I'm a sucker for certain types of commercial bait - a review that compares a pop record favorably to a transitional Beatles record like "Revolver" or "Sgt. Pepper's," or a jazz record to "Kind of Blue" or "Saxophone Colossus," or a novelist to "Faulkner" or "Roth." What got me on to Kevin Guilfoile's Cast of Shadows was a reviewer's approving nod to "this modern-day Frankenstein tale" - a line that summoned up Ur-resonances within me that have jangled through my neural system since first fired in a movie theater 50 years ago. (That comparison, it turns out, was apparently concocted by a Knopf publicist and eagerly grabbed up by several hook-hungry, imagination-deprived book "critics.")
So that's how I have the book in my hands.
For the first 100 pages or so, I found the story of fertility specialist Davis Moore, his murdered daughter, his slipping marriage and slow-fuse relationship with an attractive female colleague, and his hope-against-hope plan to clone his daughter's murderer slow going but plausible, with cloning, its politics, and its ethical and religious implications interestingly evoked and explored. Strangely, as the pace picked up and little Justin Finn's development is chronicled, the book began gliding into implausibility - in Guilfoile's near-future Chicago, pace and plausibility seem inversely related. There were more key coincidences than a Dickens novel, more than a fair share of character-motivation issues, and an epic 20-year time span that seems disproportionate to the book's preoccupations, which, although weighty, are distinctly less than epic. This is, at bottom, a futuristic murder mystery.
By the time I was in the second hundred pages, however, I was not only invested in the story but hooked: I was rooting for Guilfoile, wanting the book to work for its daring to take up difficult ethical and philosophical themes - regardless of the hard time the author had in finding the literary voice for such exposition (sometimes a neat aside, other times a clunky lecture, but generally striking a good rhetorical balance). I thought Justin, the cloned boy, an absorbing, complex, believable character, and I liked the way Guilfoile used the "Shadow World" computer-game subtext that, with the exponential information-technology advances of the past decade, seemed the least contrived element of a storyline I suspect Guilfoile felt forced to "over-contrive."
Knowing he had a nice idea, Guilfoile also knew he needed a lengthy fictional timespan to play it out - at least 300 pages for two decades and a fuller, more populated world. He thus invented a large cast of characters, some of whom do the heavy literary lifting across long spans of time (but who in that long stretch generally undergo little change). Many others comprise a long list of "fifth business" types who matter very little, and appear very briefly, but whom Guilfoile makes essential in one way or another to advancing his story. With all this, and despite its bursts of energy, Cast of Shadows struck me as a fairly long 320 page book that during my beach week had me flipping back and forth in keeping the Jackies and Joans and Sallies and Marthas straight.
Among the book's considerable attractions, however, is Guilfoile's literary deftness. He observes closely, sees things at an odd angle, and turns a handsome descriptive line. For instance, "He liked to grip a book with both hands, as if the knowledge were entering through his fingers instead of his eyes" to describe the precocious Justin's intense preference for hardcovers over paperbacks. And Guilfoile dares to ruminate on philosophical themes - he has a clear eye for the ethical issues surrounding fertility and abortion, enjoys parsing them, and has a taste for the Great Books and the eternal moral questions, references to which are sprinkled throughout his book. Yes, he's capable of producing a howler or two - how about "The words drilled into his heart and uncorked a gusher of rage"? And he sometimes likes to overdescribe the inconsequential - "He let a sip of Shiraz trickle down the back of his throat." Consider such passages a first-time novelist's entitlement of Mulligans (and hope for a more attentive editor next time around). Guilfoile can write.
Cast of Shadows isn't Frankenstein (although The Modern Prometheus theme is front and center), and Guilfoile isn't Mary Shelley, but he's ambitious in much the same way, and his book is worthy: a clear cut above most summer fare - more literary and cerebral than the average thriller, daring to take on large moral and religious themes, leading the reader to weigh serious issues that we may indeed find ourselves grappling with in not too long a time, but still with a measure of thrills and ingenious twists...and a conclusion I found quite satisfying. I don't think Cast of Shadows will haunt my imagination, but I have no difficulty recommending it for late-summer reading lists.