I'm not what you'd call an early adapter, or a trend setter, or a tastemaker. I willingly participated in Slap Bracelets and Zubaz and New Kids on the Block, but alas, I waited too long, so that by the time I joined the party, these fads were already in its death throes. This has left me with roomfulls of worthless merchandise that serve only to remind me of my lagging cultural velocity.
There have been other phenomenons I have ignored so completely I have no idea what I'm missing. Chief among these has been Harry Potter. While the rest of the world is in thrall, I cannot summon any interest whatsoever. I'll leave it to you to decide whether this puts me hopelessly out of touch or makes me an exemplar of good taste.
Lately, I have been willfully ignoring the Vampire Craze. I've never seen an episode of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer; I turn off HBO whenever True Blood is on (which is always); and I've never read a word of Nancy Meyer's Twilight series or watched an insant of Robert Pattinson's catatonic style of acting.
Frankly, I want nothing to do with Twilight. On the long list of things that don't interest me are (1) vampires, (2) teenagers, and (3) abstinence. Twilight manages to embody all three. (However, I think that Kristen Stewart's casting is dead on; her pale flesh and blank affect are perfect for portraying the undead...oh wait, she's not undead?).
However, I do like two things that Justin Cronin's The Passage represents: (1) post-apocalyptic fiction and (2) sprawling, ambitious epics. So I picked it up. (Carefully, lifting with my legs, since it's a big book).
Being a shrewed financial calculation on the part of its author, a graduate of the Iowa Writer's Workshop, The Passage is about vampires. On this basis alone, I assume, comes the fact that it was optioned by Ridley Scott before publication.
These are not ordinary vampires, though. They do not wear fancy suits with capes; they do not speak in funny accents; and they do not help you learn to count. Instead, they are a hybrid of every zombie movie of the last ten years. These are blood suckers, yes, but they act more like the fast-moving, high-leaping undead of 28 Days Later, the Dawn of the Dead remake, and I Am Legend.
The first section of the book (the best section, in fact), around 300 pages in length, tells how these vampires were created. This part of the story takes place in the near future, around 2018, in a believably realized world where much has gone to hell: gas is $13 a gallon; New Orleans is gone, the victim of a Category 5 hurricane; we're in an all-out war with the Middle East (there is an allusion to an Iranian-funded massacre at the Mall of America); and the US is latticed by federal checkpoints (by the end of this book, I sensed that Justin Cronin is on his way to being the next Ayn Rand).
The US Army, looking for the next generation of super-soldier, starts concocting a virus to make an immortal soldier who is hard to kill, heals quickly, and can fight forever. The Government decides to test this virus on 12 death row convicts and one little girl named Amy. It's a trial and error process. The 12 convicts are turned into uncontrollable vampires who can jump high, run fast, see in the dark, and gather followers with a quick bite to the neck (they kill 9 out of ten, with the tenth turned into a vampire or, as Cronin calls them, a "viral" or a "smoke"). They are nearly impossible to kill, unless you get them in the heart; if you do, they will drop faster than one of Ghana's soccer players.
Not to give too much away, but these 12 escape and wreak havoc. (After all, this isn't Twilight). Most of this havoc is wreaked off-page, and you only learn about it in a series of newspaper excerpts that bridge the first and second half of the book.
Suddenly, and quite abruptly, we're introduced to a whole new set of characters, and an entirely different world, many years in the future. This new setting is the Colony, a group of survivors living behind high walls and beneath bright lights. Cronin spends a good bit of time detailing their lives: the tenuous connections with the past; the new lexicon; the struggle to find food and to keep the lights on; and the complext interrelationships of a closed, vaguely incestuous society. (Essentially, Cronin describes the Colony as a Socialist hell, which harkens back to my earlier comment regarding Ayn Rand).
Eventually, some members of the Colony leave and embark on a journey, or a passage, if you will. I'll leave further plot discoveries to you, the reader.
I came into this book half-expecting one thing, and getting something totally different. As I said before, Cronin is an IWW grad, and the writer of a couple of small, literary novels. In terms of scope and subject-matter, The Passage isn't like anything he's done before. Yet I assumed he'd take a Cormac McCarthy-like tact to what is essentially genre material. That is, I thought Cronin would bring a literary pedigree to the end of the world, as McCarthy did in The Road.
I was wrong.
The biggest surprise in The Passage is how poorly it's written.
We can start with the dialogue, embarrasing at its worst and uniformly unbearable throughout. The most profound and effective things the characters say to each other are exclamations: "Go!" "Run!" "Watch out!" Unfortunately, the characters have a lot more on their minds, which they will speak, at length.
The most annoying dialogue trait is the use of the exclamatory phrase "Flyers!" You see, even though the folks of the Colony are but a generation removed from a pre-vampire United States, and even though they still have the old f-word (and the rest of the English language), they prefer to say things like: "Flyers, what was that!" or "Flyers, that was close!" It's so stupid I thought I'd wandered into a parody. Really, that's what the post-apocalyptic future-fighters say? "Flyers?" It's something that George Jetson would say to Elroy.
Another frequently occuring annoyance is Cronin's overuse of the Proper Noun. It starts on the very first page, with the very first sentence, in which Amy, the immortal hero, is referred to as the "One Who Walked In" and the "First and Last and Only". This trait is even more pronounced once we are introduced to the Colony. They use proper nouns for everything: their buildings (the Sanctuary, the Lighthouse); their jobs (the Watch) and their history (the First Night, the Dark Night, the Night of Blades and Stars). Again, it nears the territory of parody, like something out of Goldman's The Princess Bride (Cliffs of Insanity, anyone?). This proper noun profusion is taken to illogical extremes. For instance, the people of the Colony call their children "the Littles". Why don't you just call them children? I mean, you still have the English language. You still have the f-word. Did that one word somehow get lost? Did you lose it in the dark, on the Dark Night?
I also despised the nicknames the characters gave each other. Hightop? Circuit? Are you serious? Is this the It Book of summer, or is it a late-80's cartoon about mutant turtles that are also teenagers and ninjas?
And don't get me started with the action scenes. Just horrible. At their best, they're unintelligible and confusing, with no temporal or geographical clarity. At their worst, they read like script directions from a Michael Bay film (in one unfortunate scene, a character drives a Hummer alongside a speeding train, and then leaps from said Hummer onto said train). Cronin also has a bad habit of telling you what happened - for instance, that a certain person died - before explaining how that event unfolded. This technique can be effective at times, but it is much over-used here, and tends to sap what little tension has been built.
Does this seem nit-picky? Well, I only noticed these things because of the book's biggest, most glaring problem: it's characters. This is where my surprise is greatest. I thought that Cronin, a literary novelist, would bang out some deep, complex people to inhabit the dread land he's imagined. I was wrong. Instead, you get one paper-thin cliche after another.
Every person in the book comes from somewhere else, and by somewhere else, I mean other books and movies. They're all derivative and flimsy and predictable. There's Amy, the Mystical Child (there I go, now, with the proper nouns), and Brad, the FBI Agent with a Haunted Past (it involves a dead child, naturally), and Alicia, the tough female fighter who might as well be called Lara Croft, and Auntie, the Mystical Black Woman who speaks in riddles, and Michael, the Computer Geek, and Peter, the Emerging Hero With Daddy Issues.
The advantage of a cliche, at least, is that the person is recognizable. Unfortunately, many of the characters are so vague - just a name - that you tend to get them confused. Even near the end of the book I was struggling to remember the difference between Mausami and Sara. I didn't care about a single person in nearly 800 pages. That meant there was absolutely no tension, no stakes, no peril; I read on only out of curiosity to see what happens. The book reaches it's lowest point when characters attempt to express love for each other. In a novel, I can accept a lot of things on faith, but not the notion that cardboard cutouts can fall in love.
There were times when none of this mattered. There were times when the story was so propulsive I actually stayed up past my bedtime to read. Hell - I mean, Flyers! - this is an ambitious world, with its own rules, history, and mythology. That's where the three stars comes in. I mean, despite its pedigree, its size, The Passage can be enjoyed as a summer lark. It also adds some interesting twists on the lives and actions of the vampires, and how they might be defeated.
Still, even the good things eventually turned bad, as though the novel had been infected with a virus. Take, for instance, the plotting. Cronin may have failed with characters and dialogue, but he outdid himself with the plot. This is a sprawling work, spanning hundreds of years and two different worlds (the pre-vampire and post-vampire United States). Somehow, though, Cronin ties it all together.
Chekhov once wrote that "If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off." This dictum is known as Chekhov's gun. Cronin has taken it to heart. There is almost nothing mentioned in this book - an event, a line of dialogue, a character moment - that doesn't somehow payoff down the road.
At first, as these loose ends started tying together, I was fairly impressed. Then I realized that things were a little too perfect, a little too seamless. And then, after a person came back from the dead for the fiftieth time, I threw up my hands in disgust. The twists became so predictable that, when they occurred, I laughed aloud. This may be a dangerous world, but as long as you are a main character, things should turn out all right. (In a final, infuriating jab, Cronin uses the last lines of the book to hint at a massacre that, inevitably, will be dealt with in part two of this proposed trilogy. I'm infuriated because I know that this "massacre" will not harm any of the main characters, but I will still get the next book to make sure).
I really didn't like this book. I'm realizing that now, as I finish this review. I hesitate to drop the ranking any farther, though, because this is a summer read. It's an escape. Right now, there are intractable wars, spewing oil wells, rampant unemployment, a moribund economy, and the ever-present sounds of Ke$ha on the radio. You can open up The Passage and forget those things for awhile, and be immersed in a place that is somehow worse (though blessedly Ke$ha free). I guess that's worth something.