Okay, so I've finished The Traveler by John Twelve Hawks. Apparently it's something of a sensation in the fantasy-influenced thriller category. I can ... um ...sort of see why, I guess, but it doesn't seem terribly special to me.
The basic premise is extrapolative: Twelve Hawks posits that, based on the current surveillance-heavy state of society, a time will come soon when privacy will become a complete fiction, and people will be constantly under surveillance. A conspiratorial network of control-freaks called the Tabula uses this surveillance data to move the world closer and closer to becoming a fully regulated society similar to that seen in Orwell's 1984. They are opposed by sword-'n-shotgun-packing warriors known as Harlequins, and threatened by a near-extinct subset of humans called Travelers, who can send their "light" out of their bodies to learn deep stuff from other dimensions. Sounds like an interesting premise, with some pointed allegory buried not too deep down.
This is where problem number one rears its head: The allegory isn't buried deeply enough. The characters in the book are paranoid about security and the possibility of being found and rightly so, -- this gives their story a constant sense of danger. But so frequent are the little speeches reminding us of this that the book starts to feel a bit preachy. The narration takes itself very seriously, keeping a square jaw and straight face even when introducing magical katanas into the story. Strange as it sounds, I actually think I might have been able to take the allegorical aspects of the story more seriously if Twelve Hawks had shown himself willing to have a little more fun. I mean, this is a story in which people take on genetically engineered mutant killer hyenas with swords and shotguns, -- fun is obviously involved. But there's a bit more high bombast than I would have appreciated. The huge world-wide computer surveillance network thing is referred to by the characters as "the Vast Machine". And, ... well, maybe this is just me, but whenever one of them started brooding on the evils of the Vast Machine, I imagined Stewie Griffin, the talking baby from the terrible animated comedy Family Guy, sitting up straight in his highchair and demanding: "How do you know about the Machine?!" [And there's another of the book's crimes: it made me think about Family Guy.] It is just plain too serious.
The loaded moral arguments and preachy elements almost feel Goodkindian, though the book's not quite that extreme. The writing also lacks some of the snap one might wish to see in a thriller, -- if one was me, at least, -- and feels oddly formal. For instance, characters never refer to "the net", instead people find information "through the internet". Everyday slang and colloquialism is never used, and the one or two times it does show up it feels very strained. A quibble, I know, but I found the prose somewhat detached and that's a problem in a pulse-pounder.
The baldness of the allegory leads to problem number two: The alternate realms to which the Travelers project themselves are initially quite interesting but pall very quickly. Admittedly we don't see very much of them in this first novel, -- this is a trilogy, -- but I was not exactly fired with curiosity. The reason, I think, is that the alternate realms have nothing to them beyond their allegorical significance. They are devices whereby the Travelers may learn things, symbols for themes the author wants to drive home and nothing more. If the imagined realms had a more robust mythology of their own I would find them very interesting, and would take the allegorical elements more to heart. As it is, though, it's just bloodless symbolism and quite dull. [To be fair this may very well fix itself in sequels.]
The characters are also a lot more interesting in theory than in practice. Maya, the Harlequin protagonist, has led a very emotionally detached life and longs to be close to someone else while her training warns her against this. This fascinating internal struggle shines through now and then, but is tied down by the overly detached and descriptive prose. We are told what Maya is feeling rather than being shown, and so her displays of emotion later on feel a little forced. The conflict between the two protagonists, -- both potential Travelers, -- starts by being built up nicely but culminates in a shocking turn that the story wasn't ready for.
Interesting premise but in practice too focused on its allegory for my personal taste.
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