| Edge | ||||||||
| Thomas Blackthorne | ||||||||
| Angry Robot, HarperCollins, 381 pages | ||||||||
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A review by Seamus Sweeney
All the exposition is very much in the background, gradually revealed over time. The novel begins with Josh
Cumberland, a former member of an elite unit within the (itself elite) Special Air Service, driving in a fury
into the English countryside, his alienated wife by his side. Their marriage disintegrates in these opening
pages, as they are both haunted by the thought of their daughter, in some kind of vegetative state after an
incident whose nature is only gradually revealed to the reader. Cumberland -- made up of fundamentally decent
impulses wrestling with post-traumatic horrors and increasing paranoia, and possessed of highly lethal fighting
skills and highly infiltrative coding skills -- is by far the best thing about this book. His character draws
one into Blackthorne's world.
Unfortunately, other characters are not quite so vivid. A therapist, Susanne Duchesne, is asked by
Broomhall -- the rich, widowed, drunken father of a shy, terrified, boy called Richard -- to cure his son of
haplophobia -- the fear of blades. Duchesne is a preternaturally skilled therapist (her techniques are borrowed
from Neuro Linguistic Programming) but, as a character, is kind of boring. Her skills are so indistinguishable
from magic that there seems little she can't accomplish using mirroring, hypnotic trances, and so on. After the
first session, young Richard goes missing, and Cumberland is recruited as a private agent in the search. Duchesne,
for reasons that increasingly go beyond professional embarrassment at failing to predict what the boy would
do, joins in the search.
The story runs out of steam somewhat about a third of the way through. The moment when I felt that all the
promise of the initial premise, and of the character of Cumberland, was going to be less than fully realised
was when the runaway Richard Broomhall falls in with an all too clichéd group of vaguely anarchic underground
tech geniuses, one of the great tropes of modern dystopian fiction.
I read this book immediately after Michael Shea's The Extra, previously reviewed on this site, and
while Edge is more accomplished piece of literary work, The Extra was a whole pile more fun
and readable. Why was this? There was a certain depressive, rather funereal tone to much of Edge,
without it ever becoming satisfyingly Gothic or neo-Gothic. This dystopia is a nation far along in the terminal
phase of decline, rather than the colorful, chaotic world of The Extra. Perhaps this sense of decline
and defeat seeps into the prose. Secondly, both Cumberland and Duchesne are so accomplished in their different
ways that there is little tension in reading about their search. This is notwithstanding their increasing
need for each other, which is nicely conveyed by Blackthorne.
Edge is far from a bad novel, indeed it is in many respects an exceptionally well written story and
one featuring a memorable character in Josh Cumberland. In discussing the novels of Wyndham Lewis, George
Orwell wrote that they were faultless in terms of technique and innovation, but lacked "some literary
vitamin" that engaged the reader and kept them reading. While Edge is not entirely deficient
in that vitamin, it is somewhat undernourished by it.
Seamus Sweeney is a freelance writer and medical graduate from Ireland. He has written stories and other pieces for the website Nthposition.com and other publications. He is the winner of the 2010 Molly Keane Prize. He has also written academic articles as Seamus Mac Suibhne. |
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