KINGDOM is the debut novel from author Anderson O'Donnell, a paranoid and dystopic vision of a near future in which humanity has everything that it wants and nothing that it needs. It's an excellent debut from a disturbed and disturbing voice; a dark, fast-paced, engaging and thought-provoking read that I promise will stay with you for a while-- it certainy has for me. The book is as much milestone as manuscript; it is the culminating achivement of a labor of love years in the making, a novel not so much written and re-written as it was sculpted and crafted by author O'Donnell. If you're into William Gibson, Philip K. Dick, Bret Easton Ellis, or Jack O'Connell, or if you enjoy near-future biopunk tech-noir, or even if you just want a smart, engaging story, do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of KINGDOM. Paperback or ebook, it's dealer's choice. But remember to bring along some 5-HTP because this book WILL drain your serotonin and dopamine levels. It pulls no punches and refuses to let you brace before impact. It fucks you without lube. It twists and it roils and it seethes and breaks--and when it breaks, it breaks bad.
KINGDOM is the story of monks, monarchs and the men who would be king-- the only kind left to inherit the future urban landsprawl so rapidly approaching, the kind who gladly embrace the glitter of gold but shirk the weight of the crown. One such man, the central figure linking the story together (though far from its protagonist) is Michael Morrison, a billionaire designer genetics salesman who has all but stopped his own aging process and is busily assimilating bits and pieces of the shiny empty new world of the mid-21st century like the bright yellow video game dot-muncher from the 1980s who symbolized the mindless greed of that decade just as Morrison epitomizes the zeitgeist of his own, representing what all human history to this point has apparently been leading up to: an insatiable lust for Control. Control over not just human goods and services or even human beings, but the very process and fundaments responsible for said beings--control over life and its creation. Morrison, who has assembled the best-funded and most secretive team of scientists and researchers ever gathered on this planet, has spent much of his artificially-extended drug-enhanced life lording over an underground bunker which houses the blackest of black clinics: Project Exodus, a secret project designed to save humanity from itself in the form of a eugenically bred Next Great Leader--a spray-tanned Senator, a blow-dried Moses, a hand-built marionette man made for the media with Morrison fingering the strings.
The Senator in question was not Morrison's first foray into politics. His predecessor, Senator Robert Fitzgerald, was pumped and primed to ascend to the highest seat of American Power-- justbefore pumping a .45-caliber bullet into his own brain, distinctly aware of a lack of something inside himself... something which we soon discover was, in a soul. The missing soul in question is, we are to learn, not just a religious device or a metaphysical construct but rather in fact a quantifiable, verifiable scientific reality that like everything else in Nature can be synthesized and reproduced artificially if only one has the correct genetic sequence. It is this genetic source code that Morrison is most eager to acquire--and he will stop at nothing to acquire it. Opposing him and his black-ops army is an unlikely hero: Dylan Fitzgerald, the son of the late soulless Senator, a Quixotic Hamlet-cum-JFK Jr. who's into sex, drugs, and-- well, that's about it. Dylan only has two things in common with his late father; 1. a nagging existential doubt of his own spiritual verifiability; and 2. The identity of the man responsible for such a desperately empty condition. It is this search for self that will bring Dylan into contact and conflict with Morrison's secret world-- and will also most probably violently remove him from it.
We meet many other flawed characters along the narrative's yellow brick road, which stretches from the deserts of what was once the Mexican border all the way to the skyscrapers of the elite in the Shimmer District, which is the bejewled seat of power of the story's central locale: Tiber City (whether or not said bejeweled megalopolis was named for the river in Rome that world-conquerors Romulus and Remus were thrown into as infants is an open question, and one that I'll have to remember to ask). There's Campbell, Morrison's Chief Science Officer, the genius mind behind Project Exodus who upon accidentally discovering the Project's biological scrap quickly fled to the sweet release of opiates and Irish Whiskey only to be nursed back to health by the monks of the mysterious Order of Ramoth (Hebrew for "breath"); Al-Salaam, Morrison's bespoke assassin, who has been tasked with apprehending Campbell and eliminating him; Jack Heffernan (no relation),Morrison's good-looking yet mindless and soulless Presidential hopeful; and of course Meghan, Morrison's beautiful daughter and the lifelong love of one Dylan Fitzgerald... the girl who could be the answer to Dylan's prayers or just as easily the living embodiment of his nightmares. All of these characters have an interesting role to play as the story unfolds, but it is Tiber City itself which remains the most intriguing and enigmatic character. Its different Districts each have their own unique look and flavor, and as Dylan meanders through each of them on his search for meaning and understanding, we are all too aware that Tiber City ain't that great a place to visit, let alone make one's residence in, and yet it is clear that the suggestion is that we'll all be living there permanently soon. It is a city of style over substance, of form over function, a hollow particle-board world with a shiny veneer that you could easily put your foot through if you didn't watch your step, as it is rotten throughout and no one quite knows where to step anymore.
O'Donnell's writing is darkly descriptive, and will put you in a foul mood if you let it. It's filled with original yet disturbing images like designer vagina infomercials, and peppered throughout with random spikes of genius like the mathematical art form of the future: a stream of numbers displayed against a blank wall that one can watch hypnotically for hours, an art form known as The Zero Movement. It is obvious that this is O'Donnell's best-guess prediction of what our future will look like, but whether it's a cautionary tale or an inescapable conclusion is difficult to determine. One thing, though, is very clear: Anderson O'Donnell has a powerful gift for observation, and in his writing he lends us his high-powered lenses on reality and forces us to gaze with microscopic vision upon a scene that most of us would just as soon look away from. He's not just slowing down to look at the car wreck in this book, he's taking your face and shoving it into the wreckage and he's not going let you up until some of the bent steel and gasoline fumes make an indelible image on your brain. This is a voice that most readers will want to hear more from, but one that a few perhaps might not want to ever hear again. O'Donnell's depiction of humanity and its culture reads at times like a condemnation, a soliloquy of suffering for everyday sins we don't even know we commit. But you can't fault a guy for calling it like he sees it, and damn if he's not dead on the money most of the time. My guess is that O'Donnell is going to win a legion of new fans with this, his first offering-- and probably also piss off a couple of dissenters who will criticize his work as "too dark and angry". But as Jack Black once remarked about his band's own mixed reviews at memorable Tenacious D show: "If everyone liked us, that'd probably mean we're pretty lame." KINGDOM might grab you and shake you and leave you feeling like it beat you up and stole your lunch money... but one thing it is definitely NOT is lame.