‘Designated Targets’ (Del Rey, $14.95, 367 pages) is a solid work of alternative history, the followup to ‘Weapons of Choice.’ It continues John Birmingham’s speculation about what would have happened if a 21st battle fleet had been transported, through a somewhat plausible accident, to the middle of the Pacific in 1942.
‘Designated Targets’ follows the characters in the first book as they try to fight World War II not only with exotic weapons (though ammunition is running out) but knowledge of the future. For example, Hitler knows in 1942 which of his apparent supporters will try to assassinate him in 1944; Stalin, Beria and Molotov know that Khruschev will come to power in the 1950s; and Americans know that John F. Kennedy will become president in 1960. All of this colors actions in a world changed by the arrival of the future, as entrepreneurs sign an eight-year-old Elvis Presley to a contract and corporations can see what will succeed and what will fail.
Those who enjoy alternative history will be pleased with ‘Designated Targets,’ but as always, starting with book one is highly recommended. Still, at the risk of sounding like an oldtimer who’s ready for the rocking chair and reruns of ‘Bonanza,’ there is one troubling element of this novel, and with almost every adventure novel in every genre in recent years: A flood tide of blood and gore.
To repeat, Birmingham is no more or less guilty of graphic descriptions of brains being blown out and spattering on point-of-view characters than any other modern author. And there is certainly nothing wrong, as George R. R, Martin pointed out, in making sure readers understand the true nature of war and violence.
But why, as we so innocently asked in the ‘60s, is it better to make war than to make love? Why is it OK to detail the effects of a bullet as it passes through a human body, but not OK to detail the effects of human genitalia as they interact? Why is that death, and violent death, is gone over in delicate detail, but the act that creates lives is considered obscence and uncomfortable to read about?
Just for the sake of argument, what if every scene of bloody death were required to be balanced by an equally graphic scene of lovemaking? In other words, what if every ending were balanced by a beginning? What if the gore quotient had to equal the love quotient?
If such a standard were adopted, my solution would not be to add more sex, but rather to limit violence. Sure, violence is fact of life and history, but novels can be written, and stories told, without an excessive reliance on the deaths of various characters. In fact, fewer such incidents would give the graphic descriptions even more power to shock; as it is, by the time I finish a 21st century adventure novel, of whatever genre, tortured flesh and screams of agony don’t register much, if at all.
Still, I cannot bear to watch athletes getting injured, especially replay after replay of knees twisting and ankles breaking. I tend to skip passages in books that emphasize human pain, as there is plenty of that in the real world and we hardly need add more to the equation. And movies that I would have once wanted to see (‘Gladiator’ springs to mind) I simply skip because I am not entertained by the sight of entrails and exposed bone.
And I know this small essay is but a pebble in the tide of violence that 21st century humanity, here and abroad, revels in. Birmingham and other authors would not write this way if it did not sell; gory movies would not be made if no one wanted to see them. It’s human nature at work more than anything else, and the entertainment industry is the servant, not the master.
Nonetheless, it bothers me, and I don’t think it makes the world a better place. To once again show my age, back in the day we chanted ‘Make love, not war’ -- and though a lot of things we believed in the ‘60s turned out to be misguided, that’s one thing we had right. And of course, it’s one of the things that got left behind.