This book could actually be worse, if the basic sentence-level writing wasn’t competent.
This is only my perspective, of course; the book may be much more appealing to people other than me. I have never, for example, been a fan of bed-hopping characters of any gender – so that’s a reason for me not to like it right there. Your mileage may vary.
But there’s a lot more to disapprove of in this book than that. I slogged through to the end through sheer willpower (only actually throwing it across the room once!).
To begin with, facts are important. Even in a story loaded with impossible fantastic and pseudotech elements, the details about the real world need to be correct. Why? Because you never know which incorrect fact will, for any given reader, strike a swift, sharp blow at your story’s credibility and even your credibility as a writer.
Sooo, you say, what facts are you talking about, Text? The big one is a really big one, since it deeply involves the protagonist’s entire reason for being in this book.
See, the demon got a hold on our multiply-renamed protagonist because she’d been burned as a witch (even though she wasn’t one, and was pregnant to boot) – in late seventeenth-century Massachusetts. In reality, the number of witches burned in New England is zero. They were hanged. Furthermore, the likelihood of a 17th-century English justice system executing a pregnant woman is approximately zilch. The English regularly postponed executions due to pregnancy, for offenses up to and including piracy on the high seas. There was even a term for it – “pleading her belly.”
You can see, I think, how this undermines nearly everything about Protagonist’s initial motivation. The fact that she miscarried the baby before her execution is immaterial – she was convinced, against all reason, that they would’ve executed her even if she’d still been pregnant.
And then there’s this other thing – not so much an error as a mind-boggling omission. Seventeenth-century Massachusetts Protagonist never thinks about her (Christian) God. Never prays to Him. Is never shown jettisoning her faith in light of the cruelty being imposed on her by her own religion and justice system. This makes no sense – and really, the whole thing would be more affecting if she did go through the faith wringer in this chapter or the next one. But nothing of the sort occurs.
For that matter, almost no one in the novel ever mentions God or Jesus (even in the too-common meaningless interjection form). Apparently the only real supernatural powers in this world are ancient Sumerian demons and their absentee overlord god, Anu (infodump, pp. 31-32). And I’m not really comfortable with that, personally. But in addition, the response of the characters in the novel who learn of this seems to be, “Oh. That explains everything!” Or something of the sort. Nobody, it seems, has ever been to Sunday school, or had to struggle with such a direct contradiction of their traditional faith. It’s incomprehensible. This issue needs to be given a lot more thought, and dealt with directly. It’s a novel with a demon in it, after all. That ought to loom a bit larger than it does.
Next, the name thing. For the first fifty-one pages, Protagonist is consistently referred to by her original name – Susannah Layhem. At the opening of Chapter Nine, she’s renamed herself Maliha Crayne – a decision that took place some time after Chapter Eight: a decision already accomplished, and thus tensionless and relieved of any particular narrative significance, despite a fairly lengthy (action-free) pause to describe her current circumstances. I think the multiple time frame shifts of the preceding chapters have a lot to do with why this important change falls flat, but more on that in a moment.
Several chapters later in the book, it’s revealed, indirectly, that her current public name is Marsha Winters. Various people call her Ms. Winters before one finally mentions the whole thing. Even though, back in Chapter Nine, it was revealed that she was earning a nice living writing popular trashy crime novels, this pen name / “real name” is not mentioned at that point. This is needlessly confusing (though at least she never thinks of herself as Marsha).
In addition, if she never uses this Maliha Crayne name, why did she bother to adopt it at all? And stating that she felt she needed to change her name isn’t the same as showing why it was so important to her. This whole name change concept needs rethinking, or a better portrayal. I know the symbolism of changing one’s name is powerful, but it isn’t shown powerfully, and the addition of the Winters name dilutes whatever effect it might have had. But at the very least, put something about the Winters name in the same scene as the reveal about her novel-writing, instead of playing all coy with it, please.
The fact-checking and names problems are perhaps not the major issues that the number of words I’ve just spent on them might suggest; they are, however, symptomatic of the larger problem with the novel, which is a fundamental lack of coherence.
The book just doesn’t seem to know what kind of book it is. Most of the time, after page 51, it seems like it’s being a techno-thriller; at other points, it has definite overtones of a semi-humorous caper story. Early on, there are strong elements of supernatural horror / redemption story, but these pretty much vanish, aside from technical details, after page 51. Starting on page 55, Maliha is being stalked by a really nasty and unnamed guy, so maybe it’s actually a crime novel. There’s some romance mixed in, too, which doesn’t jell particularly well with all the other elements.
Oh, and there’s a quest – if Maliha can acquire the Tablet of the Overlord and the seven shards of the Lens to read it with, she’ll probably be able to destroy her personal demon (Rabishu) and his six siblings. In fact, she does acquire the Tablet – in a flashback. And she finds one of the shards – in the course of a minor side plot. What’s up with that? Why the focus on the would-be techno overlord / terrorist, instead of the big quest? Of course, there is her ongoing quest also – under the escape clause in her contract, she needs to save as many lives as she can (why taking more lives in the life-saving process doesn’t affect the outcome is not discussed) in order to escape eternal torment.
In fact, there’s just too much going on here. A lot if it is really interesting stuff, actually, but it just doesn’t add up to a coherent narrative.
Part of the problem is the flashbacks – I’ve mentioned those already. The novel zig-zags through time at intervals that make very little sense to me. Not only are there flashbacks to crucial moments in Maliha’s progress from assassin to ex-assassin (plus the one about getting the Tablet), but each of her good buddies gets his own flashback showing exactly how they met – even though the narrative already briefly explained that, sometimes many pages before the flashback. In fact the only one who doesn’t get one is her best girlfriend; what’s up with that? Anyway, this zig-zagging only exacerbates the problem of figuring out what kind of story this is supposed to be.
Now, there are some good, powerful scenes in this novel, especially in the first fifty pages. There are also events that make no sense at all (how, exactly, did she sneak onto the plane sitting on the remote runway in broad daylight?). There are random things that annoy the heck out of this particular reader (she drives a McLaren F1? Seriously? Including on trips to break into two different corporate HQs?). But with some judicious pruning and alteration of plot lines – and I have to recommend playing up the quest at the expense of the the techno-thriller plot, because it’s a lot more central to the character’s purpose in life – the pretty good book that’s in here could have been liberated, if someone had actually edited it.
I’m not sure it would be all that much to my taste even then, but it wouldn’t be such an almighty trial for me to get through. The average Clive Cussler novel isn’t much more believable, in a lot of ways, but the man does know how to plot and I can read his books without repeatedly going, “What? No, that makes no sense. We’re going where now?”
I mean, I know this book is not meant to be Great Literature. But in its present state it isn’t even a “good read.”
I could offer some more remarks on structural elements, not to mention the flat characters, but this review is long enough already.