The cover blurb really, is not fibbing when it gleefully exhorts you that this is "Dirk Pitt's greatest adventure!"--for, it truly is. Its a one-of-a-kind conception. A unique reading experience in the annals of all paperback thrillers past, present, and future. Who is 'Dirk Pitt'? We'll get to that, below.
At this late date, it's somewhat surprising to realize that this is (chronologically) not the first 'Dirk Pitt' novel in the 'Dirk Pitt' series. But without doubt, this episode in the 'Dirk Pitt adventures' is certainly the one which brought his author (Clive Cussler), international fame. Simply stated, Cussler "knocks the ball out of the park" with this one. He stood the thriller genre on its head. I can't recall when a thriller author has ever made such a debut in his first 2-3 books. Maybe Frederick Forsythe? But that was well before my time.
Now, as much as I heap scorn on most of the later episodes in the 'Dirk Pitt' story--the unending stream of hackneyed dross which Cussler insists on shoveling into our faces--this is one book where his own lordly opinion of himself, is fully warranted. Sadly, quality quickly peters out after this one--the whole series only has 6-7 books worth glancing at. Cussler's career is one of the grossest examples of a writer 'going downhill' in modern times. Worse than Robert Ludlum in that regard.
But in this early effort--Cussler shines. Dazzles! I vividly remember the thrill of just holding that glossy, colorful bookcover in my hands, as he spun his astounding tale. With that cover-art which literally no other book has-ever-had-before, or will-ever-have-again. The massive, spooky after-deck of the sad, lost, HMS Titanic looming up through the fog and mist. An adventure yarn which took readers into a literary region covered by no other novel: "espionage" mixed with "sea-salvage". Its iconic, that paperback cover--audacious. As is, the novel's plot.
That plot--briefly--is: intelligence services of three modern superpowers reluctantly realize that the lost-since- 1912-HMS Titanic was carrying a super-secret scientific discovery in its vault. This 'macguffin' is 'Beryllium', a mineral to make sophisticated new weapons with; a mineral to tip-the-balance-of-global-power-for-whatever-nation-can-recover-it-first; a mineral ore to kill for. It necessitates first the outlandishly difficult pinpointing of--then, a complicated salvage-extraction process undertaken upon --the doomed ship itself. Technically-challenging in the extreme, the hulk must be hauled to the surface via ingenious sacs of air, to wrest the secret cargo from its abyssal trench.
Down, down, down ...grim skeletons of trapped passengers wafting to-and-fro undersea; ghostly apparitions, dangerous currents ...Cussler is never better than when detailing such fiendishly technical undersea operations. It is a supremely tense sequence here, described with genuine storytelling magic. But this is his forte'. It's what he knows best.
Later, when the ship hurtles up to the surface--there are helicopters and machine guns; ultimatums, standoffs, sabotage, spies; commandos. Clever twists and turns. And then suddenly, there's a brilliantly-written scene where everyone--including you--will hold your breath as a gorgeous, leggy brunette strips off her clothes and proudly displays her naked figure (no! don't cry 'sexism' here, please.).
Anyway, what next? Well, I don't rightly know how to describe it, but control of the ship teeters--then, finally goes in the Yanks' favor (rather than the Russkies). But nevermind. Because then --the ghost ship, with all its lost human souls --is impossibly,
towed into New York harbor!!!
What?!!! Yes! It's true, I am not even kidding you. Can you stand it? I can't friggin' stand it, can you? Greeted by a small-craft armada, crowds lining the New York docks, claxons screaming, foghorns blaring, fireboats sheeting the air. Right up the Hudson...she makes her destination port at last. It makes you want to leap atop the arms of your chair and roar! Boy, let me tell you what: if this does not make your heart race, nor put mist in your eyes--find a defibrillator asap, because you have no pulse. No feeling.
Now, the thing about this novel worth remembering is that 'Titanic-mania' was not always ready-to-hand in our society. It was once a sleeping giant. There was a time when there were no Discovery Channel specials on the topic; and when the fickle public imagination was completely somnolent as to the whole legend. Decades had passed without anyone sparing more than an occasional fleeting thought to the dusty, historic, chestnut that it truly was. Then this book came along, and blew everyone away. So, if anyone today tells you they've been a 'Titanic fan all their life', they're probably fibbing unless they admit the stark, caught-us-unaware paperback market upheaval that this book caused for everyone. It came out of nowhere. Cussler and David ('First Blood') Morrell together, coined the modern action-thriller book genre.
The crazy 'HMS Titanic' plot here, introduced readers as well, to an action-figure with an excessively macho and unlikely name. 'Dirk Pitt', husky maritime adventurer. Pitt was 'new', (in that we had never seen him before) but old, as in "familiar-as-James Bond". Dirk-Pitt is athletic; hardy; shrewd; and full of quips, as Bond always was. No, Cussler doesn't break-any-molds with this piece-o'-beefcake. The problem is rather, that he never stops re-using that mold ...how many novels are there, now? I've lost count.
Nevertheless. Even the most discriminating reader of thrillers would be hard put to find a single flaw in this fast-paced book (regardless of how bored we are to become with Pitt in subsequent outings). This one tale, really does offer everything; and its all managed very ably and well. 'Execution'--for once--truly lived up to 'concept' (when one would naturally have every reason to expect that it wouldn't). Pacing, editing, technical details, are all in perfect balance. A delight. As a one-off read, it stands alone and shoulder-to-shoulder with any other single title in its genre. It represents everything that is great in the thriller-genre itself.
Its bittersweet now to reflect upon all of this, of course. Can you imagine how fantastic it would have been, had Cussler written more novels as cracking good as this one? But he didn't. That dynamic, 'promise-rich' cover-art doesn't evoke at all, what the bombastic Cussler's follow-through brought to the publishing industry. His later career puts the 'lack' in 'lackluster' (although I'm sure he thought otherwise).
But he's wrong. Unfortunately, he wound up spearheading nothing; he barged into our cabin, broke down the door ---only to crash through the flooring and sink like a stone. His mediocre books litter the floor of the thriller genre like the ships he has so long written about--while he laughs all the way to the bank.
Ah Cussler...we hardly knew ye. Why couldn't you be straight with us? Was there ever a one-trick-pony that sired so many bastards as you? You're not King Poseidon, no ...you're King of Facsimiles and Copycats! You copycatted yourself!