More riveting than any other Alan Chin
book to date. Loved the character mix and the different
variations of "family" relationships. It was fast paced
and satisfying. I was intrigued from the first few pages
and was impressed by the way the author connected all the
different plots into an explosive climax. And the facts
the author uncovers about the human condition are no less
than chilling. Bravo. Mr. Chin is at the top of his
form. --Edward Harris, Author of The English Veil
Blurb:
When Kenji Hiroshige discovers a formula that will
keep people youthful and healthy for several thousand
years, he tells the world he will not divulge his secret
until every gun, tank, battleship, and bomb has been
destroyed. When the world is free of weapons, everyone
can live forever. And then he goes into hiding.
Before he disappears, his son Matt is exposed to
the formula. Kenji takes Matt on the run with him, but
as they struggle to elude both government agencies and
corporations who will do anything to profit from Kenji’s
discovery, Matt learns that world peace might not be his
father’s only goal. But what can a young man who’s
barely stepped foot off his isolated ranch do in the
face of something so sinister?
This is the story of human greed and the
lust for violence. It’s the story of a world on the
brink of destruction, but it’s also a tale of one young
man who finds in himself the will, courage, and
compassion to stand against the darkness—both outside
and within himself.
At first glance the title sounds like a
contradiction because immortality, by definition, means
survival. And maybe it
does on a purely physical level for each individual, but
for humanity as a
whole? It would require entirely different survival
strategies than the ones we
have developed over the millennia since we stopped
living on trees.
Immortality, for humans so far, is a philosophical
construct. Its consequences,
beyond what it might mean for an individual, are hard to
imagine – and Alan
Chin does a good job of speculating about the effects it
might have. Religion
might cease to exist since no fear of death means no
need for an afterlife so
no more funding for any religious organization. The
pharmaceutical industry
would be gone overnight. The medical profession – wiped
out except for a few
doctors needed for occasional reapplication of the
formula. And what about the
threat of overpopulation with everyone surviving? It
requires a lot of
imagination to think through the effects of immortality
on humanity, and Alan
Chin has done an amazing job at presenting one possible
scenario. He takes a
kernel of (unproven but not impossible) science as a
catalyst that explains how
the formula for immortality is discovered, uses a range
of characters to
illustrate various possible reactions, and spins a tale
that includes murder,
secrets, deception, betrayal, and more twists and turns
than should be legal in
one novel. The resulting story is breathtakingly
spellbinding, to say the
least.
Matt Reece is only eighteen when the proverbial sh*t
hits the fan, has lived on
his family’s ranch since he was born, and has been
pretty much a recluse for
the last two years. Like his father Jessup, he is gay
and the bullying in
school got so bad after his older brother left two years
before the story
starts that he has been homeschooled. In no way does any
of this prepare him
for what is to come – though I would argue that nothing
can prepare anyone for
having to face immortality, not to mention every single
political, military,
and religious group on the planet being after you for
the secret. Matt Reece
feels the burden of responsibility to “do something
great” with the gift he has
been given, but, at first, he has no idea what that
might be. Combined with
being on the run and fearing for his life, he faces
terror from so many
different angles that it’s a miracle he remains sane.
Kenji has invented the immortality formula but he is a
shifty character almost
from the start. While he seems to have commendable goals
– like ending war,
poverty, and disease – I did not like his attitude
toward his husband, Jessup,
and that was before the blackness of his soul emerges.
The things he does to
achieve what looks like a noble goal expose his ruthless
side, and in that
sense, he is a perfect incarnation of the principle that
“the end justifies the
means” which has terrifying consequences for his family
and, ultimately, for
him.
The story is told from different points of view,
revealing a variety of perspectives
offered up like puzzle pieces. Nobody knew everything at
any point in time,
nobody had any sort of control, and most characters were
out to save their own
behinds. Pretty realistic on any given day, but with the
bombshell of
immortality affecting everyone’s world view all of a
sudden, this was
particularly true. Alan Chin does not pull his punches
with criticism on
religious leaders, multinational corporations, the
corruption of governments
and politicians worldwide (but particularly in the US),
and the military and
law enforcement are shown from their worst side as well.
As a whole, this novel
offers an assessment of the worst side of the human
race, and the emergence of
the potential of immortality worsens the greed,
infighting, and ruthless power-grabbing
about a thousandfold. The situation changes the world as
we know it to the
point where it becomes a postapocalyptic situations
where new rules emerge from
the rubble that used to be civilization.
Despite the overall darkness shown by exposing humanity
at its worst, there are
a few flecks of hope and light throughout. Matt Reese is
young and naive and
seems helpless at first. He suffers both emotionally and
physically as Kenji
tries to drag him down into the moral abyss that is
Kenji’s soul. But there is
a stubborn goodness in Matt Reece that gradually grows
stronger as he finds his
way. Finding love gives him purpose, his family members
join him in his fight,
and when courage grows out of fear, Matt Reece emerges
like a phoenix from the
ashes, a very different person than he was before.
If you like thrillers with a global scale, if you want
to watch a family go
from peaceful ranchers to the only guys who can save the
world (with the help
of a few good men), and if you’re looking for a
suspenseful read that explores
human nature in a mesmerizing story with a surprisingly
hopeful ending, then
you will probably like this novel as much as I do. I
found it emotionally
draining yet utterly captivating!
Excerpt
Consuela was dead. It was a fact, a simple truth connecting
other truths. All he had to do was follow the facts backward
and see where they led. He consulted his inner reserves and
realized he had taken part in murder. He was a teenager, who
believed all life was sacred, now as guilty as biblical
Cain, and how ironic his choice of new names.
He avoided consciously blaming Kenji, but in the same
heartbeat he knew he had to get the hell out of there before
Kenji returned. He needed a plan, to change whatever lay in
front of him. He tried to take a calming breath but came up
short.
He leaned forward, planted his hands on his knees, and
sucked air into unyielding lungs. He felt a familiar
pressure in the back of his esophagus, and he coughed, long
rasping coughs that clogged his windpipe with mucus.
“Oh”—he drew a shallow breath—“fuck.” He dropped the remote
as a nervy rush pushed him into a survival response. He had
to find a place with enough air, and quickly.
He ripped open the front door and ran for the stairs,
already dizzy from lack of oxygen. He flew down to the first
floor, unaware Groucho was following him.
He dashed into sunshine. Several people on the street backed
away. Groucho whimpered at his side. Heads turned in unison
to stare at him. It was alarming to be so intensely visible
at the moment he felt most vulnerable.
A homeless person crouched on the pavement a few feet away,
scratching distractedly at whatever was crawling in his
beard. He shouted, “Praise the Lord. The little green men
have landed. Take me to your leader!”
.
.
.
Through his panic he saw a door, the closest one, and he
dashed for it, ripped it open, and lunged through. A bell
over the door chimed as he pitched forward and fell to his
knees on a black-and-white checkered tile floor. He
struggled to suck air into his lungs. His head spun. He knew
he was moments away from blacking out.
Arms hug him from behind. A voice said, “Relax, cowboy.
Breathe with me, nice and easy.” Someone removed his Stetson
and set it on the floor beside him.
He could do nothing beyond trying to draw air. Someone laid
him out flat on his back and lifted his head. He opened his
eyes, and a flash of overhead lighting distorted everything
into a Magoo-like blur. As his vision cleared, he saw a
dark-hooded figure hovering over him, and he could feel an
icy touch on the back of his neck. Within the recesses of
that shadowy hood hovered a red, mutilated face surrounding
gentle smoke-colored eyes under silky lashes.
Is this the Grim Reaper?
Fear caused a sick shrinking in his heart from the knowledge
that he was dying.
That face lowered until those marred lips touched his and
air pushed past the blockage in his throat. Oxygen inflated
his lungs. As if standing at the edge of a cliff preparing
to plunge, his mind delayed, struggling with the shock of
coming back alive.
That face breathed more life into him a second and third
time. He coughed, spitting phlegm, and inhaled on his own.
He stared into that face, noting the black hair across the
forehead, the coppery skin on one side, the rough, ugly,
plum-colored scars on the other, and the wispy facial hair
that was still a week’s growth away from being considered a
beard. Matt Reece was caught in that chemic gaze as the Grim
Reaper cradled his head like a newborn, smiling down with
such tenderness that it loosened the muscles clinching his
chest. Time stopped. Nothing else existed.
“You’re the cowboy everybody’s looking for.” His voice was
soft with an Indian lilt to its American accent, slightly
melodious, sounding like a flute that could form words.
“How… did you…?”
“It’s all over Twitter, cowboy, how your grandpa turned
green as an avocado, and how you and your stepdad are the
new Osama bin Ladens. You’re like, infamous.”
“I’m someone else. I’m Kirby. Kirby Cain.”
A dimple appeared on the coppery side of the Grim Reaper’s
face. “Who’d have guessed such an unobtrusive-looking boy
could be public enemy number one?”
“Who are you?”
“Vishal Mandial.”
“From India? Man, that’s cool.”
“My parents immigrated from India. But I was born here. And
people don’t say ‘cool’ even on Haight Street. You say
‘beautiful’ or if it’s something really spectacular you say
‘sick.’ Coming from Mumbai only merits a shrug of the
shoulders.”
Matt Reece glanced around the shop, a patchouli-oil-scented
space heavy with sitar music. He saw racks of clothing,
shelves holding pipes and other drug paraphernalia, posters
of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, and statues of Ganesh, the
elephant with many arms. Groucho lay by the door, inching
toward him. He brought his gaze back to Vishal, who seemed
Patrick’s age, and wore a coal-gray hoody sweatshirt with
the words “Sinner’s Gin” stenciled across the front.
“Your face?” Matt Reece said, reaching up and touching the
mesh of scars.
“My father fell asleep on the couch with a lit cigarette. I
tried to put him out.”
Now that he was breathing normally, he detected Vishal’s
scent—clean and carnal, with the hint of some exotic spice
Matt Reece imagined as curry. Matt Reece wanted to ask if he
had saved his father but thought that seemed too personal a
question.
“You kissed me.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how I roll. Give me a pretty-faced
cowboy and I lose control and snog the hell out of him.” He
laughed, again sounding like a living flute. “Is that your
dog?”
Matt Reece nodded. “His name is Groucho.”
Vishal helped Matt Reece to his feet and placed the Stetson
on his head. His legs felt rubbery, but Vishal wrapped an
arm around his waist to help him stand. Now Matt Reece saw
much more than his face—the compact V of his torso, the hip
clothes, the casual grace with which he moved. His hands,
like his face, were red scars, as if coming forth from a
furnace. A young prince deformed, seemingly incapable of
cruelty or love.
