Thanks to Harper Collins for the ARC. I promise honest, not nice, so here goes.
If Jonathan Franzen were to write a post-apocalyptic novel, it might be something like this. Many people would consider a comparison to Jonathan Franzen a compliment. I am not one of them. If I want disaffected modern Americans with an unhealthy amount of ennui in my fantasy novels, I’ll stick to Lev Grossman. He does it much better, and I feel like I’m supposed to want to punch Quentin in the face.
This is set in present-day Maine, but in a world where technology abruptly stopped working - this would be the titular “Arrest.” No explanation is given, which I’m actually fine with - that’s what the book is about. The protagonist is Alexander Duplessis, known to most as Sandy. When the Arrest happened, he was visiting his sister on her organic farm on the coast of Maine. Given the area’s pre-Arrest propensity towards affluent crunch-granola hippies, they weathered the transition more than most. The protagonist’s sister, for example, pretty much just rolled up her sleeves and kept doing what she was doing. They have a nice little idyllic community going, truth be told; Sandy’s skills as a screenwriter aren’t really in demand, but he finds a niche as assistant butcher and general delivery man.
Things take an interesting turn when an old “friend” of the protagonist (and incidental one-night-stand of the protagonist’s sister) arrives in a nuclear powered supercar, the only piece of technology that’s working. He’s asking for the protagonist and his sister, but no one knows why, nor why he crossed the country to find them.
So now we get into the pretentious stuff, and everything that is clearly supposed to be have meaning. The protagonist refers to himself as “Journeyman,” but he’s never told anyone this nickname as far as I could tell. Among the deliveries he makes is food supplies to a local pedophile, exiled from the town proper for his crimes, who considers Journeyman his only friend and talks with him a lot about classical Japanese books. There’s a woman who moved into the library; Journeyman doesn’t know her name, but he’s got a crush on her. Journeyman, as I said, is an ex-screenwriter, who specialized in converting failing projects into soulless things that make some kind of profit. His friend is a Hollywood producer with distinct Harvey Weinstein vibes. I could go on and on and on. It’s all meant to be so deep, so symbolic, and it just left me feeling so pissed off (except for Journeyman’s friend, who left me wanting a shower, but that was clearly the author’s intention).
Throw in way too much space devoted to decrying modern life, with its Facebook likes and search engine optimization and e-books and email and digital watches and the no-good kids with their hippity-hop music and pants falling down (Franzen’s schtick, in other words) and I just felt so, so patronized.
Would not recommend, but hey, if you like Franzen and you like spec fic, maybe this’ll be for you.
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