Without Remorse, the seventh work of fiction by genre grandmaster and arguably greatest of the encyclopedic postmodernist novel's Great White Auteurs, Tom Clancy, has its strengths.
Plotting. There you go. Late period Clancy plots are impressive mechanisms. Without Remorse arguably heralds the beginning of Clancy's final and most advanced stylistic evolution. Threading the tightrope between realism and elaborate thriller setpieces, this thing builds and builds until it explodes. Violent climaxes cascade. Small 'i' incidents rube goldberg into capital 'E' Events (while reading, I enjoyed how stupid mistakes drove the plot more than the usual Clancy Signature™ butterfly-effect-coincidence).
And, you might be thinking, what about its weaknesses?
Oh God. Everything else!
The politics are bad, of course. To be expected.
Originally developed in the early 70's, before its publication in 1993, Clancy intended this to be a rebuke of Rambo. A double barreled rejection of both David Morrell's post-Vietnam moral ambivalence and of the US government's lack of support for military veterans. Influenced as much by Brian Garfield as by Don Pendelton, but built to carry the thematic weight of ideas.
Adapted 30 years later into a brain dead but extremely atmospheric Michael B Jordan movie.
And yet, spoilers I guess, somehow dumber on page than on screen.
Without Remorse the book has problems. It's a 1990s airport thriller about Revenge™. You expect what you expect. But worse than every other shitty part of this doorstop...
worse than the racism,
or the schematic violence,
or the overlong genre-standard mid novel gore-porn torture sequence,
or the stuffy, moralizing narration,
or the prose doggedly committed to splitting the difference between over-written and flat beige,
or the laughably out-of-touch social insights,
worse even than the aggressively anti-erotic sex scenes or the obsessive descriptions of barely legal prostitutes with gaps between their front teeth
is the characterization.
Truly bizarre sometimes! When Clancy imagined the world in which to stage his art, one wonders if he imagined humans in it.
I'll give one example:
When we meet our 30-something year old protagonist his wife has just died in a horrible accident. Before our introduction to him is over he has:
picked up a runaway teenage sex worker,
fucked her on his boat,
cried after sex,
fallen in love with her,
discovered that she has a (minor and currently managed) drug habit,
flown into a rage over it,
forced her to clean up cold turkey,
pampered and groomed her (literally and in the creepiest sense of the word),
and gotten her killed – raped to death (the book describes this in detail) – through his stupidity.
He is the hero.
All this takes about three incident-packed weeks.
The entire time this has been going on the book has been assuring us that:
this is personal growth on his part,
he's the smartest, most capable, manliest man in every room he's ever been in,
and everything he does is cool and normal.
His primary flaw is naivete, you understand: despite being an expert hunter-killer cold-blooded assassin operator type he too often sees the best in people and doesn't often enough resort to violence.
By the end of the book – six months later, tops – this will have changed. Our hero will have tortured a dude to death and then staged his own suicide in order to become a CIA wetworks guy. He'll also have a new wife.
That's right, the teenager he fucks and then spends the book avenging isn't even his primary romantic conquest.
He is the hero!
I don't know if I have adequately conveyed how ludicrous this all plays on the page. It's absolutely wild. Every character is like this, too, to one degree or another. An entire book of psychologies orthogonal to normality!
I need to pause. Deep breath. I'm realizing I may have made this book sound interesting. Or entertaining: characters so poorly written they become ironically enjoyable. You might be thinking: I need to read this now. You might be thinking this sounds charmingly like pulp-novel escalation. 80s BBQ dad soap opera camp.
If you have so far come away with this impression, then listen to me. Please. I cannot stress this enough: you are absolutely correct.
This book is both incredibly interesting and also hilariously entertaining. Just not in the way the author intended.
Clancy wrote this book to be deadly serious. This is Tom's idea of a fallen hero finding redemption. The Punisher become an agent of the state. Mack Bolan for Intellectuals. The mirror image to Jack Ryan, his rigidly moral WASP-cum-Catholic regular main character.
Which means in addition to being a ludicrous banger of a ride, Without Remorse is a truly gross book. Like, disgusting. Offensive. Not just in terms of content. Tonally and technically too. Awkwardly constructed on every level, constantly in tension with both itself and its context. An object built for ironic appreciation only.
To take this thing on face value is to be repulsed.
Written for and by a specific kind of ultra-nationalist, misogynistic, fragile, middle-aged and church-going – but still horny – white guy, this book reads like a window into the mind of the type of suburban boomer who would eventually grow up to be a MAGA chud.
I'm not gonna pretend like I didn't have a ton of fun, but I'm what you could call an enthusiast. The entertainment value is there, for sure. You're just gonna have to work for it. You'll have to accept the world the work comes with. You gotta embrace the ridiculousness of history.
Because Without Remorse is – perhaps more than any other Clancy political thriller, including Red October – like a primer for it's genre. A fascinating artifact. A prototype weapon. To approach this thing with the detachment of analysis is to be enthralled. This is the template from which they built one of the most politically influent genres in the modern era. To read this is to understand not a counter-culture but rather a sort of vaguely risible but historically undeniable American shadow culture.
The suburban boomer's imaginations manifested as decisions. Trace the influence of this novel: see the path of a sociopolitical movement.
Media is mentality. The roots of Scott Harvath and Mitch Rapp are here. Fox News analysts dream like this book. Jack Bauer is here – the television avatar of the Global War on Terror who advised President Bush from the silver screen. This is the reason every shitty series character by a retired SEAL goes rogue and then gets hired by some alphabet agency. John Ringo wrote a parody of this thing. Jack Carr's career is an homage. There is a church in Texas where ex-operators in Multicam fast rope down with empty plate carriers and Airsoft MP5s to demonstrate to a rapt audience the intersection of slick violence art and the armor of God. Even the other side exists in reaction: Tom Clancy dropped a ripoff cum critique of The Punisher so influential that the Netflix TV Punisher – a Disney/Marvel flagship IP – looped back around into a ripoff of Tom Clancy.
The greatest strength of Without Remorse is its existence. We live in its shadow. It's weaknesses?
Oh God. Everything else!
This is the conservative thriller Rosetta Stone and, appropriately, it's barely readable.