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Douglas Preston

Blasphemy (Wyman Ford Series) Hardcover – January 8, 2008

by Douglas Preston (Author)

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Book 2 of 4: Wyman Ford Series

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The world's biggest supercollider, locked in an Arizona mountain, was built to reveal the secrets of the very moment of creation: the Big Bang itself. The Torus is the most expensive machine ever created by humankind, run by the world’s most powerful supercomputer. It is the brainchild of Nobel Laureate William North Hazelius. Will the Torus divulge the mysteries of the creation of the universe? Or will it, as some predict, suck the earth into a mini black hole? Or is the Torus a Satanic attempt, as a powerful televangelist decries, to challenge God Almighty on the very throne of Heaven? Twelve scientists under the leadership of Hazelius are sent to the remote mountain to turn it on, and what they discover must be hidden from the world at all costs. Wyman Ford, ex-monk and CIA operative, is tapped to wrest their secret, a secret that will either destroy the world…or save it. The countdown begins…

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416 pages
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English
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Forge Books
Publication date

January 8, 2008
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6.81 x 1.39 x 9.12 inches
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0765311054
ISBN-13

978-0765311054
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Editorial Reviews

From Publishers Weekly

Like Isabella, a giant superconducting supercollider particle accelerator, the thought-provoking new thriller from bestseller Preston (Tyrannosaur Canyon) takes a while to power up, but once it does, this baby roars. The ostensible goal of Isabella's creator, physicist Gregory North Hazelius, is to discover new forms of energy, but what he really wants is to talk to God. The project, located inside Red Mesa (a five-hundred-square-mile tableland on the Navajo Indian Reservation), is behind schedule, so presidential science adviser Stanton Lockwood hires ex-CIA man Wyman Ford to go to Red Mesa and find out what's causing the holdup. Meanwhile, a Navajo medicine man, a televangelist and a pastor who runs a failed mission on the reservation are gearing up to pull the plug on Isabella before she destroys the earth. Science has often tangled with religion in this genre, but Preston puts his own philosophical spin on the usual proceedings, and when he gets his irate villagers with their burning torches headed for the castle, the pages simply fly.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Review

Praise for Blasphemy: "This baby roars... the pages simply fly."--Publishers Weekly

"Highly recommended... Preston joins Michael Crichton as a master of suspenseful novels that tackle controversial issues in the realm of science."--Library Journal

"An unusually alarming and thoughtful thriller... Clever and terrifying."--Kirkus “A superb read! Blasphemy is both thoughtful and flat-out entertainment--a page-turning thriller about science and religion in which good and evil collide at the speed of light. You'll be up all night with this book.”--Jeffery Deaver, New York Times bestselling author of The Sleeping Doll

"Science versus religion--the ultimate crunch. Douglas Preston has written The Novel of the Year, an extraordinary, unique, fascinating, wildly imaginative mix of thriller, satire, Sci Fi, and every other genre in the book. Blasphemy--you're going to love it."—Stephen Coonts, New York Times bestselling author of The Assassin

"Terrifyingly realistic. An electrifying page turner. Preston at his very best."--Nancy Taylor Rosenberg, New York Times bestselling author of Revenge of Innocents

"With Blasphemy, Douglas Preston has finally gone too far. One way or another, I'm afraid he may burn for this book."—Lincoln Child, New York Times bestselling author of Deep Storm “Blasphemy takes the latest theories of physics and pits them against the ancient religious beliefs that they now threaten, in an explosive, hell-bent and finally deeply moving book that I doubt I will ever forget. It literally made me pace as I contemplated the ideas that crackle through these pages, and it gave me pause as I realized that the physics here is so close to reality that the face of God that appears in this book may soon be, in real life, before us all.”—Whitley Strieber, New York Times bestselling author of 2012: The War For Souls “In Blasphemy, Preston rips the toga off God, and what remains is simply the answer to the most profound question of human existence...why are we here? A stunningly great read.”—W. Michael Gear and Kathleen O’Neal Gear, USA Today bestselling authors of People of the Nightland and the novels of North America's Forgotten Past

“Blasphemy is one hell of a good book. I couldn't stop reading, and at the end I had to force myself to slow down!”—David Hagberg, winner of three American Mystery Awards and USA Today bestselling author of Dance With the Dragon

“Preston has taken a fascinating concept and implemented it brilliantly. It's one of those books you think and talk about after you've finished it. I loved the characters. Even the sleazy ones were well-done. Science meets religion with a side order of politics. The mixture is explosive!”—Larry Bond, New York Times bestselling author of Dangerous Ground

“Can science discover God? Blasphemy is a stunningly ambitious novel that lives up to its goals. The theme is nothing less than the question: Is science the new religion?”—Barbara D’Amato, Edgar Award Winner and author of Death of a Thousand Cuts

About the Author

DOUGLAS PRESTON is the co-author with Lincoln Child of the famed Pendergast series of novels, including such bestselling titles as The Book of the Dead and The Wheel of Darkness, as well as The Relic, which was made into a number one box office hit movie. His solo novels include Jennie, made into a movie by Disney, and New York Times bestsellers The Codex and Tyrannosaur Canyon.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1 Ken Dolby stood before his workstation, his smooth, polished fingers caressing the controls of Isabella. He waited, savoring the moment, and then he unlocked a cage on the panel and pulled down a small red bar.
There was no hum, no sound, nothing to indicate that the most expensive scientific instrument on earth had been turned on. Except that, two hundred miles away, the lights of Las Vegas dimmed ever so slightly.
As Isabella warmed up, Dolby began to feel the fine vibration of her through the floor. He thought of the machine as a woman, and in his more imaginative moments he had even imagined what she looked like—tall and slender, with a muscular back, black as the desert night, beaded with sweat. Isabella. He had shared these feelings with no one—no point in attracting ridicule. To the rest of the scientists on the project, Isabella was an “it,” a dead machine built for a specific purpose. But Dolby had always felt a deep affection for the machines he created—from when he was ten years old and constructed his first radio from a kit. Fred. That was the radio’s name. And when he thought of Fred, he saw a fat carroty-haired white man. The first computer he had built was Betty—who looked in his head like a brisk and efficient secretary. He couldn’t explain why his machines took on the personalities they did—it just happened.
And now this, the world’s most powerful particle accelerator . . . Isabella.
“How’s it look?” asked Hazelius, the team leader, coming over and placing an affectionate hand on his shoulder.
“Purring like a cat,” said Dolby.
“Good.” Hazelius straightened up and spoke to the team. “Gather round, I have an announcement to make.”
Silence fell as the team members straightened up from their workstations and waited. Hazelius strode across the small room and positioned himself in front of the biggest of the plasma screens. Small, slight, as sleek and restless as a caged mink, he paced in front of the screen for a moment before turning to them with a brilliant smile. It never ceased to amaze Dolby what a charismatic presence the man had.
“My dear friends,” he began, scanning the group with turquoise eyes. “It’s 1492. We’re at the bow of the Santa Maria, gazing at the sea horizon, moments before the coastline of the New World comes into view. Today is the day we sail over that unknown horizon and land upon the shores of our very own New World.”
He reached down into the Chapman bag he always carried and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. He held it up like a trophy, his eyes sparkling, and thumped it down on the table. “This is for later tonight, when we set foot on the beach. Because tonight, we bring Isabella to one hundred percent full power.”
Silence greeted the announcement. Finally Kate Mercer, the assistant director of the project, spoke. “What happened to the plan to do three runs at ninety-five percent?”
Hazelius returned her look with a smile. “I’m impatient. Aren’t you?”
Mercer brushed back her glossy black hair. “What if we hit an unknown resonance or generate a miniature black hole?”
“Your own calculations show a one in quadrillion chance of that particular downside.”
“My calculations might be wrong.”
“Your calculations are never wrong.” Hazelius smiled and turned to Dolby. “What do you think? Is she ready?”
“You’re damn right she’s ready.”
Hazelius spread his hands. “Well?”
Everyone looked at each other. Should they risk it? Volkonsky, the Russian programmer, suddenly broke the ice. “Yes, we go for it!” He high-fived a startled Hazelius, and then everyone began slapping each other on the back, shaking hands, and hugging, like a basketball team before a game. Five hours and as many bad coffees later, Dolby stood before the huge flat-panel screen. It was still dark—the matter–antimatter proton beams had not been brought into contact. It took forever to power up the machine and cool down Isabella’s superconducting magnets to carry the very large currents necessary. Then it was a matter of increasing beam luminosity by increments of 5 percent, focusing and collimating the beams, checking the superconducting magnets, running various test programs, before going up to the next 5 percent.
“Power at ninety percent,” Dolby intoned.
“Christ damn,” said Volkonsky somewhere behind him, giving the Sunbeam coffeemaker a blow that made it rattle like the Tin Man. “Empty already!”
Dolby repressed a smile. During the two weeks they’d been up on the mesa, Volkonsky had revealed himself as a wiseass, a slouching, mangy specimen of Eurotrash with long greasy hair, ripped T-shirts, and a pubic clump of beard clinging to his chin. He looked more like a drug addict than a brilliant software engineer. But then, a lot of them were like that.
Another measured ticking of the clock.
“Beams aligned and focused,” said Rae Chen. “Luminosity fourteen TeV.”
“Isabella work fine,” said Volkonsky.
“My systems are all green,” said Cecchini, the particle physicist.
“Security, Mr. Wardlaw?”
The senior intelligence officer, Wardlaw, spoke from his security station. “Just cactus and coyotes, sir.”
“All right,” said Hazelius. “It’s time.” He paused dramatically. “Ken? Bring the beams into collision.”
Dolby felt a quickening of his heart. He touched the dials with his spiderlike fingers, adjusting them with a pianist’s lightness of touch. He followed with a series of commands rapped into the keyboard.
“Contact.”
The huge flat-panel screens all around suddenly woke up. A sudden singing noise seemed to float in the air, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“What’s that?” Mercer asked, alarmed.
“A trillion particles blowing through the detectors,” said Dolby. “Sets up a high vibration.”
“Jesus, it sounds like the monolith in 2001.”
Volkonsky hooted like an ape. Everyone ignored him.
An image appeared on the central panel, the Visualizer. Dolby stared at it, entranced. It was like an enormous flower—flickering jets of color radiating from a single point, twisting and writhing as if trying to tear free of the screen. He stood in awe at the intense beauty of it.
“Contact successful,” said Rae Chen. “Beams are focused and collimated. God, it’s a perfect alignment!”
Cheers and some ragged clapping.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Hazelius, “welcome to the shores of the New World.” He gestured to the Visualizer. “You’re looking at an energy density not seen in the universe since the Big Bang.” He turned to Dolby. “Ken, please increase power in increments of tenths to ninety-nine.”
The ethereal sound increased slightly as Dolby worked on the keyboard. “Ninety-six,” he said.
“Luminosity seventeen point four TeV,” said Chen.
“Ninety-seven . . . Ninety-eight.”
The team fell into tense silence, the only sound now the humming that filled the underground control room, as if the mountain around them were singing.
“Beams still focused,” said Chen. “Luminosity twenty-two point five TeV.”
“Ninety-nine.”
The sound from Isabella had become still higher, purer.
“Just a moment,” said Volkonsky, hunching over the supercomputer workstation. “Isabella is . . . slow.”
Dolby turned sharply. “Nothing wrong with the hardware. It must be another software glitch.”
“Software not problem,” said Volkonsky.
“Maybe we should hold it here,” said Mercer. “Any evidence of miniature black hole creation?”
“No,” said Chen. “Not a trace of Hawking radiation.”
“Ninety-nine point five,” said Dolby.
“I’m getting a charged jet at twenty-two point seven TeV,” said Chen.
“What kind?” asked Hazelius.
“An unknown resonance. Take a look.”
Two flickering red lobes had developed on either side of the flower on the central screen, like a clown’s ears gone wild.
“Hard-scattering,” said Hazelius. “Gluons maybe. Might be evidence of a Kaluza-Klein graviton.”
“No way,” said Chen. “Not at this luminosity.”
“Ninety-nine point six.”
“Gregory, I think we should hold the power steady here,” said Mercer. “A lot of stuff is happening all at once.”
“Naturally we’re seeing unknown resonances,” Hazelius said, his voice no louder than the rest, but somehow distinct from them all. “We’re in unknown territory.”
“Ninety-nine point seven,” Dolby intoned. He had complete confidence in his machine. He could take her to one hundred percent and beyond, if necessary. It gave him a thrill to know they were now sucking up almost a quarter of the juice from Hoover Dam. That was why they had to do their runs in the middle of the night—when power usage was lowest.
“Ninety-nine point eight.”
“We’ve got some kind of really big unknown interaction here,” said Mercer.
“What is problem, bitch?” Volkonsky shouted at the computer.
“I’m telling you, we’re poking our finger into a Kaluza-Klein space,” said Chen. “It’s incredible.”
Snow began to appear on the big flat panel with the flower.
“Isabella is behave strange,” said Volkonsky.
“How so?” Hazelius said, from his position at the center of the Bridge.
“Glacky.”
Dolby rolled his eyes. Volkonsky was such a pain. “All systems go on my board.”
Volkonsky typed furiously on the keyboard; then he swore in Russian and whacked the monitor with the flat of his hand.
“Gregory, don’t you think we should power down?” asked Mercer.
“Give it a minute more,” said Hazelius.
“Ninety-nine point nine,” said Dolby. In the past five minutes, the room had gone from sleepy to bug-eyed awake, tense as hell. Only Dolby felt relaxed.
“I agree with Kate,” said Volkonsky. “I not like the way Isabella behave. We start power-down sequence.”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” said Hazelius. “Everything is still well within specs. The data stream of ten terabits per second is starting to stick in its craw, that’s all.”
“Craw? What means ‘craw’?”
“Power at one hundred percent,” said Dolby, a note of satisfaction in his laid-back voice.
“Beam luminosity at twenty-seven point one eight two eight TeV,” said Chen.
Snow spackled the computer screens. The singing noise filled the room like a voice from the beyond. The flower on the Visualizer writhed and expanded. A black dot, like a hole, appeared at the center.
“Whoa!” said Chen. “Losing all data at Coordinate Zero.”
The flower flickered. Dark streaks shot through it.
“This is nuts,” said Chen. “I’m not kidding, the data’s vanishing.”
“Not possible,” said Volkonsky. “Data is not vanish. Particles is vanish.”
“Give me a break. Particles don’t vanish.”
“No joke, particles is vanish.”
“Software problem?” Hazelius asked.
“Not software problem,” said Volkonsky loudly. “Hardware problem.”
“Screw you,” Dolby muttered.
“Gregory, Isabella might be tearing the ’brane,” said Mercer. “I really think we should power down now.”
The black dot grew, expanded, began swallowing the image on the screen. At its margins, it jittered manically with intense color.
“These numbers are wild,” said Chen. “I’m getting extreme space-time curvature right at CZero. It looks like some kind of singularity. We might be creating a black hole.”
“Impossible,” said Alan Edelstein, the team’s mathematician, looking up from the workstation he had been quietly hunched over in the corner. “There’s no evidence of Hawking radiation.”
“I swear to God,” said Chen loudly, “we’re ripping a hole in space-time!”
On the screen that ran the program code in real time, the symbols and numbers were flying by like an express train. On the big screen above their heads, the writhing flower had disappeared, leaving a black void. Then there was movement in the void—ghostly, batlike. Dolby stared at it, surprised.
“Damn it, Gregory, power down!” Mercer called.
“Isabella not accept input!” Volkonsky yelled. “I lose core routines!”
“Hold steady for a moment until we can figure out what’s going on,” said Hazelius.
“Gone! Isabella gone!” said the Russian, throwing up his hands and sitting back with a look of disgust on his bony face.
“I’m still green across the board,” said Dolby. “Obviously what you’ve got here is a massive software crash.” He turned his attention back to the Visualizer. An image was appearing in the void, an image so strange, so beautiful, that at first he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He glanced around, but nobody else was looking: they were all focused on their various consoles.
“Hey, excuse me—anybody know what’s going on up there on the screen?” Dolby asked.
Nobody answered him. Nobody looked up. Everyone was furiously busy. The machine sang strangely.
“I’m just the engineer,” said Dolby, “but any of you theoretical geniuses got an idea of what that is? Alan, is that . . . normal?”
Alan Edelstein glanced up from his workstation distractedly. “It’s just random data,” he said.
“What do you mean, random? It’s got a shape!”
“The computer’s crashed. It can’t be anything but random data.”
“That sure doesn’t look random to me.” Dolby stared at it. “It’s moving. There’s something there, I swear—it almost looks alive, like it’s trying to get out. Gregory, are you seeing this?”
Hazelius glanced up at the Visualizer and paused, surprise blossoming on his face. He turned. “Rae? What’s going on with the Visualizer?”
“No idea. I’m getting a steady blast of coherent data from the detectors. Doesn’t look like Isabella’s crashed from here.”
“How would you interpret that thing on the screen?”
Chen look up and her eyes widened. “Jeez. I’ve no idea.”
“It’s moving,” said Dolby. “It’s, like, emerging.”
The detectors sang, the room humming with their high-pitched whine.
“Rae, it’s garbage data,” Edelstein said. “The computer’s crashed—how can it be real?”
“I’m not so sure it is garbage,” said Hazelius, staring. “Michael, what do you think?”
The particle physicist stared at the image, mesmerized. “It doesn’t make any sense. None of the colors and shapes correspond to particle energies, charges, and classes. It isn’t even radially centered on CZero—it’s like a weird, magnetically bound plasma cloud of some kind.”
“I’m telling you,” said Dolby, “it’s moving, it’s coming out. It’s like a . . . Jesus, what the hell is it?” He closed his eyes hard, trying to chase away the ache of exhaustion. Maybe he was seeing things. He opened them. It was still there—and expanding.
“Shut it down! Shut Isabella down now!” Mercer cried.
Suddenly the panel filled with snow and went dead black.
“What the hell?” Chen cried, her fingers pounding the keyboard. “I’ve lost all input!”
A word slowly materialized in the center of the panel. The group fell into silence, staring. Even Volkonsky’s voice, which had been raised in high excitement, lapsed as if cut off. Nobody moved.
Then Volkonsky began to laugh, a tense, high-pitched laugh, hysterical, desperate.
Dolby felt a sudden rage. “You son of a bitch, you did this.”
Volkonsky shook his head, flapping his greasy locks.
“You think that’s funny?” Dolby asked, getting up from the workstation with clenched fists. “You hack a forty-billion-dollar experiment and you think it’s funny?”
“I not hack anything,” said Volkonsky, wiping his mouth. “You shut hell up.”
Dolby turned and faced the group. “Who did this? Who messed with Isabella?” He turned back to the Visualizer and read out loud the word hanging there, spat it out in his fury. greetings.
He turned back. “I’ll kill the bastard who did this.”
Copyright © 2007 by Splendide Mendax, Inc. All rights reserved.

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Forge Books; 1st edition (January 8, 2008)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 416 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0765311054
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0765311054
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 1.6 pounds
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 6.81 x 1.39 x 9.12 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #313,720 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #3,560 in Contemporary Literature & Fiction
- #17,912 in American Literature (Books)
- #23,937 in Science Fiction (Books)

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Douglas Preston

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Douglas Preston is the author of thirty-six books, both fiction and nonfiction, twenty-nine of which have been New York Times bestsellers, with several reaching the number 1 position. He has worked as an editor at the American Museum of Natural History in New York and taught nonfiction writing at Princeton University. His first novel, RELIC, co-authored with Lincoln Child, was made into a movie by Paramount Pictures, which launched the famed Pendergast series of novels. His recent nonfiction book, THE MONSTER OF FLORENCE, is also in production as a film. His latest book, THE LOST CITY OF THE MONKEY GOD, tells the true story of the discovery of a prehistoric city in an unexplored valley deep in the Honduran jungle. In addition to books, Preston writes about archaeology and paleontology for the New Yorker, National Geographic, and Smithsonian. He is the recipient of numerous writing awards in the US and Europe, including an honorary Doctor of Letters degree from Pomona College. He currently serves as president of the Authors Guild, the nation's oldest and largest association of authors and journalists.

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The world's most powerful particle accelerator is coming online for the first time. Buried in a high mesa on a Navajo reservation, it is poised to make the greatest scientific discovery in the history of mankind. But on the eve of its momentous first run, something unexpected happens. An event so bizarre that the 12 men and women operating the experiment, some of the smartest people in the world, are unable to comprehend their findings.

As they seal themselves in the mesa and stall for time, the political leaders that helped fund the 40 billion dollar project become increasingly anxious. Elections are just around the corner and they want to know why progress has stalled. Meanwhile, religious leaders are concerned that these labcoats are attempting to disprove god. What are the heathens hiding as their experiments dim the lights of Las Vegas? Just what the hell is going on up there?

Enter Wyman Ford. Former monk and ex-CIA agent, Ford has the right combination of skills needed to integrate himself with the scientists and to discern the cause of their delays. Wyman dons the guise of an anthropologist, sent by Washington to sooth the Navajo tribes that surround the particle accelerator. Tribes that grow weary of more promises not kept and increasingly wary of the experiments being conducted on their holy ground. But it is when Wyman discovers that he still has feelings for one of the scientists that he realizes why they picked him for this job.

If you take the cocksure and dysfunctional scientists from Crichton's Sphere, who dare meddle in secrecy with elements beyond their understanding, and combine them with the philosophical musings on science and religion that make up Sagan's Cosmos, the result would be Douglas Preston's Blasphemy. Equal parts techno-thriller and cultural observation, Blasphemy is one of the rare novels that entertains and enlightens at the same time. There is plenty of suspense, unsolved murders, devious characters, conflicting motivations, and tense action in Blasphemy. But the central clash takes place between two very real contemporary opponents: Science and Religion.

It would be easy to blame Preston for taking sides on this conflict. Religious readers may be offended with his portrayal of Christians and see the lionization of science on every page. But that is not what this book is about. One of the worst offenders in this novel is presented as a figurehead for science. And the conclusion of Blasphemy is sure to upset scientists as much as theists. Preston's biting satire is not aimed at those to one side, it is aimed at those to the extremes. At scientists and religious leaders who replace the curiosity that drives us towards truth with the absolute conviction that paralyzes one from seeking it.

Blasphemy, then, is a call for moderation. Douglas Preston casts both sides in an equally negative light in order to reveal the flaws of our fanaticism. He seems to be saying that without doubt and skepticism we become violently sure of ourselves. We replace the humility of not knowing with the anger of not having our every proclamation trusted and accepted. The evangelist who gains power and wealth through his congregation, despite his hypocritical sins, is presented alongside the megalomaniac scientists that are willing to falsify data to further their ideological agenda. Both sides have their figureheads coursing through the book, their creeds like matter and anti-matter which explode on contact.

The tragedy of this cultural war is that it rests on a false premise. Religion was always meant to be a search for truth. It arose naturally from ancient people asking reasonable questions. When a person lays down a spear, it does not move on its own. It only moves when another person makes it move. From these observations, thousands of tiny examples a day, it was natural to conclude that the sun was moved by more powerful men. The winds came from even stronger men. To mock these conclusions is to mock logic, for it was airtight considering the data these thousands of individual tribes had at their disposal.

Up until very recently the greatest scientific discoveries have been made by men of the cloth, not people in labcoats. But something happened around the age of enlightenment. So many of the theories of old fell all at once that the church became threatened. Clinging to the power of divine revelation, they fought against the truth in an attempt to maintain their perfect authority. This has only reduced their claims and entrenched them on the wrong side of discovery.

At the same time, science has become just as sure of itself. This, despite the self-correcting nature of its discipline. The more often individual elements are proven wrong, the stronger its members feel about its methods, which is the antithesis of the current struggles that religion endures. Growing ever more complicated, science speaks less and less to the general public. The field rarely deals with the emotional matters which move people to support a cause. Its practitioners are seen as cold, over-logical, unfeeling, meddlesome, arrogant, and dangerous.

If it seems like this struggle does not merit the label Culture "War", consider that one side sees the other as killing about 1.5 million innocent lives each year. The other side sees fanatics flying into buildings and blowing themselves up, they see a rejection of modern medicine, they see diseases that could be treated via stem-cell research. Whichever side you fall on does not change the fact that both sides see incredible harm in the other. It is a very real divide that paints my own country in two colors every November. There is a battle going on, and Douglas Preston forces us to recognize it in Blasphemy.

Of course, many readers are not happy with this bit of introspection. Christians in particular have been critical of the book. And this is what frightens me: the armies which clash in Preston's novel should not be ones that we identify with. No scientist should read about the character of Hazelius and empathize with his actions and ideology. No Christian should read about Spates and Eddy and see these abominations as real members of their faith. The terrifying result of Preston's novel is to see how many readers and critics rush to the defense of pure evil. Their own fanaticism is too great to see that Preston is not supporting one side or the other, but something wholly original today: Neither!

Blasphemy ends with a bizarre compromise, one which convinces me that Douglas Preston's goal is not to foment the flames of theism vs. atheism. His goal is to examine a possible path forward and beyond. It is an amazingly original conclusion, one which is sure to displease both sides of the debate. But that is the nature of compromise. And a middle-ground is never as distasteful as mutually-assured destruction. Consider this: The rational leaders of science and faith today have proposed that the two go their separate ways. That religion be the sole proprietor of morality and spirituality and that science lead the way in the discovery of cold truth. This is the solution put forward by moderates from both camps. It is an admission of defeat. A bugle horn for rallying armies to one side or another of a great divide. What Preston urges, and what so many are criticizing him for, is the possibility of us all fighting together. Fighting against tyranny and abuse. Fighting to discover scientific and ethical truths at the same time. It is a refreshing idea in a contemporary climate that urges we part company and go our separate ways.

These solutions fail because most of us are both spiritual AND logical. Most of us want to be guided by reason, but also to be overwhelmed with wonder. To undersand the source of a rainbow, but to be able to feel a rush of spirituality when we encounter just the right one. Our protagonist, Wyman Ford, is not a former monk and ex-CIA scientist by accident. He is the common ground that exposes the extremes to either side. Logical and skeptical, able to reason and feel, characters like Wyman and Begay are the ones we should celebrate in Preston's novel. Aligning ourselves to either side simply exposes the urgent need for this debate and for more books like Blasphemy which inspire them.

If this sounds like heady stuff, don't worry. The book is a thrill-a-minute; the philosophical musings are hardly noticed. They are necessary to the plot and they propel this amazing story further and faster like enormous magnets. Just as The Da Vinci Code entertained and stirred controversy at the same time, Blasphemy will be a book you can't put down... and then can't stop thinking about once you do.

The hardback is practically being given away at Amazon for $8.99. Grab a copy right now. I can not recommend it highly enough.

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Kara J. Jorges

Science & Religion Go At It

Reviewed in the United States 🇺🇸 on February 26, 2009

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A team of scientists is holed up on Red Mesa in Arizona, experimenting with Isabella, the largest particle accelerator in the world. They are hoping to create the exact conditions of the Big Bang in hopes of understanding the origins of life and the universe. Except, at 100% power, Isabella begins behaving strangely, and something is trying to communicate with the scientists. The powers in Washington, DC believe the scientists are hiding something, so they lure Wyman Ford, an ex-CIA agent who also spent two years living as a monk, and who has now hung his shingle as a private investigator, into checking things out. Ford was chosen because of his previous relationship with one of the scientists, and he finds his old feelings for her rising again. He can also tell that something is up at Project Isabella, as all the scientists are on edge, and one disappears, later to be found dead. At the same time, the project has created unrest locally with the Navajo Nation, and national attention from the religious right, who find the whole of Project Isabella blasphemous. While the clock ticks down, an untenable situation develops involving all the different factions, as the scientists take Isabella to the limit, trying to see if they've found a glitch in the software...or if they might be talking to God himself.

Though the book stopped short of crossing the line, I am sure there are many who would still be offended by the subject matter. I found the idea of a God who supported numerous scientific theories currently refuted by Christianity far too convenient to be the slightest bit believable, but the author seemed taken with the idea as the conversation appeared in print three times. As per the tired usual, devout Christians, Catholics carefully excluded this time, come off as the evil villains, appearing not only as mindless, incendiary, easily-led sheep, but as a violently murderous mob. I won't even get into the laughable misconceptions about Christian beliefs about Jesus, the Rapture, or the Antichrist, but suffice it to say the concepts were seriously skewed for this book. And maybe I'm wrong, but the claim that God talked to man for the FIRST TIME EVER in this story seems a bit misplaced, being as God spoke with Adam in the Garden of Eden, and I seem to remember some Bible passages about Moses and a burning bush, among others. In any event, only scientists and Navajos come off as even slightly reasonable or intelligent in this story. While I believe there are mindless fools out there who will blindly let themselves be led into horrible acts of atrocity, as history has proven, I resent fundamentalist Christians always being ham-handedly painted with that brush. Belief in Christ is not synonymous with violence and stupidity. This book merely proves that narrow-minded arrogance exists everywhere, even among writers and scientists, and that science has as much difficulty grasping true spirituality as the average zealot has understanding quantum physics.

Though I think the author missed the boat on several of his concepts and trotted out a few too many tired plot devices, I nonetheless applaud his attempt and the guts it took to write a book with such a theme. Even though I found much to disagree with, it is ultimately only a work of fiction and its ending nothing more than a blatant scientist's fantasy.

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Philip Spick

Another good story.

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on November 24, 2020

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I enjoy these stories from Douglas. They are fiction but really make you think, or I did, that there is a lot more to them than just the premise put on paper. I buy some books and they are just entertaining fiction but as I said, Douglas makes his relatively straightforward tales a pleasure to read and certainly a lot to think about. Heartily recommended.

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Andrew Johnston

A great thriller, which probes uncomfortable ideas at the boundaries of science and religion

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on April 24, 2011

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Basically, this is an adventure thriller set against a "big science" background, with Whyman Ford sent to investigate problems at what's effectively the US version of CERN, albeit with a handful of staff and Cheyenne Mountain levels of security.

The real meat of the tale, however, is an exploration of how religion interacts with science, politics and society, and how religious extremism of any kind can sponsor the very worst in human hatred and violence, just as much as more moderate spirituality can drive good behaviour. For a change the religious extremists are not Muslims, but American extreme right-wing "Christians", while the moderates are mainly Navajos, both Christians and those who follow the old ways. I haven't previously seen this portrayed in the same way in other fiction.

Although the story also features key characters speaking to God, and the creation of a new world religion, as this is a Whyman Ford tale everything is eventually resolved without recourse to the supernatural, with most driven by much more human causes.

The story rips along at a good rate, keeping you engaged right to the last. The hard science background is well presented and credible, as are the personalities and actions of the key players. It's eminently readable, well up to Preston's usual standard.

I enjoyed this book, and can recommend both it and the others in the series.

Kindle Customer

not a disappointment at all!

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on May 20, 2010

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The plot is outlined above so there is no need to get into details. The book presents some really contraversial thinking (hence th title), I am sure that anyone with serious religious convictions may even be offended by this book - but, IT IS FICTION, people take life too seriously!

The book flowed well and gave some insight into the current navajo way of life and the contributions that the navajo people have brought to the past (navajo whisperers in WW II). It is, as another reviewer put it, a very "good yarn". Keeps pace all the way through and has a good ending. Well thought out and enjoyable - give it a chance, read it! Blasphemy

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Gwynne Evans

Need more W Ford novels

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on March 25, 2022

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The entire Wyman Ford series has been just brilliant, I would like to see a few more books based
on the character,they really are my kind of stories.

Patrick Gossweiler

Interesting philosophical views

Reviewed in the United Kingdom 🇬🇧 on January 18, 2019

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The author describes interesting philosophical and religous views of our times and relates them to the general beliefs of the christian fundamentalist creed in a profoundly gripping fiction (?). It's creepy.

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Blasphemy (Wyman Ford Series) Hardcover – January 8, 2008

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