I’ve been quite busy over the past few days, with
OSV and
CNS columns to write, manuscript revisions to make, a book column to write and, lurking below it all, haunting me, the spectre of the book I’m supposed to be writing…which..if I can actually get to the point of writing a chapter a day, I should finish by the deadline. Which I could, if I didn’t have to keep dealing with revisions of the last one…was it really so bad?
And during all this, of course, I’m chasing a baby, picking up Cheerios, doing laundry, and cooking – not only regular meals, but preparing the fruits of the season: peach pie, peach cobbler, blueberry muffins, not to speak of a couple of batches of cookies, one to be sent down to my son Christopher in celebration of his – gulp – 20th birthday, which is this Saturday.
Did I ever tell you that if figured out once that by the time Joseph graduates from high school, I would have been packing school lunches for over thirty years?
So, needless to say, my brain power, such as it is, has been directed and writing that actually pays me money, and I’ve been doing a lot more of the linking type of blogging than the thinking type, leaving the thinking to you in your comments, which have been interesting and entertaining.
So – what did I read?
First off, I was given the great privilege of enjoying the delicate prose and thematic nuances of Tom Clancy’s latest, Red Rabbit. Why? Because the plot involves the Pope, that’s why, and we’re All Catholic All the Time over here.
This was the first, and, I imagine, only Clancy I’ve ever read. Amazon tells me that even his fans are disappointed by this one, and I can see why. Clancy’s first problem is that his major plot point involves an historical event with a known outcome: the attempted assassination of JPII in 1980. How to wring suspense out of that?
Well, first you posit a motive, which Clancy pins on Yuri Andropov, incensed, he suggests, by a letter the Pope supposedly wrote to the Polish government, threatening his resignation from the papacy and a return to Poland if the government didn’t end its repressive tactics. So, he imagines, Andropov gets to the Bulgarians who get to Atta.
Secondly, you create a supposedly suspenseful subplot, which here involves a would-be defector from deep within the KGB, who has come to know about the plot, is bothered by it, and contacts the CIA with the promise of revealing something big if he and his family are allowed to defect. Will he (the “Rabbit”) make it? Will he be able to get the information to the Americans and the British in time for them to stop the attempt? Can you guess? Can you believe that this goes on for over 600 pages?
What was most surprising to me about this book, and perhaps it wouldn’t have been if I’d ever read Clancy before, is the lack of any real shadows. There’s not a setback, not a twist, not a betrayal, not a surprise, not a mistaken identity, not nothing. It’s like some machine in which characters are dropped in, wound up and pushed along through their chapters which almost all begin with a stated problem, followed by several pages of either dialogue or interior monologue grappling with the problem, and ending with the solution to the problem.
Oh, and our hero, Jack Ryan? A supporting character at best. All he has to do in this book is sit in England, muse over the Soviet mindset with British intelligence, listen to his ophthalmologic surgeon wife bitch about the state of British medicine, and then, at the end, take a trip to Budapest to help the defectors.
It was a big, fat, turgid, boring mess.
I also read The Gospel according to Tony Soprano, which I’ll tell you about later.
And now, for a change of pace, I will try my luck with Ian Pears’ latest, The Dream of Scipio