Book 44: The Water Knife

The Water Knife

Paolo Baciagalupi

Having recently read a book whose action takes place in a waterlogged version of New York City, I decided that it was only proper that I should balance it out with The Water Knife, set in the parched deserts and lush luxury towers of future Arizona and Nevada. Paolo Baciagalupi's politicized point of view is immediately evident in the great care he takes to imagine, establish, and describe his (frighteningly) plausible vision of the (frighteningly) near future. His devotion is evident in full force from the book's first pages to its conclusion, permeating every inch of the narrative but lending the setting and situations a vivid sense of realism that few dystopias- especially those making very pointed references to current practices- manage to achieve. I am, however, inclined to give Baciagalupi the benefit of the doubt when encountering the grotesque economic inequalities, vicious interstate regionalism and xenophobia, and rampant human rights abuses that create the book's central conflicts. Nonetheless, while the thoroughness of Baciagalupi's vision is admirable and its sheer vividness rarely surpassed, it occasionally gets in the way of his storytelling. Egregious incidents include a few particularly annoying references to Cadillac Desert, with characters repeatedly referring directly to its prescience; surely Baciagalupi could have gotten his point across in a slightly subtler manner, allowing the message to speak for itself. By this point in the novel, we readers get it; and most emphatically so.

Despite the author's somewhat smug reliance on overt references to our contemporary climate crisis, the rich details of the setting are alone enough to convey his environmentally conscious lessons. Certain typical, if not outright cliché, dystopian elements help ground the story, and Baciagalupi adds enough unique wrinkles to make the book continually interesting and his setting genuinely complex without being inconsistent or confusing. He is an author on a mission, using traditional setting and story elements to good effect and blending the better elements of dystopian literature and fast-paced thrillers to create a compelling narrative that perpetually drives the action forward, even in this novel of ideas. Even if he can (rightly, I think) be accused of producing heavy-handed message fiction, at least it is built on a solid narrative framework.

Moreover, his use of three vastly different narrative perspectives provides a complete view of the situation, from the luxurious fountains found in sprawling residential towers to the crowded communal water pumps that cannot possibly sate the poor masses' thirst. All the while, each contributes its fair share of suspense before and after the three parallel plots (inevitably) intersect. Baciagalupi seamlessly fosters great sympathy for his point-of-view characters, even those who behave somewhat amorally, and it is genuinely moving to see one character's sudden growth at the novel's climax- a moment that fosters genuine surprise without seeming somehow out of place with the preceding pages. Indeed, it is a masterful moment of meaningful character development that may sometimes be lacking in the pulpier genres.

If, then, the dystopian and moral elements of the novel are solidly in place, how is The Water Knife as a thriller? This is the element in which I was most acutely disappointed, likely because I (correctly) predicted the location of a vital clue during its first (unlabeled, but relatively obvious) appearance and could thus track its movements amid the escalating tension. This prevented me from becoming completely emotionally invested in the narrative, but the set pieces were nonetheless well executed and enjoyable. The story is played for the highest stakes- nothing less than the destination of the Colorado River, one of the last remaining water sources for the Southwest and California- and I was sufficiently invested in the main characters to care about their fates and the region's alike. The Water Knife may alienate some readers for its over-reliance on heavy-handed political platitudes, but its vision of a rain-starved Southwest provides a compelling, and eerily plausible, setting for the well-constructed thriller laid over the exquisite framework.

Grade: A-

Book 42: Depth

Depth

Lev AC Rosen

I've always enjoyed both mysteries and science fiction, and I am pleased to find an increasing number of authors who apparently feel the same way. Lev AC Rosen's Depth is a fine, if flawed, example of the combination, setting a fairly traditional detective story in a future version of New York City that is as integral to the novel as the characters and plot. The latter elements are executed adequately, with all of the requisite twists and even a few genuine surprises. A variety of betrayals, dead ends, dark corners, and femmes fatale lend the book a pleasantly noir-ish ambiance, along with a fairly straightforward plot that nonetheless conveys the complexity of Rosen's imagined future. Moreover, he ably juggles a large suspect pool while playing his true cards close to the vest; a sufficient number of (occasionally heartbreaking) wrinkles should satisfy even those readers who are not wholly surprised when the culprits are revealed.

Unfortunately, most of the novel's characters are drawn directly from a pool of unimaginative archetypes, contrasting dramatically with the obvious effort that created and calibrated the setting and plot. Characters consistently exchange stale dialogue littered with annoying as-you-know-Bob explanations and confessions that leave little to no room for honest, subtle characterization. Somehow, despite the stilted speech and character descriptions that excessively tell (with very little show), the relationships themselves are reasonably realistic. And even if he doesn't quite succeed in the attempt, I appreciate Rosen's decision to write a novel revolving around female characters. Women appear in a variety of roles throughout the book and are, happily, on equal footing with their male counterparts.

The book, then, is saved by the vividness of its vision of flooded Manhattan, where the few remaining inhabitants live in the upper floors of the tallest skyscrapers and travel along a treacherous network of precarious bridges. This imagined future is nothing if not thorough, and Rosen carefully (but consistently) reveals subtle and major truths about this new world, from everyday practicalities to the parallel development of now-isolated New York and the ultra-religious mainland (which now begins around Chicago). Rosen seamlessly integrates setting and story, forcing the issue only with his exaggerated view of mainland politics; rarely relevant to the plot, the strength of his vitriol says more about his own opinions than it does about those of the mainland. As he often does when describing his characters or writing dialogue, Rosen tends to hit his satirical points a bit too blatantly for them to function as meaningful criticism.

Still, Depth is a satisfying book, even if its author could do more to fully explore the hidden themes that seem to float just beneath its surface. Rosen clearly demonstrates his devotion to clever and thorough worldbuilding, and the setting is surely rich enough to support a range of equally interesting stories. This endlessly compelling backdrop ultimately outweighs the heavy-handed moralizing and awkward characterization that cause the plot to limp along at times. For a book emerging from a genre blender, Depth is remarkably readable, combining some of the best elements of detective and science fiction to create something new and enjoyable despite some obvious flaws.

Grade: B+