Review | Remember Tomorrow, Tricia Merritt

A year after her brother Zach dies, Alannah Greer receives an email from his partner Benson inviting her to Hong Kong for Zach’s memorial service. The email ends with a cryptic assertion that Zach didn’t have to die. En route to Hong Kong, Alannah discovers that she has the ability to time travel, and you can probably figure out the rest of the story from there.

Tricia Merritt’s Remember Tomorrow has an interesting concept. Certainly, I can understand the desire to change history and save a loved one’s life. It turns out that the hit-and-run that killed Zach may have been orchestrated by a corporation studying genetic abnormalities, and so the story takes a thriller-ish turn. It was fast-paced, I liked Benson as a character, and the mystery about the corporation interested me, however, there were several major problems with the novel.

First and most glaring is the language. Merritt goes too far in attempting to make her words sound poetic. 5% in and I was already very frustrated.

…a bologna and ennui on dry rye [1%]

…the bland despair of white bread [1%]

…a little guilt-rodent poked its head up out of its gopher hole [1%]

A mosquito-cloud of distractions… [1%]

…before there’s nothing left but a scalding vortex of antimatter? [1%]

I’m not a big fan of super poetic narratives, but at times, I can see how it works. I am also generally understanding of the occasional unfortunate metaphor. However, so many clustered even just within the first few pages of the eARC, and it was driving me mental.

This is especially unfortunate because there are times when Merritt gives truly striking turns of phrase. For example, I loved the first few lines:

Sometimes, life’s all about cravings. My name is Alannah Greer, and until recently, I’d have killed for a nice tuna salad on sourdough. [1%]

Sharp, concise, intriguing. The tone is just quirky enough to hook the reader. Merritt follows that up with the “bologna and ennui” line that I hated as being overly poetic, but because the first couple of sentences were so striking, I was willing to give her a shot. Another passage I liked:

Benson was my brother’s partner. Was. As an English teacher, I understood the finality of the past tense more clearly than most, and thus I hated it more intensely.

Fucking was. [1%]

Again, concrete details, with a distinctive voice. We learn quite a bit in just a few lines.

For a splinter of a second, I felt sorry for her with her bad posture and her endless cups of lukewarm herbal tea. [2%]

“Splinter of a second” reminded me too much of the earlier-quoted “mosquito-cloud of distractions” — trying too hard to insert metaphor — but I absolutely, absolutely love the image of “endless cups of lukewarm herbal tea.” Amazing.

Merritt has some outstanding phrases, and it’s unfortunate that just when I see a line I absolutely love, I then see a series of lines I absolutely hate. The overall impression is of a young writer in love with her proficiency with language, yet still lacking the experience to know when to pull back.

Her attempts at humour are even less successful than her overly poetic descriptions. She does have some funny moments, but oftentimes, I’d read an offhand comment or a piece of dialogue and cringe, because it just felt too forced to be funny. There was also a truly awkward moment where Zach, teasing Alannah about a date, asks “Did you spit or swallow?” [69%] Merritt acknowledges the impropriety of the question with Benson turning pale and Alannah pertly replying, “That’s for me to know and you to wonder about.” [69%] To be honest, I’m not sure what the line was there for in the first place. Crude humour, perhaps, but it just felt pointless (people with brothers, would they really ask that?) and therefore horribly awkward.

Another issue that could have used a good editor is Merritt’s propensity to go off on tangents. Just when the mission to save Zach really kicks off, and Alannah realizes she now had to investigate who wanted Zach dead in the first place, Merritt pauses that storyline to take Alannah on a shopping trip. I understand Alannah’s need for new clothes at that point, but detailed, Becky Bloomwood-like descriptions of her trip around Hong Kong shops were completely unnecessary. Just as unnecessary was Alannah’s reflections, right after the shopping trip, on her lack of a love life. Again, I’m sure she was lonely and really in need of a sexual encounter at that point, but I just couldn’t care less. A bit later on, when teased about a date the night before, she reminds Benson and Zach about their investigation and tells them they should focus. All I could think was, about time.

I was also bothered by Merritt’s treatment of Alannah’s ability to time travel. After emphasizing how physically draining it is to travel through time, such that Alannah literally collapses after her trips, Merritt then turns time travel into a convenient plot device. Alannah’s plans to prevent Zach’s death involve her travelling through time and undoing whatever errors were in each attempt. It’s still physically draining, and we do see the toll it takes on Alannah to have to time travel after Plan A fails, then Plan B, Plan C and so on, but after a while, Alannah’s ability to time travel starts to feel like deus ex machina.

After all the build up and the random tangents, the ending was rushed. It felt like Merritt realized she had to end the novel and so decided on some action scenes to tie up loose ends. The villain gives a speech about his master plan, and Merritt tries to alleviate the cliche nature of this scene by having Alannah comment sarcastically on the fact that he’s giving a monologue, but it doesn’t help. Worse, even after we get the big reveal, nothing still makes sense to me. How did the villain get involved in the scheme in the first place? Who are the mysterious “they” he keeps alluding to? How did the villain pull all this off, and what does he hope to achieve? Alannah eventually acts like she’s figuring things out, but her explanations still leave many questions unanswered.

Then, in the last few pages, there’s another big reveal, a surprise twist that I saw coming from the beginning. Unfortunately, I only saw it coming because it seemed like a convenient point to add a surprise twist, and not because Merritt set it up well. There were no indications leading up to this twist, and even the reveal was handled in a couple of pages, and in a very anticlimactic way. This revelation had the potential to be huge, yet it was handled with barely a whimper.

Finally, after the big action scenes, there were still some minor threads left unexplained. The action scenes had their casualties, and I at least wondered what happened after that, considering other people in the corporation weren’t aware of the villain’s plot. Didn’t security cameras catch the action? Didn’t the characters have to deal with some kind of fallout afterwards? I was frustrated, and I felt like the author rushed me through the most pivotal moments in the book.

Overall, an interesting concept, and despite all the problems I pointed out, the plot still makes it worth a read. I just think the story deserved better editing.

+

Thank you to Signal 8 Press for an electronic ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review. This book was published under the Scarlet Storm Press Imprint of Typhoon Media in Hong Kong.

Review | What in God’s Name, Simon Rich

Simon Rich’s What in God’s Name is a light-hearted, somewhat ridiculous, yet still rather endearing take on the end of the world. Rich’s novel casts God as the deadbeat CEO of Heaven, Inc. Having phoned it in for years, God decides one day to pack it all up, destroy Earth, and open an Asian fusion restaurant. Rich’s tone is irreverent, reminding me of Christopher Moore’s Lamb, and as in really good comedies, there’s a degree of uncomfortable truth behind the laughter. The idea of God as an incompetent or uncaring CEO, in danger of losing people’s faith or becoming irrelevant, can hit uncomfortably close to home, and in the hands of a different type of comic, this novel could have turned into a much darker, more biting satire.

The edge is certainly there — Rich’s God reminds me somewhat of the benign, rather senile, version of the Authority in Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass — but Rich coats it in such endearing, somewhat slapstick-ish romantic office comedy that it’s easy to ignore. What in God’s Name is told from the point of view of Craig and Eliza, the Jim and Pam of Heaven Inc. Overworked and underpaid angels in the Department of Miracles, Craig and Eliza have developed an affection for humanity and really don’t want the world to end. So they strike a deal with God — if they can make socially awkward humans Sam and Laura fall in love before Armageddon, God will call the whole thing off. Bargaining with God is a tradition that dates back to the Old Testament, and Rich gives it a sweet, Little Mermaid-type twist.

There’s little urgency to the novel’s Armageddon. Rich’s narrative is so cheerful that you can’t help but feel that the writer just won’t let anything really bad happen. Yes, it will suck if the world ends, but Heaven Inc’s lackadaisical attitude toward natural calamities rubs off somewhat. God seems so excited about opening a fusion restaurant, and his employees so eager to take early retirement that we don’t really think about the plagues and earthquakes and other such horrors. Rather, we care about the world ending because we care about Craig and Eliza, and about Sam and Laura. We want both couples to fall in love and, in the case of Sam and Laura at least, we want them to still have a world in which to stay in love.

Romance is at the heart of What in God’s Name, and Rich does especially well with the will-they-or-won’t-they chemistry between Craig and Eliza. Their conversations are funny and awkward, and just really romantic. Take for example one of my favourites, where they discuss Sam and Laura:

“Hey come on,” Craig said. “He asked her out, right? That took some guts.”

“He didn’t ‘ask her out,'” Eliza said. “He asked her if she wanted to ‘grab coffee sometime.'”

“That’s asking her out,” Craig said.

“No it’s not! Asking someone out is ‘Do you want to go on a date with me?’ It’s not ‘Do you want to grab coffee?’ I mean, you ask me that five times a day.”

Craig’s face reddened. After a moment, so did Eliza’s. [p. 181]

Sam and Laura’s romance isn’t quite as exciting, and I cheered them on mostly so that Craig and Eliza would succeed in their mission and perhaps go out on a date themselves. On one hand, it’s a nice change of pace not having the super hot hero/heroine couple usually found in romance, but on the other hand, a side effect of making the Sam and Laura romance mission impossible is, as Eliza observes, “They’re the most unappealing humans I’ve ever seen.” [p. 187] Laura actually isn’t bad, but Sam is a caricature loser. It’s sweet seeing him spend hours drafting and discarding one horribly written email after another to Laura, but the descriptions of him as a complete recluse whose only human contact is the delivery guy makes me think Laura could do much better. Their encounters are awkward, painfully so, though there are some moments, later on in the story, of actual chemistry. Rich goes all out on the ridiculous and the slapstick in Sam and Laura’s romance, and it’s hilarious to see Craig and Eliza scramble to create  the most random miracles just to help Sam and Laura along.

What in God’s Name is funny, touching and romantic. It’s a quick, entertaining read with characters you want to succeed. Even God as a CEO is a rather loveable bumbler, and it’s hilarious how his chosen prophet for the age is a crazy homeless guy at a street corner. The stars, however, are Craig and Eliza, and like Jim and Pam in The Office, they provide warmth, a heart for the book’s centre.

+

Thank you to Hachette Book Group Canada for a finished copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | Lucretia and the Kroons (Novella), Victor LaValle

Being young didn’t protect anyone. Horrors came for kids too. [p. 163/4]

For twelve-year-old Loochie, the horror is that her best friend Sunny is dying from cancer, and no matter what she does, she is helpless to save her. I liked the beginning of this novella — all Loochie wants for her twelfth birthday is to celebrate with Sunny. Unfortunately Sunny is undergoing treatment and so is unable to attend the party Loochie’s mom throws for her. I like LaValle’s delicacy in depicting the mother/daughter relationship — Loochie’s unwillingness to believe that Sunny’s condition is irreversible, contrasted with her mother’s gentle suggestion that she make friends with other girls (somewhat insensitive, but still well-intentioned). I’m a sap for stories about people dealing with loss, as you can see in my highly emotional review of A Monster Calls), and LaValle’s beginning made me think this novella would be emotional as well.

Unfortunately, it falls apart for me once the story really gets going. Lucretia and the Kroons is about Sunny going missing, and Loochie having to travel to the mysterious apartment 6D to rescue her. 6D is ruled by the Kroons, creatures who have reportedly used crack (according to Loochie’s older brother) and have parts of their faces missing. The Kroons appear mostly as zombie creatures who, for some unknown (at least for most of the novella) reason, keep kids in their lair forever, and Loochie believes they now have Sunny.

There are several ways this story could have gone, and I was hoping for a masterfully crafted horror tale that also works as a metaphor for Loochie’s fear at losing Sunny. Instead, I thought the story was a mess. It was confusing, unable to work either as a full on horror piece or a realistic story. As Loochie explores 6D, part of her wonders how a park or any of the other locations and structures she encounters could exist inside an apartment unit. Her confusion is understandable; unfortunately, LaValle never develops his world fully enough for the reader to grasp it either. I eventually just had to ignore all the references to 6D being an apartment unit (the entire “real”/realistic world) just to make sense of the story’s geography.

Loochie’s search for Sunny and her attempts to outrun the Kroons also felt very disjointed. I can understand Loochie not having a plan on how to locate Sunny, but there didn’t seem to be a logical sequence either in her search. I could follow the thread up until she entered 6D, then the events just seemed haphazard. As well, because we didn’t really understand anything about the Kroons, beyond the fact that they looked like zombies, there was never a sense of real menace about them. It is possible to make a frightening monster without much detail (again, see A Monster Calls), and I can understand Loochie not knowing exactly why the Kroons are scary. However, there just isn’t enough about them for the reader to grasp, which makes this reader, at least, not care.

The story progresses as expected, and once we get touches of the real world, particularly about Sunny’s condition, the story strikes some minor emotional notes. But it’s difficult to lose oneself in the deeper layers of the story when the basic framework itself is so unclear.

The last couple of pages, giving a glimpse into Loochie’s life at thirteen, make sense only to remind us that this novella is a prequel (or companion piece, as it’s called in Goodreads) to LaValle’s novel The Devil in Silver. Perhaps reading that one will give me a better appreciation of this novella. As a stand-alone, Lucretia and the Kroons may have some highlights, but the central action was just too problematic.

+

Thank you to Random House Publishing Group for sending me the e-gallery of this book via Net Galley in exchange for an honest review.