I can also point to Doman's skill with characterization--by the end of the novel, a character who annoyed me--whom I simply did not want to like--gained a hold on my interest in spite of the fact that I didn't know how a reader was supposed to perceive this character. In fact, I am rather frustrated on behalf of the character because there are some things that I would like to see better conceptualized. I have a high opinion of Regina Doman's talent, and I can't wait until she really distinguishes herself as a novelist and gains a significant readership and critical attention. In my last review of Doman's work, I expressed my eagerness "to read more in the series to see how Doman has developed as a writer across multiple books, and how she has developed her characters." This book isn't there yet.
Others might be, however. By Doman's description on her web page, Alex O'Donnell and the 40 Cyber Thieves is "campy." While other of her novels deal with "more serious themes," this is a lighter book. I would not agree with that assessment, though it definitely explains the title. My next disclaimer is that I have not read the books that she wrote between The Shadow of the Bear and Alex O'Donnell and the 40 Cyber Thieves.
And, finally, I want to explain my motivation for writing a critical review--that is, a review that criticizes. I believe that every author is entitled to the highest level of criticism available. I approach every book I read with the same critical eye. I believe that it shows the highest respect for a novelist and her work to treat it as I would a work that I teach in my college courses. I further believe that by providing criticism--negative criticism, if you will--we stand to expand the dialogue on the novel and the author's works more generally. The purpose, ultimately, is to inspire, not to tear down. I believe that Doman has talent, and that her project--writing Catholic fiction for teens--is an admirable one. Ideally, I would like to see her succeed on a greater scale. Hopefully, my piece of criticism will contribute in some way to that goal.
With such a lengthy disclaimer, my reader must at this point expect a brutal review. Let me further contextualize, then, and say for any who do not already know that I am an academic by training. My perspective is different from a fan's perspective. My question from the outset is, "What might prevent this book from becoming a classic of children's literature?" And it is from that point that I begin my critique.
My first complaint about the book is something that I noted in The Shadow of the Bear, too--the tendency to set up an easy dichotomy to explain evil behavior. In both novels, the bad guy is a flaming atheist. This, to my mind, is a bit too easy. It was far-fetched (and sketched in a much more detailed way) in The Shadow of the Bear, but in Alex O'Donnell, the motif is repeated in an offhanded way that sends the reader the message that bad guys are conscious atheists out to belittle and undermine Christian belief. It isn't enough that the bad guys are trying to KILL the protagonists, they have to try to destroy their worldview, too. And it sets up a persecution complex--everyone bad is trying to destroy my beliefs. In both cases, you have a figure who is like the demon un-man from C. S. Lewis's Perelandra--consciously doing evil in order to fly in the face of God and belief--but without the demonic possession that justifies that character.
As a remedy, I would like to see a "Catholic gone bad" "bad guy" (which, in The Shadow of the Bear, he kind of was--on an exaggerated level) or an atheist/agnostic "good guy": not someone who is held up as an example of belief, but simply someone helpful who does not share the same beliefs as the protagonist(s), and yet enters into dialogue with the protagonists about belief. Someone for whom the protagonists could say a passing prayer for understanding--hers or theirs. In a similar vein, I would rather like to see an evil character, who, like Gollum, gives us the shadow of the possibility of redemption. We are Catholic. We believe that the possibilities of Redemption and God's grace exist for every human being. Many of us resist the death penalty for this reason--perhaps we need to remember this in our fiction.
Like my concern about dichotomies, my next critique is strongly informed by my academic training--and it renders the books unacceptable in mainstream circles, though it pains me to say so. The concern is culture. The novel is based on a story from 1001 Arabian Nights--a Persian work of literature--one that may have been a fake. Frankly, I expected a Middle Eastern protagonist. I may have been relieved to learn that this was not the case, but I was waiting for when the Middle Eastern subtext would become apparent. It never did. And again--perhaps this is good. It might have been playing into--or against--a trend. But by choosing to use "Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves" as the fairy tale, the author makes the choice to evoke either near-eastern/Middle Eastern culture (if the story is actually Persian) or European orientalism, which exoticises that region.
The cultural confusion is only enhanced by the characters of the novel. First there is Alex, an Irish Catholic boy whose family is obsessed with aspects of Asian (mainly Japanese) culture (mainly martial arts) but remains ignorant of most other aspects of that culture. Then there is Kateri, a Polish-Vietnamese girl whose name nevertheless evokes a Native American Saint. There is a moment in the text in which the narrator notes that Kateri is often presumed to be Native American, but sadly, there is no follow-up to this compelling revelation. Kateri has a chip on her shoulder because non-Asian Americans lump all Asians together--an accusation that, rather than being dis-proven by, is epitomized by her boyfriend Alex.
So the novel starts with two competing cultural sub-texts--the Persian (Oriental) and the Japanese/Vietnamese (Oriental), both of which are objectified by Westerners. Referring to the Near East and Far East as Oriental was an error committed in different time periods, but the only way to reconcile the Persian story with the Asian and Asian-loving characters is to conflate both into Oriental, which would lead the reader into a significant cultural error or a simplistic cultural analogy.
Like the passing Native American reference, the Irish Catholic identity of the O'Donnells has unexplored potential, though their relative poverty and untidiness border on stereotype.
The novel thus provides the reader with a huge melting pot mess that can not be sorted out. If Doman's point is to stress the continuity between cultures, particularly given that both families are members of the Universal Church, or if the cultural conflict and correspondence are meant to seem quintessentially American, these are points that are not made in the novel; the reader has to reach for what s/he knows of Catholicism and America, and piece things together for herself. Every evocation of culture makes a point. The professional writer who seeks an audience for her ideas must articulate very clearly what point her novel makes about culture.
More to come. . .
