It should not be so hard to write both poetry and fiction. Both arts, after all, make use of the same materials, words and punctuation. Poems...
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Any introduction to writing or literature class will include the theory that most (if not all) books follow a pattern of escalating peaks that reach a climax before drifting off into a denouement. In a line graph, the crux of the book, regardless of the genre, would stand above everything else. The pattern of plot denotes a clear beginning, middle and end.
But what if a book chooses to disregard this tried-and-true formula? What if the book chops off the traditional beginning and end? What if the middle the book portrays would be more of a flat line in a traditional book’s graph?
If the book is The Odds by Stewart O’Nan, you’re in luck. And, under close observation, the flat line displays fractal properties of the traditional plot graph. Readers meet Art and Marion Fowler as the couple travels to Niagara Falls. A whole other novel could take place before page 1: The Fowler marriage and finances are already dissolving, with only legal steps remaining before both are wiped out, when we meet them.
The two return to the site of their honeymoon with what remains of their savings in a last-ditch attempt to regain financial solvency at the casinos. The plan is Art’s idea; Marion goes along with it because she doesn’t have a better idea. Art’s other idea is to win back Marion’s heart, to return to the passion of their younger years. Marion just wants the weekend to be over.
Like O’Nan’s Last Night at the Lobster, it’s easy to say not much happens in The Odds. Instead both novels offer a glimpse of a couple of almost ordinary days in the lives of ordinary people.
What other authors might treat as a peak to build tension ��" say, a bus accident ��" O’Nan uses to build character. Art wants to comfort Marion, but isn’t sure how it would be received given her constant rejections of intimacy. Marion wonders how the accident will delay their trip.
ONan tells the story from a third-person point of view that shifts perspective between Art and Marion. The transitions in perspective work seamlessly and serve to fill in some of the back story that led the couple to page 1.
While Art saw the divorce as a legal formality, a convenient shelter for whatever assets they might have left, from the beginning she’d taken the idea seriously, weighing her options and responsibilities��"plumbing, finally, her heart��"trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the ghost of Wendy Daigle out of the equation. How much easier it would be if Wendy Daigle were dead …. She’d lost her spot on the page and read the same sentence again, sighed and kneaded the bunched muscles of her neck.
“Want a neck rub?” Art offered.
“I’m just tired of sitting.” She shifted and went back to her book, ignoring him again.
These little rebuffs, he would never get used to them. Years ago he’d come to accept that no matter how saintly he was from then on, like a murderer, he would always be wrong, damned by his own hand, yet he was always surprised and hurt when she turned him down.
Art and Marion are masters of masking their reactions. Inside, they may question what the other is doing, imagine unsaid conversations and untaken actions. On the surface they remain calm, even though, and sometimes because, that calmness frustrates the other.
The Odds ends when the Fowlers’ weekend at the Falls does. What happens to them after the casino is left to the reader decide. O’Nan’s approach may not be the traditional peak-and-valley storytelling, but his quieter approach is worth spending time with.
Books captivate readers for a number of reasons. Maybe it’s a character that reminds you of someone you know or someone you want to know. Maybe it’s a setting that you’ve always dreamt of. Maybe the plot engages your attention fully, refusing to let go even as it twists and turns.
If you’re lucky, a book captivates you because of its author’s voice and its author’s awareness of how to build character relationships and how to maintain suspense. Readers of Matt Bondurant’s The Night Swimmer can consider themselves among the lucky.
Bondurant centers his story on an American couple who win a pub in Ireland. Many people might take the cash equivalent of the prize, but Elly and Fred make the decision to leave everything and everyone they know behind. As Fred restores the pub in Baltimore, Elly spends her time swimming in the waters off Cape Clear Island.
Elly has a minor genetic abnormality (an evenly distributed, thin layer of fat) that allows her to spend long amounts of time in cold water. Her communion with the ocean is one of the strong points of Bondurant’s writing, likely because he is a long-distance swimmer himself.
A side note ��" the locations in The Night Swimmer are real, and images are available on the web if Bondurant’s word paintings make you want more.
Another strong point of the novel is the bond between Elly and Fred. Bondurant doesn’t describe their love in over-the-top prose. He lets his characters’ actions speak for themselves. It’s clear these two love each other, which makes it slightly confusing when events of the novel begin to overtake their relationship.
Elly and Fred begin to feel the power of the Corrigan family which controls most of the commerce and culture of Baltimore and Cape Clear. The Americans are outsiders and Elly’s growing awareness of the undercurrents on Cape Clear make them more of a target. Fred retreats into a novel he’s trying to write and neglects the needs of the bar. Elly retreats into her swimming and getting to know Cape Clear. The two start to drift apart, but Bondurant never fully explains why.
It’s a jarring flaw in the novel. Other plot points go unexplained. For some of them, this works ��" Elly starts to learn about mysteries on the island and she may not need all the answers. Some of the island’s mysteries though cry out for explanations, at least for the reader.
Highgate, a blind goat farmer who becomes central to the story, may be more than he seems. As may the Fastnet lighthouse, which exerts a strange pull on Elly.
It’s to Bondurant’s credit though that these flaws are minor. The story is told from Elly’s point of view, and Bondurant never once drops the female perspective, a feat not all male authors can pull off. The mood he creates throughout The Night Swimmer pulls a reader in. His descriptions of setting and character are active. Readers experience the setting as Elly does, not as a laundry list of flora and fauna. Even when Elly befriends a visiting birder (who offers his own threat to her marriage), her exposure to the numerous species excites the readers, rather than becoming a mind-numbing list of bird names.
The novel builds exquisitely to a series of climaxes before ending on what may seem an abrupt note. Perhaps that’s an area for improvement in Bondurant’s writing. Or perhaps it’s just a sign of not wanting to find yourself on the last pages of a book.
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As America expanded beyond its original 13 colonies, almost all new states and territories were added through treaties, purchases or by claiming land the U.S. government felt no one owned. Texans will tell you their state was an independent country before annexation although Mexico refused to acknowledge its independence.
Then there’s Hawaii. The chain of islands, annexed in 1898, was originally a series of island kingdoms before being unified in 1810 under Kamehameha I after a series of battles. Seven kings and one queen ruled the island chain before the monarchy crumbled under an influx of foreigners who invested heavily in the country.
Julia Flynn Siler’s Lost Kingdom details the end of Hawaiian independence in a fact-filled book that falls just short of a must-read.
The story of Hawaii’s downfall is readymade for Hollywood -- kings and queens fighting for their people, villainous sugar-cane magnates, midnight coups, secret messages encoded in songs. The facts as Siler lays them out should be a more compelling read than they are. Perhaps Lost Kingdom’s shortcomings are only apparent when judged against other history books, such as those by Erik Larsen. And it may be unfair to judge Siler’s work against Larsen. The two writers have different styles, and a reader’s personal preference may determine which comes out on top.
Siler begins her tale of Hawaii before its last monarch, Queen Lili’uokalani takes the throne. The book explains the Hawaiian acceptance of visiting missionaries and lays the groundwork for what should be a peaceful future.
To the Hawaiians’ detriment, the foreign population brings disease for which the native population has no natural defense. The native population begins to decrease as Europeans and Americans increase their numbers. Marriages between Hawaiians and outsides further dilute the native population.
As children raised by missionaries come of age, economic forces begin to tug at Hawaii. The islands can grow sugar and foreign investors are quick to start building empires and making their fortunes. When the crown needs to borrow money, it is foreign loans that shore up the throne. And with those loans come requests for favors and political power.
Siler portrays an almost inevitable march to Hawaii’s subjugation to outside influence. By 1887, King Kalākaua is forced to sign what becomes known as the Bayonet Constitution. The new constitution moves power from the King to his cabinet and legislature. Foreign resident aliens could now vote as could Hawaiians who met economic and literacy requirements. Asian immigrants, who made up a substantial part of the islands’ population, saw their right to vote taken away.
Lost Kingdom wants to place Lili’uokalani as its central figure, but history dictates other figures take center stage before Lili’uokalani gains the throne. Siler is rightly fascinated by Hawaii’s queen (whose authorship of one of Hawaii’s most famous songs “Aloha Oe” is among her many accomplishments), but that fascination sometimes leads to a less detailed portrayal of other monarchs or the sugar barons. The book is not an objective look at Hawaii’s history; Siler tells the story from Hawaii’s point of view. Claus Spreckels, Lorrin Thurston and other foreigners are clear villains, motivated by profit and not caring about the Hawaiian people. After reading Lost Kingdom, it’s hard to argue otherwise, particularly in the case of Thurston who seemed to take personal pleasure in destroying the monarchy. One suspects another side of the story exists.
Lost Kingdom is a worthwhile read for those interested in Hawaiian history and culture, America’s expansion and how less powerful governments and people can be swept away by an economic tide. It’s not a perfect book and readers truly interested in Hawaii should seek out a more balanced book, but Siler’s story is interesting.
For some people, the time after college is a second adolescence. Responsibilities of exams and classes are over, but responsibilities of the real world haven’t kicked in yet as recent graduates look for a job in their chosen field or continue to struggle to define what they want to do when they grown up.
The latter is the situation facing Esther in Leigh Stein’s The Fallback Plan. Having moved back in with her parents, Esther feels very much in between stages of her life. She drifts for a bit before landing a babysitting/nanny job with family friends. The family’s youngest daughter died six months before the novel opens, and Esther’s job involves entertaining the remaining daughter, May, while her mother works on a mysterious art project in the attic.
Along the way, Esther indulges her previous college and adolescent side by hanging out in playgrounds smoking marijuana with childhood friends.
The book moves quickly, and Stein draws clear characters at crossroads in their lives.
The problem, unfortunately, is that it’s hard for readers to care about characters who aren’t sure whether or not they like themselves. Esther’s inability to move forward as an adult could be an interesting character trait if Esther seemed more invested in moving forward or had strong feelings about it either way. Instead she drifts, a little too willing to accept whatever is thrown at her without being upset or joyful over her circumstances. Esther doesn’t seem to have an opinion of herself and it’s difficult for a reader to care much about her either.
It’s telling that the stories Esther tells May to pass the time are more interesting than Esther’s own story. The original fairy tales center on a young panda girl whose travails mirror Esther’s. When Esther falls for Jack, one of her childhood friends, he shows up in the panda’s story.
How the panda experiences the crush is not as predictable as what happens to Esther and Jack. Also predictable is the relationship between Esther and May’s father.
Yet, despite the predictability, nothing happens. Esther has a safe pseudo-affair with May’s father, but it doesn’t progress to the point of danger. She sleeps with Jack, but the lack of emotional consequences or effect on the plot makes it another “meh” event in Esther’s life. Amy shows clear signs of being dangerously unhinged and Stein lays the groundwork for a big event that would threaten May or Amy that never materializes.
The novel ends as it began. Esther recognizes that her childhood is over, but doesn’t have a firm plan for the future or a firm grasp on who she wants to be. She’s grown closer to her parents and recognized she wants more than meaningless sex and affairs, but the overall impression is that the events of the novel weren’t that important to Esther, which makes them not that important to a reader.
The explosions of an action movie or the “Pow! Bam!” of a comic strip are always exciting, but, for most superhero fans, what really makes a successful hero is the story. Setting aside the science-fiction bent of teens with mutant powers or mad scientists exposed to chemicals, underneath the mask is usually a normal person. What made him (or her) reach for a cape and start prowling city streets at night?
Raymond Benson’s The Black Stiletto offers a case study to answer such questions. Eisenhower’s in the White House, and Judy Cooper escapes an abusive stepfather, only to find herself embroiled in romance, murder, the mafia and vigilantism in New York City.
Her exploits as the Black Stiletto (named for her favorite knife) make her a household name through the 1960s. The police don’t know what to make of her, but, since Judy keeps her identity hidden successfully, they never have a chance to catch her.
When the book opens, Judy’s son, Martin, is going through her belongings at their old home. Stricken with Alzheimer’s disease, Judy is now in a nursing home. Benson skillfully switches from the son’s point of view to Judy’s diary as the reader and Martin uncover his mother’s secrets.
Benson’s previous credits include several James Bond novels and several movie and video game adaptations. His experience writing action sequences works well in The Black Stiletto. Judy’s escapades have more than a note of comic-book/action-movie realism to them, but this works well within the context of the novel.
What doesn’t work so well is the introduction of a third point of view. This one is from Roberto Ranelli, recently out of prison and with a vendetta against the Stiletto. The information in Ranelli’s sections is important and of interest, but the point of view is jarring. It makes sense for Judy’s sections to be written in the first person - we’re reading her diary along with her son. And since Martin is the first character we meet, it is easy to accept his sections in the first person. But when Ranelli is introduced, questions about how readers know what he’s thinking start to interfere with the story. Benson may have been better served to write Martin and Ranelli from a third-person point of view, saving the first person for Judy’s diary.
The point-of-view problem is a small quibble (as is the unnecessary preternatural hearing, grace, etc Judy exhibits from puberty). The Stiletto comes across as a believable vigilante, albeit one in a mask and black leather outfit. Her motivations are straightforward and she has justifications for becoming involved in the crimes detailed in the novel. Yes, she ends up with an almost-cliched job at a boxing ring and some of her back story reads as if Benson worked his way down a checklist of genre tropes, but he uses the cliches and tropes well. The story and Judy’s character remain the most important aspects to The Black Stiletto. And Benson captures the voice of 15-year-old Judy.
Benson’s website announces a second book in the Stiletto series (coming in May 2012). If the first novel is any indication, the second will be an exciting read.
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The Odds by Stewart Onan
Tammy Dotts, February 6, 2012
Any introduction to writing or literature class will include the theory that most (if not all) books follow a pattern of escalating peaks that reach a climax before drifting off into a denouement. In a line graph, the crux of the book, regardless of the genre, would stand above everything else. The pattern of plot denotes a clear beginning, middle and end.But what if a book chooses to disregard this tried-and-true formula? What if the book chops off the traditional beginning and end? What if the middle the book portrays would be more of a flat line in a traditional book’s graph?
If the book is The Odds by Stewart O’Nan, you’re in luck. And, under close observation, the flat line displays fractal properties of the traditional plot graph. Readers meet Art and Marion Fowler as the couple travels to Niagara Falls. A whole other novel could take place before page 1: The Fowler marriage and finances are already dissolving, with only legal steps remaining before both are wiped out, when we meet them.
The two return to the site of their honeymoon with what remains of their savings in a last-ditch attempt to regain financial solvency at the casinos. The plan is Art’s idea; Marion goes along with it because she doesn’t have a better idea. Art’s other idea is to win back Marion’s heart, to return to the passion of their younger years. Marion just wants the weekend to be over.
Like O’Nan’s Last Night at the Lobster, it’s easy to say not much happens in The Odds. Instead both novels offer a glimpse of a couple of almost ordinary days in the lives of ordinary people.
What other authors might treat as a peak to build tension ��" say, a bus accident ��" O’Nan uses to build character. Art wants to comfort Marion, but isn’t sure how it would be received given her constant rejections of intimacy. Marion wonders how the accident will delay their trip.
ONan tells the story from a third-person point of view that shifts perspective between Art and Marion. The transitions in perspective work seamlessly and serve to fill in some of the back story that led the couple to page 1.
While Art saw the divorce as a legal formality, a convenient shelter for whatever assets they might have left, from the beginning she’d taken the idea seriously, weighing her options and responsibilities��"plumbing, finally, her heart��"trying, unsuccessfully, to keep the ghost of Wendy Daigle out of the equation. How much easier it would be if Wendy Daigle were dead …. She’d lost her spot on the page and read the same sentence again, sighed and kneaded the bunched muscles of her neck.
“Want a neck rub?” Art offered.
“I’m just tired of sitting.” She shifted and went back to her book, ignoring him again.
These little rebuffs, he would never get used to them. Years ago he’d come to accept that no matter how saintly he was from then on, like a murderer, he would always be wrong, damned by his own hand, yet he was always surprised and hurt when she turned him down.
Art and Marion are masters of masking their reactions. Inside, they may question what the other is doing, imagine unsaid conversations and untaken actions. On the surface they remain calm, even though, and sometimes because, that calmness frustrates the other.
The Odds ends when the Fowlers’ weekend at the Falls does. What happens to them after the casino is left to the reader decide. O’Nan’s approach may not be the traditional peak-and-valley storytelling, but his quieter approach is worth spending time with.
The Night Swimmer by Matt Bondurant
Tammy Dotts, January 10, 2012
Books captivate readers for a number of reasons. Maybe it’s a character that reminds you of someone you know or someone you want to know. Maybe it’s a setting that you’ve always dreamt of. Maybe the plot engages your attention fully, refusing to let go even as it twists and turns.If you’re lucky, a book captivates you because of its author’s voice and its author’s awareness of how to build character relationships and how to maintain suspense. Readers of Matt Bondurant’s The Night Swimmer can consider themselves among the lucky.
Bondurant centers his story on an American couple who win a pub in Ireland. Many people might take the cash equivalent of the prize, but Elly and Fred make the decision to leave everything and everyone they know behind. As Fred restores the pub in Baltimore, Elly spends her time swimming in the waters off Cape Clear Island.
Elly has a minor genetic abnormality (an evenly distributed, thin layer of fat) that allows her to spend long amounts of time in cold water. Her communion with the ocean is one of the strong points of Bondurant’s writing, likely because he is a long-distance swimmer himself.
A side note ��" the locations in The Night Swimmer are real, and images are available on the web if Bondurant’s word paintings make you want more.
Another strong point of the novel is the bond between Elly and Fred. Bondurant doesn’t describe their love in over-the-top prose. He lets his characters’ actions speak for themselves. It’s clear these two love each other, which makes it slightly confusing when events of the novel begin to overtake their relationship.
Elly and Fred begin to feel the power of the Corrigan family which controls most of the commerce and culture of Baltimore and Cape Clear. The Americans are outsiders and Elly’s growing awareness of the undercurrents on Cape Clear make them more of a target. Fred retreats into a novel he’s trying to write and neglects the needs of the bar. Elly retreats into her swimming and getting to know Cape Clear. The two start to drift apart, but Bondurant never fully explains why.
It’s a jarring flaw in the novel. Other plot points go unexplained. For some of them, this works ��" Elly starts to learn about mysteries on the island and she may not need all the answers. Some of the island’s mysteries though cry out for explanations, at least for the reader.
Highgate, a blind goat farmer who becomes central to the story, may be more than he seems. As may the Fastnet lighthouse, which exerts a strange pull on Elly.
It’s to Bondurant’s credit though that these flaws are minor. The story is told from Elly’s point of view, and Bondurant never once drops the female perspective, a feat not all male authors can pull off. The mood he creates throughout The Night Swimmer pulls a reader in. His descriptions of setting and character are active. Readers experience the setting as Elly does, not as a laundry list of flora and fauna. Even when Elly befriends a visiting birder (who offers his own threat to her marriage), her exposure to the numerous species excites the readers, rather than becoming a mind-numbing list of bird names.
The novel builds exquisitely to a series of climaxes before ending on what may seem an abrupt note. Perhaps that’s an area for improvement in Bondurant’s writing. Or perhaps it’s just a sign of not wanting to find yourself on the last pages of a book.
(1 of 2 readers found this comment helpful)
Lost Kingdom: Hawaii's Last Queen, the Sugar Kings, and America's First Imperial Adventure by Julia Flynn Siler
Tammy Dotts, January 3, 2012
As America expanded beyond its original 13 colonies, almost all new states and territories were added through treaties, purchases or by claiming land the U.S. government felt no one owned. Texans will tell you their state was an independent country before annexation although Mexico refused to acknowledge its independence.Then there’s Hawaii. The chain of islands, annexed in 1898, was originally a series of island kingdoms before being unified in 1810 under Kamehameha I after a series of battles. Seven kings and one queen ruled the island chain before the monarchy crumbled under an influx of foreigners who invested heavily in the country.
Julia Flynn Siler’s Lost Kingdom details the end of Hawaiian independence in a fact-filled book that falls just short of a must-read.
The story of Hawaii’s downfall is readymade for Hollywood -- kings and queens fighting for their people, villainous sugar-cane magnates, midnight coups, secret messages encoded in songs. The facts as Siler lays them out should be a more compelling read than they are. Perhaps Lost Kingdom’s shortcomings are only apparent when judged against other history books, such as those by Erik Larsen. And it may be unfair to judge Siler’s work against Larsen. The two writers have different styles, and a reader’s personal preference may determine which comes out on top.
Siler begins her tale of Hawaii before its last monarch, Queen Lili’uokalani takes the throne. The book explains the Hawaiian acceptance of visiting missionaries and lays the groundwork for what should be a peaceful future.
To the Hawaiians’ detriment, the foreign population brings disease for which the native population has no natural defense. The native population begins to decrease as Europeans and Americans increase their numbers. Marriages between Hawaiians and outsides further dilute the native population.
As children raised by missionaries come of age, economic forces begin to tug at Hawaii. The islands can grow sugar and foreign investors are quick to start building empires and making their fortunes. When the crown needs to borrow money, it is foreign loans that shore up the throne. And with those loans come requests for favors and political power.
Siler portrays an almost inevitable march to Hawaii’s subjugation to outside influence. By 1887, King Kalākaua is forced to sign what becomes known as the Bayonet Constitution. The new constitution moves power from the King to his cabinet and legislature. Foreign resident aliens could now vote as could Hawaiians who met economic and literacy requirements. Asian immigrants, who made up a substantial part of the islands’ population, saw their right to vote taken away.
Lost Kingdom wants to place Lili’uokalani as its central figure, but history dictates other figures take center stage before Lili’uokalani gains the throne. Siler is rightly fascinated by Hawaii’s queen (whose authorship of one of Hawaii’s most famous songs “Aloha Oe” is among her many accomplishments), but that fascination sometimes leads to a less detailed portrayal of other monarchs or the sugar barons. The book is not an objective look at Hawaii’s history; Siler tells the story from Hawaii’s point of view. Claus Spreckels, Lorrin Thurston and other foreigners are clear villains, motivated by profit and not caring about the Hawaiian people. After reading Lost Kingdom, it’s hard to argue otherwise, particularly in the case of Thurston who seemed to take personal pleasure in destroying the monarchy. One suspects another side of the story exists.
Lost Kingdom is a worthwhile read for those interested in Hawaiian history and culture, America’s expansion and how less powerful governments and people can be swept away by an economic tide. It’s not a perfect book and readers truly interested in Hawaii should seek out a more balanced book, but Siler’s story is interesting.
The Fallback Plan by Leigh Stein
Tammy Dotts, January 3, 2012
For some people, the time after college is a second adolescence. Responsibilities of exams and classes are over, but responsibilities of the real world haven’t kicked in yet as recent graduates look for a job in their chosen field or continue to struggle to define what they want to do when they grown up.The latter is the situation facing Esther in Leigh Stein’s The Fallback Plan. Having moved back in with her parents, Esther feels very much in between stages of her life. She drifts for a bit before landing a babysitting/nanny job with family friends. The family’s youngest daughter died six months before the novel opens, and Esther’s job involves entertaining the remaining daughter, May, while her mother works on a mysterious art project in the attic.
Along the way, Esther indulges her previous college and adolescent side by hanging out in playgrounds smoking marijuana with childhood friends.
The book moves quickly, and Stein draws clear characters at crossroads in their lives.
The problem, unfortunately, is that it’s hard for readers to care about characters who aren’t sure whether or not they like themselves. Esther’s inability to move forward as an adult could be an interesting character trait if Esther seemed more invested in moving forward or had strong feelings about it either way. Instead she drifts, a little too willing to accept whatever is thrown at her without being upset or joyful over her circumstances. Esther doesn’t seem to have an opinion of herself and it’s difficult for a reader to care much about her either.
It’s telling that the stories Esther tells May to pass the time are more interesting than Esther’s own story. The original fairy tales center on a young panda girl whose travails mirror Esther’s. When Esther falls for Jack, one of her childhood friends, he shows up in the panda’s story.
How the panda experiences the crush is not as predictable as what happens to Esther and Jack. Also predictable is the relationship between Esther and May’s father.
Yet, despite the predictability, nothing happens. Esther has a safe pseudo-affair with May’s father, but it doesn’t progress to the point of danger. She sleeps with Jack, but the lack of emotional consequences or effect on the plot makes it another “meh” event in Esther’s life. Amy shows clear signs of being dangerously unhinged and Stein lays the groundwork for a big event that would threaten May or Amy that never materializes.
The novel ends as it began. Esther recognizes that her childhood is over, but doesn’t have a firm plan for the future or a firm grasp on who she wants to be. She’s grown closer to her parents and recognized she wants more than meaningless sex and affairs, but the overall impression is that the events of the novel weren’t that important to Esther, which makes them not that important to a reader.
The Black Stiletto: The First Diary--1958 by Raymond Benson
Tammy Dotts, October 10, 2011
The explosions of an action movie or the “Pow! Bam!” of a comic strip are always exciting, but, for most superhero fans, what really makes a successful hero is the story. Setting aside the science-fiction bent of teens with mutant powers or mad scientists exposed to chemicals, underneath the mask is usually a normal person. What made him (or her) reach for a cape and start prowling city streets at night?Raymond Benson’s The Black Stiletto offers a case study to answer such questions. Eisenhower’s in the White House, and Judy Cooper escapes an abusive stepfather, only to find herself embroiled in romance, murder, the mafia and vigilantism in New York City.
Her exploits as the Black Stiletto (named for her favorite knife) make her a household name through the 1960s. The police don’t know what to make of her, but, since Judy keeps her identity hidden successfully, they never have a chance to catch her.
When the book opens, Judy’s son, Martin, is going through her belongings at their old home. Stricken with Alzheimer’s disease, Judy is now in a nursing home. Benson skillfully switches from the son’s point of view to Judy’s diary as the reader and Martin uncover his mother’s secrets.
Benson’s previous credits include several James Bond novels and several movie and video game adaptations. His experience writing action sequences works well in The Black Stiletto. Judy’s escapades have more than a note of comic-book/action-movie realism to them, but this works well within the context of the novel.
What doesn’t work so well is the introduction of a third point of view. This one is from Roberto Ranelli, recently out of prison and with a vendetta against the Stiletto. The information in Ranelli’s sections is important and of interest, but the point of view is jarring. It makes sense for Judy’s sections to be written in the first person - we’re reading her diary along with her son. And since Martin is the first character we meet, it is easy to accept his sections in the first person. But when Ranelli is introduced, questions about how readers know what he’s thinking start to interfere with the story. Benson may have been better served to write Martin and Ranelli from a third-person point of view, saving the first person for Judy’s diary.
The point-of-view problem is a small quibble (as is the unnecessary preternatural hearing, grace, etc Judy exhibits from puberty). The Stiletto comes across as a believable vigilante, albeit one in a mask and black leather outfit. Her motivations are straightforward and she has justifications for becoming involved in the crimes detailed in the novel. Yes, she ends up with an almost-cliched job at a boxing ring and some of her back story reads as if Benson worked his way down a checklist of genre tropes, but he uses the cliches and tropes well. The story and Judy’s character remain the most important aspects to The Black Stiletto. And Benson captures the voice of 15-year-old Judy.
Benson’s website announces a second book in the Stiletto series (coming in May 2012). If the first novel is any indication, the second will be an exciting read.
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