Jeff’s Reviews > The Maw > Status Update

I guess there wouldn't be much tension without the storm hitting this way, but it's unconvincing that this kind of group would be this naive about flooding when descending an unmapped cave system. Milo gets a little melodramatic when it would serve the narrative better to surprise the reader or at least behave authentically. Suspension of disbelief in jeopardy despite the solid prose.

Milo's descent (no pun intended) into panic is a little abrupt, and after the whole pep talk about not effing up, he effs up as badly possible, directly contradicting each of his guide's instructions and also wielding a pocket knife while climbing?

The typos certainly ramp up here in the middle. No errors for 80 pages and then his editor took a nap, I guess. Used "engorging" instead of "gorging," and I don't think even a Brit would use "must" as officiously as this one. Some details get smudged: just because you stop descending a rope while someone next to you takes a call in a pit surrounded by waterfalls, that doesn't mean you're experiencing "silence."

The explanation of why some cave paintings of animals have extra legs is pure magic, quotes and references are tantalizing, and descriptions are near perfect. Zajonc is clearly capable of transporting imagery, but there seem to be a couple of sentences missing from grand features and important physical processes, like entering the cave and tying off the climbing ropes. If this were Crichton, it would be 600 pages.

While on the surface, weathering turns mountains--vertical features--into plains--horizontal. It's exactly the opposite underground. Gravity and friction dictate morphology. Horizontal passages are narrow and squeezed, where acidic water collect between sedimentary layers, slowly eating away a lazy, narrow path downslope. But vertical shafts are swallowing and massive.

For literary and historical references alone, this is candy to explorer-adventure fans. Readers of Michelle Paver, Tim Weed and Jeff Long will be delighted.

No one I've ever read is quite up to the task of reproducing Crichton at his best, but Zajonc might be the best attempt I've seen. He's a true fan, at the very least. As long as he pairs his high-minded adventure with poignant themes and a satisfying resolution, this is a guaranteed home run.

The opening is similar enough to Sphere that it probably ought to bother me, but it's so well written:

"The heavy aircraft slowly passed, a massive generator dangling from its undercarriage in a cargo net like a raindrop hanging from spider silk. Cresting a hill, the Rover made a steep final descent down a steep bluff, turning onto a freshly bulldozed triple switchback above a pastoral tree-lined valley."