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Executive Times |
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2008 Book Reviews |
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The
Venetian Betrayal by Steve Berry |
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Rating: |
** |
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(Mildly Recommended) |
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Click
on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Bullies Steve
Berry’s third novel to feature Cotton Malone the former agent, current
bookseller, turned temporary hero, is titled, The
Venetian Betrayal. Berry continues to do well with plot, and with the
pseudo-historical genre, along the lines of The DaVinci Code. Berry’s character development remains weak, the
dialogue rarely sounds like real people, and the action moves from the
explosive to the implausible and back to the explosive, as a bad bully tries
to do bad things and the good bullies have to make everything right again. In
The
Venetian Betrayal, much attention is paid to Alexander the Great: where
he is buried, and what secrets may be uncovered by finding his remains. Malone
is accompanied by a cast of familiar characters from previous novels. Here’s
an excerpt, all of Chapter Four, pp. 21-23, featuring the
bad bully, Irina Zovastina: SAMARKAND CENTRAL
ASIAN FEDERATION 5:45 A.M. Supreme
Minister Irina Zovastina stroked the horse and prepared herself for the game. She loved to play,
just after dawn, in the breaking light of early morning, on a grassy field
damp with dew. She also loved the famed, blood-sweating stallions of Fergana,
first prized over a millennia ago when they were traded to the Chinese for
silk. Her stables contained over a hundred steeds bred both for pleasure and
politics. Are the other riders
ready>" she asked the attendant. "Yes, Minister. They await
you on the field." She wore high leather boots and
a quilted leather jacket over a long
chapan. Her short, silver-blond hair was topped by a fur
hat fashioned from a wolf she'd taken great pride in killing. "Let's not
keep them waiting She mounted the horse. Together, she and the animal
had many times won buzkashi. An ancient game, once played across the
steppe by a people who lived and died in the saddle. Genghis Khan himself had
enjoyed it. Then, women were not even allowed to watch, much less
participate. But she'd changed that rule. The spindly-legged,
broad-chested horse stiffened as she caressed his neck. "Patience,
Bucephalas. She'd named him after the animal
that had carried Alexander the Great across Asia, into battle after battle. Buzkashi
horses,
though, were special. Before they played a single match years of training
accustomed them to the game's chaos. Along with oats and barley, eggs and
butter were included in their diet. Eventually, when the animal fattened, he
was bridled and saddled and stood in the sun for weeks at a time, not just to
burn away excess kilos, but to teach him patience. Even more training came in
close-quarter galloping. Aggression was encouraged, but always disciplined so
that horse and rider became a team. "You are prepared?"
the attendant asked. He was a Tajik, born among the mountains to the east,
and had served her for nearly a decade. He was the only one she allowed to
ready her for the game. She patted her chest. "I
believe I'm properly armored." Her fur-lined leather jacket
fit snugly, as did the leather pants. It had served her well that nothing
about her stout frame was particularly feminine. Her muscular arms and legs
bulged from a meticulous exercise routine and a rigid diet. Her wide face
and broad features carried a hint of Mongol, as did her deep-set brown eyes,
all thanks to her mother, whose family traced their roots to the far north.
Years of self-imposed discipline had left her quick to listen and slow to
speak. Energy radiated from her. Many had said that an Asian
federation was impossible, but she'd proven them all wrong. Kazakhstan,
Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Karakalpakstan, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan were no
more. Instead, fifteen years ago, those former Soviet republics, after
briefly trying independence, merged into the newly formed Central Asian
Federation. Nine and a half million square kilometers, sixty million people,
a massive stretch of territory that rivaled North America and Europe in size,
scope, and resources. Her dream. Now a reality. "Careful, Minister. They
like to best you." She smiled. "Then they
better play hard." They conversed in Russian,
though Dari, Kazakh, Tajik, Turkmen, and Kyrgyz together were now the
official Federation languages. As a compromise to the many Slays, Russian
remained the language of "interethnic communication." The stable doors swung open and
she gazed out onto a flat field that stretched for over a kilometer. Toward its
center, twenty-three mounted horsemen congregated near a shallow pit. Inside
lay the boz‑a goat's carcass, without a head, organs, or legs,
soaked in cold water for a day to give it strength for what it was about to
endure. At each end of the field rose a
striped post. The horsemen continued to ride.
Chopenoz. Players,
like herself. Ready
for the game. Her attendant handed her a
whip. Centuries ago they were leather thongs tied to balls of lead. They were
more benign now, but still used not only to spur a horse but to attack the
other players. Hers had been fashioned with a beautiful ivory handle. She steadied herself in the
saddle. The sun had just topped the
forest to the east. Her palace had once been the residence of the khans who
ruled the region until the late nineteenth century, when the Russians had invaded.
Thirty rooms, rich in Uzbek furniture and Oriental porcelain. What was now
the stables had then housed the harem. Thanks to the gods those days were
over. She sucked a deep breath, which
carried the sweet scent of a new day. "Good playing," the
attendant said. She acknowledged his
encouragement with a nod and prepared to enter the field. But she could not help
wondering. What was happening in Denmark? The 500
tedious pages of The
Venetian Betrayal don’t require much thinking on the part of the reader. Once
boredom arrives, Berry switches the action to another location or time. This
may be a fine choice for vacation, or on a long flight. Steve
Hopkins, March 21, 2008 |
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Go to Executive Times Archives |
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The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the April 2008 issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/The Venetian Betrayal.htm For Reprint Permission, Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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