JOHN MARSHALL
P-I
BOOK CRITIC
Friday, February 2, 2007
These should be the times that try men's (and women's) souls,
especially in the United States, but strangely they do not. Instead,
a kind of cauterized inertia lies across the land, as if the most
important thing is the latest iPod download, even with wars on
two fronts and global climate change looming.
Jonathan Raban's "Surveillance" is a necessary wake-up
alarm. This second Seattle-set novel by the expatriate English writer
takes place in the near future, but what it portrays is a timorous
new world in which today's security measures have been amped into
a profusion of police state machinations foisted upon a helpless
populace.
Raban's vehicle for justified outrage is a small, character-driven
novel, which the Seattle resident has said is inspired by Evelyn
Waugh's "Put Out More Flags." That suggests a comedy
of manners, laced with British irony, although American readers
of "Surveillance" may well find that the novel cuts
too close to the awful truth for much laughter or even knowing
smiles.
The Seattle of "Surveillance" is rife with mock security
drills, roadblocks on the interstates, lasers sweeping city skies,
armed soldiers in Humvees prowling the landscape. E-mails are
constantly monitored by the government, not just for trafficking
in child pornography but also for dissident views.
Snooping has become the national pastime. No one seems immune.
The result is a pervasive unease and dread.
Raban manipulates a handful of characters through this altered
Seattle, much as he did in "Waxwings," his novel of
Seattle in the dot-com boom era. Characters from various strata
of society keep colliding with one another, perhaps too conveniently.
Lucy Bengstrom, a Seattle freelance magazine journalist with
a national rep, is pursuing August Vanags, a former University
of Washington professor who has become the surprise author of
a best-selling memoir about his horrific youth in World War II.
Vanags, now living on Whidbey Island, is reputed to be "as
reclusive as Salinger," although Bengstrom has no trouble
winning an invite to his manse or his confidence.
Tad Zachary, who knew Vanags as a UW student, is Bengstrom's
neighbor and best friend, a gay actor battling HIV while earning
most of his income from high-profile commercials and Homeland
Security disaster scenarios. Zachary serves as surrogate dad to
Bengstrom's 11-year-old daughter when he is not scouring the Internet
in search of the latest government outrage.
The two central dramas of "Surveillance" become: Will
Bengstrom discover that Vanags' memoir is actually a work of fiction,
and how will that affect their seeming friendship? Will the new
owner of the Pioneer Square apartment building where both Bengstrom
and Zachary live -- an Asian immigrant with big plans of security
improvements -- imperil the cozy living arrangement that they
have had for years?
Neither of these dramas is riveting, but plot again proves to
be largely an excuse for Raban to exercise his scalpel-sharp powers
of social observation and criticism. Nothing seems to escape the
writer's hyper-sensitive antenna for excess, delusion or hypocrisy,
whether it is the McMansions crowding Useless Bay or the wine
offerings at Trader Joe's.
Raban even targets his own persona (complete with trademark attire)
when Bengstrom encounters an unnamed author in the writers' room
at Seattle's Central Library: "a disheveled-looking, spindle-shouldered
older guy in a pink baseball cap that was too young for him. Like
most of the authors (in photographs) on the wall, he looked like
he needed a long, hot shower."
There are many things to like in "Surveillance" --
descriptions of Bengstrom's relationship with her daughter are
brilliantly drawn, no doubt the result of Raban's relationship
with his own daughter. The compromises and conceits of journalism
are also captured with fine insight.
But "Surveillance" also suffers from a major shortcoming
-- its fine various parts do not coalesce into a compelling whole.
The plot meanders along. The main characters do not become ensnared
in the dranconian security measures so they seem more inconvenience
than life-altering reality. And the novel's big climax seems a
cataclysm stolen from another story, considering this novel's
focus.
Raban is an imposingly talented writer, but his twin Seattle
novels underscore that his greatest strength remains non-fiction,
where he has few peers.
Raban discusses "Surveillance" at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday
at The Elliott Bay Book Co., 101 S. Main St., 206-624-6600; at
7 p.m. Feb. 15 at Third Place Books, Lake Forest Park, 206-366-3333;
and at 7 p.m. Feb. 26 at University Book Store, 4326 University
Way N.E., 206-634-3400.
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