There’s a smart and provocative story in here somewhere, but Clark Windo’s pedestrian prose and overdone narrative tricks...



Think The Road intricately wrapped around Station 11 with a dash of Oryx and Crake.

First-time British novelist Clark Windo pushes all the right buttons in this post-apocalyptic mashup. Imagine a world in which everyone has the Feed implanted in their brains. The internet and all it offers is yours in seconds. No need to read, no need to even talk; people can even access other’s thoughts. Tom Hatfield, a psychotherapist, and his pregnant wife, Kate, a teacher, are eating in a restaurant in, maybe, England. Tom’s father had something to do with creating the Feed. Tech-speak abounds: “emotis,” “adrenalspike,” “ent.” Suddenly, there are “gasps and a gabble of confused words actually vocalized out in the real.” Everyone is bombarded with the news, something about an Arctic-South war; President Taylor is assassinated. The Collapse has occurred. Smoke pours in, there are distant detonations, “birds…sprayed upwards…machines hurtled from the sky” and then, “under the booms,” there is the “approaching sound of silence.” The Feed vanishes. Jump ahead six years. Something has killed millions of people. Tom, Kate, 6-year-old Bea, and a few others are living in huts in a grim, desolate camp. The time frame is uncertain; seasons pass. They have to forage for food. They have to watch each other sleep, otherwise they’re “taken over.”(Think Invasion of the Body Snatchers.) If that does happen, they'll need to be killed. Tom had to kill his brother. People have to relearn everything in order to survive, even language, and talk to each other. Bea is abducted. They head out to find her. Something’s wrong with Kate. The twisty, slowly unwinding tale is laid out in tiny bits and pieces of information. The characters aren’t very well-developed. Windo demands quite a bit from the reader, and some might give up on this trip.

There’s a smart and provocative story in here somewhere, but Clark Windo’s pedestrian prose and overdone narrative tricks smother it.

Pub Date: March 13, 2018

ISBN: 978-0-06-265185-3

Page Count: 336

Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: Dec. 12, 2017

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2018

Did you like this book?

No Comments Yet

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.


Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

Did you like this book?

If nothing else, you have to giggle over how this novel’s namesake, who held vicious white supremacist opinions, must be...


Some very nice, very smart African-Americans are plunged into netherworlds of malevolent sorcery in the waning days of Jim Crow—as if Jim Crow alone wasn’t enough of a curse to begin with.

In the northern U.S. of the mid-1950s, as depicted in this merrily macabre pastiche by Ruff (The Mirage, 2012, etc.), Driving While Black is an even more perilous proposition than it is now. Ask Atticus Turner, an African-American Korean War veteran and science-fiction buff, who is compelled to face an all-too-customary gauntlet of racist highway patrolmen and hostile white roadside hamlets en route from his South Side Chicago home to a remote Massachusetts village in search of his curmudgeonly father, Montrose, who was lured away by a young white “sharp dresser” driving a silver Cadillac with tinted windows. At least Atticus isn’t alone; his uncle George, who puts out annual editions of The Safe Negro Travel Guide, is splitting driving duties in his Packard station wagon “with inlaid birch trim and side paneling.” Also along for the ride is Atticus’ childhood friend Letitia Dandridge, another sci-fi fan, whose family lived in the same neighborhood as the Turners. It turns out this road trip is merely the beginning of a series of bizarre chimerical adventures ensnaring both the Turner and Dandridge clans in ancient rituals, arcane magical texts, alternate universes, and transmogrifying potions, all of which bears some resemblance to the supernatural visions of H.P. Lovecraft and other gothic dream makers of the past. Ruff’s ripping yarns often pile on contrivances and overextend the narratives in the grand manner of pulp storytelling, but the reinvented mythos here seems to have aroused in him a newfound empathy and engagement with his characters.

If nothing else, you have to giggle over how this novel’s namesake, who held vicious white supremacist opinions, must be doing triple axels in his grave at the way his imagination has been so impudently shaken and stirred.

Pub Date: Feb. 16, 2016

ISBN: 978-0-06-229206-3

Page Count: 432

Publisher: Harper/HarperCollins

Review Posted Online: Nov. 4, 2015

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2015

Did you like this book?