Adrenalised action

Adrenalised action


Scarecrow and the army of thieves
Matthew Reilly

Hachette
2011, pp 352
Rs. 595


Vast lumps of state-of-the-art equipment collide with each other.

Massive explosions and incessant gunfire rip through an isolated island north of the former USSR. Amphibious vehicles, robots, megatrains, all sorts of aircraft and even a robot battle it out, as the fate of nearly half the world hangs in balance.

Welcome to the world of Jack Schofield, a US military operative with near-superhuman powers. Together with a small and ill-assorted group, which includes a sexy French assassin on a mission to kill the protagonist as well as mafia-linked Italian-American, by the name of Puzo, Schofield, nicknamed Scarecrow, has to battle it out against all odds and the sound of a ticking clock. In the process, he is shot at, tortured, and even killed for a while. Yes, you read that correctly — you can’t make this stuff up. But, if your name is Matthew Reilly, you can.

The premise is pure pulp fiction: a mysterious organisation called the ‘Army of Thieves’ kidnaps dangerous criminals with military training from high-security prisons and steals a formidable array of military equipment from around the world.

They then take control of an obscure Russian island where they intend to detonate a secret weapon that has the potential to destroy the world. The timeline is so short that the rest of the world has no time to send specialised troops to save the day; instead, they have to depend on whatever personnel happen to already be deployed in the area, on other missions. Luckily for the world (or at least half of it), one of them happens to be Schofield.

This is strictly escapist fare: while there is some attempt made to resolve long-standing character storylines from previous novels in this series, there’s more time spent naming and describing various items of military hardware than the few instances of character insight that find their way into this breakneck narrative.

Escapism has its place in the world, and the author makes no bones about the fact that he writes to entertain. The blockbuster sales of his many novels make it clear that a vast public is equally willing to read his books, and they won’t be disappointed by this latest piece of adrenalised chest-thumping.

It seems unfair to criticise a book for adhering to the tenets of its genre so faithfully — a bit like breaking a butterfly on a wheel. And the thriller novel, like any other form, has its own rules and tropes.

Reilly applies these parameters skillfully to create a white-knuckle headlong
narrative with sufficient reversals, revelations and colourful characters to keep up the pace. He’s working on the more brutal, gruelling end of the thriller spectrum here, and that’s fair enough too.

However, the choppy, functional prose can feel a bit bland and plodding, just when one wishes for a vivid description or atmosphere. Reilly’s habit of breaking chunks of text up with short standalone sentences is a trick that is used a few too many times and his use of italics and exclamation marks at particularly intense moments feels puerile at times — like reading a severely over-armoured version of a children’s reading primer.

So, this is essentially a novel that works on about the same level of sophistication as the average G I Joe animated cartoon episode, only with added brutality and adult situations, or at least implications. Is that a bad thing?

Reilly emphatically states that it is not in the afterword and if you’re one of the million readers who is going to buy his novel and spend a pleasant few days with it at the beach or during commute, you’ll probably find yourself agreeing with him.

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