the richest, best book of his that I’ve read, and the first time I’ve seen him push beyond the pulpy roots that have defined most of his works for me. And yet, Dark Matter keeps those pulpy roots – a great hook, an exciting plot – intact, all while marrying them to more thoughtful, intriguing material. It’s a really fun, engaging book; a fun thriller that’s got some substance to it, some genuinely shocking moments, and a willingness to go for broke that results in at least one of the most memorable reveals I’ve read in a thriller in recent memory. It’s a blast, and I can’t recommend it enough.

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