The Passenger

If it weren't for the flashes of brilliant writing throughout, and the subplots that are initially intriguing but ultimately unresolved, I might have abandoned this book. McCarthy's ramblings on reality, physics and mathematics, the mechanics of cars, the JFK assassination, grief, history, and mostly loss, are at times brilliant but seem more appropriate to a philosophy book than a novel. Apparently there is a genre called philosophical fiction, and that's squarely where this belongs.

Bobby Western is a deep sea salvage diver living in New Orleans in the early 80s who has mourned his beloved sister since her suicide 10 years earlier, and is struggling to move on. His father was a member of the Los Alamos team that tested the atomic bomb and he and Bobby's mother died of cancer related to the experiments.

When he is on a job to salvage a submerged plane and notices a passenger is missing. I thought, oh good, a compelling mystery. Only who the passenger was and who was responsible for the absence is never revealed. Bobby is also being pursued by the IRS, but why or who might be targeting him is also not revealed. Yet his fear is big enough for him to acquire a false identity and leave the country. Along the way some friends and family members die and the chapters involving his life alternate with chapters from his dead schizophrenic sister's point of view.

I don't believe a novel has to have resolution or even a strong plot, but when mysteries are introduced that are not solved, I find it very unsatisfying. There is a section about Western's experience on an offshore oil rig that has no bearing on anything else in the book. And why the huge, detailed section on JFK's assassination? Finally, despite the alternating point of view chapters, the book is not tightly structured and feels mostly like a platform for McCarthy's metaphysical musings, which are not why I read fiction. Too bad, because his writing is often brilliant.

Merged review:

If it weren't for the flashes of brilliant writing throughout, and the subplots that are initially intriguing but ultimately unresolved, I might have abandoned this book. McCarthy's ramblings on reality, physics and mathematics, the mechanics of cars, the JFK assassination, grief, history, and mostly loss, are at times brilliant but seem more appropriate to a philosophy book than a novel. Apparently there is a genre called philosophical fiction, and that's squarely where this belongs.

Bobby Western is a deep sea salvage diver living in New Orleans in the early 80s who has mourned his beloved sister since her suicide 10 years earlier, and is struggling to move on. His father was a member of the Los Alamos team that tested the atomic bomb and he and Bobby's mother died of cancer related to the experiments.

When he is on a job to salvage a submerged plane and notices a passenger is missing. I thought, oh good, a compelling mystery. Only who the passenger was and who was responsible for the absence is never revealed. Bobby is also being pursued by the IRS, but why or who might be targeting him is also not revealed. Yet his fear is big enough for him to acquire a false identity and leave the country. Along the way some friends and family members die and the chapters involving his life alternate with chapters from his dead schizophrenic sister's point of view.

I don't believe a novel has to have resolution or even a strong plot, but when mysteries are introduced that are not solved, I find it very unsatisfying. There is a section about Western's experience on an offshore oil rig that has no bearing on anything else in the book. And why the huge, detailed section on JFK's assassination? Finally, despite the alternating point of view chapters, the book is not tightly structured and feels mostly like a platform for McCarthy's metaphysical musings, which are not why I read fiction. Too bad, because his writing is often brilliant.

Merged review:

If it weren't for the flashes of brilliant writing throughout, and the subplots that are initially intriguing but ultimately unresolved, I might have abandoned this book. McCarthy's ramblings on reality, physics and mathematics, the mechanics of cars, the JFK assassination, grief, history, and mostly loss, are at times brilliant but seem more appropriate to a philosophy book than a novel. Apparently there is a genre called philosophical fiction, and that's squarely where this belongs.

Bobby Western is a deep sea salvage diver living in New Orleans in the early 80s who has mourned his beloved sister since her suicide 10 years earlier, and is struggling to move on. His father was a member of the Los Alamos team that tested the atomic bomb and he and Bobby's mother died of cancer related to the experiments.

When he is on a job to salvage a submerged plane and notices a passenger is missing. I thought, oh good, a compelling mystery. Only who the passenger was and who was responsible for the absence is never revealed. Bobby is also being pursued by the IRS, but why or who might be targeting him is also not revealed. Yet his fear is big enough for him to acquire a false identity and leave the country. Along the way some friends and family members die and the chapters involving his life alternate with chapters from his dead schizophrenic sister's point of view.

I don't believe a novel has to have resolution or even a strong plot, but when mysteries are introduced that are not solved, I find it very unsatisfying. There is a section about Western's experience on an offshore oil rig that has no bearing on anything else in the book. And why the huge, detailed section on JFK's assassination? Finally, despite the alternating point of view chapters, the book is not tightly structured and feels mostly like a platform for McCarthy's metaphysical musings, which are not why I read fiction. Too bad, because his writing is often brilliant.