The Kindly Ones, by Jonathan Littell

The Kindly Ones has stirred strong emotions for probably the wrong reasons. Max Aue, an SS officer, narrates the action as he moves from one assignment to another in war devastated Europe. First, through the victorious advance of Hitler's army, then through its defeat. There is no plot other than following Max around. He is a gay man tormented by memories of his childhood and his sister, which he doesn't see much in adulthood. He believes in Hitler and the Reicht, though he's not a believer. Through his eyes we experience the victim and the executioner, the concentration camp prisoners in their daily degradation, and the Nazi officer's families in her deliberate ignorance.

Some have called this narrative a pornographic retelling of brutality, offensive and purposeless. The book is brutal, particularly Max's time in Crimea and Ukraine. But not purposeless. My understanding of WWII and Nazi war crimes was, up to The Kindly Ones, limited to concentration camp savagery. While smoke of human bodies consumed in the incinerators must have troubled inhabitants near the camp, they could always claim a relative degree of ignorance. Thus Nazi officers are seen as the ultimate genocidal crazies, while the general population went along because, among other things, they didn't know the worst of it. Not sure how I came up with that assumption, but it has little to do with reality.

Jonathan Littell researched the events he retells. And he focuses his lens a lot closer on the Russian campaign, perhaps aware of people like me who knew nothing about it. There was no innocent by-stander in Russia. More Jews were killed here than anywhere else. Entire villages wiped out and executed in common graves, with the full knowledge and often collaboration of the non-Jewish population. Bodies hung from balconies on every major or minor street, and locals walked by as if these were geraniums in bloom. German officers beat, humiliated or right out killed Jews in plain sight and they got less of a response than if they'd kicked a dog. The atrocities of this part shocked me. But I felt only thankful for the enlightenment.

The book is not perfect. Mr. Littell finds his themes in Green mythology, and structures the book from parts of a Bach Suite, though I found it impossible to tell the difference in narration from the Toccata to the Sarabande and all the others. Much has been made of Max's homosexuality and sexual degeneracy, but I sort of shrugged at the brother, sister incest and a crazy later fantasy that Max Aue experienced only with himself. I have red much, much worse. Still, he is not a likable character. While during the war he seems to be shielded from having to kill himself, he does commit his own murders. More a Nazi believer as an old man than as a young SS officer, his mind is twisted and cruel, but he keeps it hidden from view. This makes one wonder how many like him camouflaged themselves among ordinary people, claiming ordinary pasts and raising families who never got to know the monster within.

Flaws and all, the book is a powerful indictment against war and fanaticism. It shows what it means being inhuman. It is powerful propaganda, yes. But if Americans bothered to read it, they might realize this is propaganda they may want to subscribe.

Skeleton Coast, by Clive Cussler and Jack DuBrul

This is a thriller set in Namibia and Congo involving the beautiful Sloane McIntyre, who is looking for lost diamonds in the Skeleton Coast, and the ruggedly handsome but lame (as in pirate lame) Juan Cabrillo who commands the Oregon, an ultra sophisticated and powerful boat camouflaged as a decrepit old vessel. They fight rebel armies and a rogue group of mad environmentalists (ah, those darn long haired, patchouli wearing, pot smoking, gender vague, vegan environmentalists!) And everything progresses in a pile of cliches that makes one wonder why would the book need two authors.

Sloan is strong, but to Juan she takes second seat. He, an ex-CIA man who deals arms for strange motives, sails under an Iranian flag, hides an extra gun in his prosthetic leg and is never wrong, inspires different variations of lust from the girl or his crew. In Skeleton Coast, fight scenes are described as if drawing storyboards for the movie, with only two options. One, the good guys kill or capture all enemies. Two, through betrayal or some other unforeseen act, they get captured. There is no in between. Or, actually, there is a long in between where the authors (again, two? really?) notate in minute detail every bullet trajectory, each contortion of every body, all destruction of man made or nature props. With an actual book, I could have turned the pages and skipped all this. With a digital recording, my mind went to the grocery list or the last office quibble while waiting for each choreographed set of acrobatic moves to end. Much as in bad sex.

Which brings me to the book reader, Scott Brick. Everything Mr. Brick reads sounds like a bodice ripping romance. The crescendoes. The almost whispered lows. The quickening of the pace. The pauses. The pathos. Again and again. There are no ordinary paragraphs. There is no concession to the reader's ability to interpret the words. He booms them for you. And as with the lover who has grown repetitive and stale, the mind does recede into its own thoughts waiting for it to be over.

Which is how I felt about the whole book.