What happened to Allan Folsom?

I like techno thrillers, hard SF and especially hard fantasy. I don't always read conspiracy thrillers, but when I do, I prefer Allan Folsom.

Having read two books from both authors, I considered Allan Folsom the 'good version' of Robert Ludlum (admittedly, The Sigma Protocol was ghostwritten). The Day After Tomorrow (no relation) ties all its plot threads together into an ending that's completely insane out of context, so I won't spoil it here. The Exile has a great opening scene, a strong central theme driving the hero's decisions, a good supporting cast, and a healthy dose of fanservice. The fact that it's internally structured as a trilogy makes me wonder why nobody's tried to film it yet.

Ever come across a sequel that makes you afraid to revisit the original in case it's not actually any good? Allow me to introduce the Machiavelli Covenant. No theme, jettisons the supporting cast of the Exile, without explanation for 600 pages. The protagonist has no defining characteristics. The conspiracy is as generic as possible. Say it with me: a cabal of politicians, scientists and businesspeople run the world from underground lairs. No twists on the concept, no self awareness, no dramatic reversals. The same character arc is repeated three times, and the only actual twist is that one of them was faking.

Here's the drinking game:

• Drink when three or more people are referred to by full name and title in quick succession. Drink again for each that has no dialogue in the following scene. If the heroes are trying to save this person, drink once for each hundred pages since you last heard their name.
• Drink when the same exposition is repeated on consecutive pages.
• Drink when the narrator interrupts dialogue for parenthetical exposition.
• Drink when hyphenation is used to imply clear enunciation, even-though-it-doesn't.
• Drink when an innocent official is conflicted, but then helps the heroes. There is no other possibility.
• Drink when someone uses a BlackBerry.
• Drink when computers are used fairly accurately, but with reverential awe. He clicked Safely Remove hardware! The computer granted him permission to remove the USB drive! (absolutely serious here)
• Drink when "the Middle East" and "the Muslim states" are used interchangeably.
• Drink when two guys are alone in the dark (yes, I was bored enough to see the slash fuel. I wish this weren't a running theme in these rants).
• Drink when you get Christina and Luciana mixed up. Otherwise known as any scene in which either appears.
• Drink when the book runs afoul of Godwin's law.

But the biggest disappointment? This 2006  conspiracy thriller has a minor villain named Langdon. Fingers were crossed for petty ultraviolence. But no, he has no lines and just gets arrested at the end.

Mass Effect 3, Hour 1

I rarely play games too soon after release, so this is about as timely as my commentary is going to get. I've been working my way through the Mass Effect series for the first time this year, and yesterday I started the third installment.

The structure at the start is pretty frustrating. First there's a massive infodump about the first game. Then there's a battle sequence. Then you go to Mars, at which point you hear the first reference to the events of Mass Effect 2. I know little was accomplished in Mass Effect 2, but it shouldn't take half an hour to acknowledge that the main character just quit Space Al Qaeda.

How did that work, by the way? Did Shepard land on Earth, in a terrorist ship full of fugitive aliens and illegal tech, and announce he wanted to defect? OK, but why did they let him keep the ship? Why is EDI still operational? Of course Cerberus is introduced with their favourite pastime, killing humans. Just kill one volus, please. Little guys in high pressure suits. It'll be funny. As it is Shepard is plausibly the only Cerberus agent to ever kill a batarian.

So we're looking for a weapon that can kill Reapers. I have an idea...

"What could possibly stop a Reaper?"

"Main gun on the Normandy."

"Maybe something on Mars..."

"The gun that killed Sovereign."

"...something made by the protheans?"

"We upgraded it, killed a Collector ship with it. Just a suggestion."

Given that Shepard is introduced by having the situation explained to him, then responding with platitudes, I have a suggestion for an alternate opening:

Shepard gives a presentation to the Alliance (and any new players) on Reaper capabilities. Armour, weapons, maneuverability, husks, indoctrination, everything he spent two games learning. Then he gets in the Normandy... and finds out that Sovereign and the Collectors, stuck in the middle of the galaxy, are several thousand years out of date by Reaper standards.

Again, this is just based on the first hour. These quibbles may be resolved, and I'm assured larger ones will come along.

Riveting

Or: Fuck you, Joseph Conrad.

So I picked up Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Meant to be one of the all time great quest narratives. Guy travels up a river to meet a guy, who it turns out committed an atrocity. How is this clear, driving goal established?

"In a few days the Eldorado Expedition went into the patient wilderness, that closed upon it as the sea closes over a diver. Long afterwards the news came that all the donkeys were dead. I know nothing as to the fate of the less valuable animals. They, no doubt, like the rest of us, found what they deserved. I did not inquire. I was then rather excited at the prospect of meeting Kurtz very soon. When I say very soon I mean it comparatively. It was just two months from the day we left the creek when we came to the bank below Kurtz's station."

No one ever has any discernible goal beyond "talk to cool guy", and even that is hastily dropped.

But I get ahead of myself, something the narrative fails to do. The first third of the book is nameless faceless guy listens to guy we don't care about talk about the time he had to talk to guys he didn't care about.

Then we get the rivets scene. The best part of the book. Marlow requires rivets to fix his boat, but none can be found. Actual conflict! Relevant to the characters profession! Forcing him to interact with people he might ignore otherwise, causing him to discover more about the setting! Then the 'quest' starts in 'earnest', without so much as noting the arrival of the rivets.

Conrad keeps making choices counterproductive to tension or verisimilitude. For instance, the narrator has a monologue about how he hates lies. If you have to jump up and down yelling about how reliable your narrator is, either you're setting up a really stupid twist, or the framing device is not doing the story any favours. The novel also features the worst action scene I've ever read. We have the protagonist, two mauve shirts and about thirty red shirts. They get attacked by a hidden enemy force. Halfway through the scene, nobody has been so much as wounded, and the protagonist has time to wonder if he is actually in any danger. Then a mauve shirt dies. Of course, since the deceased was black, he had no personality or goals, but his death helps the white protagonist sort some of his own issues out. This is one of the least racist aspects of the story.

The edition I read had critical annotations. This made it rather unsettling when the protagonist starts reading an annotated text. The annotations also have to be as obtuse as possible. A map is described by colour of empires. I already knew Britain was red, but turned to the annotations for rest of the code. Of course, one cannot simply say "Yellow = Belgium", but rather the author is alluding to the concept that yellow represents Belgium.

As an aside, this has to be the most homoerotic book I've ever read. 'He invited me back to his cabin ... he was pumping me". "Squirting lead." "We talked of everything ... of love too." Ah, the gay nineties.

To whiplash back to the supposed climax, what happens when man is wholly corrupted by his environment? When he gives over to his baser instincts and leaves humanity behind? He owns six severed heads. That's it. Six. In his career. In the Belgian Free Congo. Where severed hands were legal tender. And the annotations cite a captain who owned twenty-one. Perhaps this is a Psycho/Silence of the Lambs situation, where at the time a watered down version of events was beyond scandalous.

I'm just left with questions. Was Marlow meant to retrieve Kurtz or  just the ivory?  If he wants nothing to do with Kurtz, why does he pursue him? What were his grand ideas? Just genocide, or something more? What are the unsound methods? How is Marlow party to them? Why does he consider himself loyal to Kurtz? Why do the pilgrims consider him loyal? Did they actually try to kill him?

At least now I'm glad Swearengen didn't tell him something pretty.