August 27, 2011

Book 30: Go Blue

Go Blue
Jack Beam

It should be obvious to anyone who knows me why I picked up this particular book, and the book's author, Michigan Law graduate Jack Beam, certainly plays up the glory of both the institution and its state. Unfortunately, that devotion to Michigan and his choice of an interesting environmental issue to drive his pseudo-thriller are the only two redeeming qualities of the book, and the former is so overdone even I had to groan aloud at times. It is evident that Beam has a deep love of Michigan and of the Great Lakes that so define the state, and his chosen plot (evil desert corporation wants to drain the lakes) is timely and definitively evokes a sense of place within the novel, but absolutely everything about his handling of the English language is a bit off. Beam's mistakes range from the trivial ("allude" for "elude" forced me to re-read the passage about four times before I figured it out) to the grievous (horrifying racism masquerading as respect). Sometimes, bad writing can be masked by a swiftly moving plot or by intriguing character portraits but, alas, our intrepid lawyer here settles for a disturbingly blatant pair of Mary Sue maverick- ahem- lawyers and a cardboard-cut Star in the Making, fresh with awkwardly revealed details that utterly fail to round her out. The characters' motivations are baffling and their relationships impossible to understand; so much in this novel is esoteric that readers are forced to take every clumsy, omniscient revelation for truth due to the lack of supporting text.

Yet it is not only the grammar and the (lack of) characterizations that make this novel…difficult. These are, in fact, rather minor when compared to the over the top, fresh out of writing class structure and the innumerable unhelpful similes that dot the text. The latter are frustrating not because they are inapt, but because they are inept: when Beam compares a flare to a firework, his description of I-69 near the Indiana border is terrifically accurate but entirely unnecessary. At one point, our omniscient narrator notes that there is "nothing relevant" about an action, and then abruptly ends a chapter. Yet, again, these may not be the author's greatest sins: the poor writing certainly does not aid reader comprehension, but the structure seems designed to hamper understanding rather than foster any semblance of coherent plot. The brisk chapters are surely drawn from the breakneck pace of the thrillers this book aspires to match, but breaks are poorly calculated and the brisk shifts in action would be nauseating if they weren't so completely bizarre. One second, we're in an Indian casino in Manistee; the next, in a Christian Reformed Church in Grand Rapids, and while Beam (along with his characters) appears to be convinced there is a deep-seated connection between the woefully exaggerated (and far beyond satirical) portrait of west-side evangelicals, a water-grubbing casino development company based in Nevada, and the "bad" sect of Ottawa Indians (his language, not mine), readers may not be so easily convinced as the whiplash from the ever-changing scenery causes their heads to spin.

Despite the many, many mistakes that litter this novel, however, I found myself strangely intrigued. Perhaps it is a bit like watching a train wreck, but I do truly believe that Beam created a compelling, deeply intertwined, and theoretically well-constructed story; he just wasn't able to tell it. Though his portraiture of Native Americans is so faux-respectful and ignorant it could arguably be construed as more offensive than blatant racism, somewhere in the muddle he does raise an important point about environmentalism and about the impact that casinos have both on their communities and on those who run them. Some of the ever-present similes are thoughtfully constructed, if idiotically reported and burdensome, and if the plot would have been a bit more clear throughout I believe it would have been fairly intricate. At the end of the day, the book needs an editor; passages carry on too long, extra characters and pointless details litter the text, and parts of the book are simply incomprehensible. This book is needlessly- and distractingly- harsh in its "satire," its characters are simply impossible to believe, the frenetic plot is barely held together by an author grasping at straws, and the writing is the work of an absolute hack. Yet Go Blue is, nonetheless, a loving (if misguided) tribute to my own home state, and might make a good tale in the hands of a more competent teller.

Grade: D+

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