Jeff Somers’ The Electric Church is the story of a professional killer who accidentally kills a member of the brutal and near-omnipotent police force that keeps order in his futuristic world. However, rather than be killed, he is hired to assassinate the head of the world’s fastest growing religion. A religion that takes over your brain in a more brutal and literal sense than that favoured by most religions. In order to accomplish this near-impossible task and collect his near-impossibly pay cheque, the killer has to hire a group of colourful experts who bring their own baggage with them, only adding to the problems facing the assassin.
This is a plot synopsis you’ll find slowly spreading out across the internet as Somers’ publisher Orbit are particularly eager for this book to do well. Frankly, it’s easy to see why; built around a competently constructed caper plot and flavoured with lots of action, swearing and cyberpunky goodness, The Electric Church occupies a similar ground to that occupied by Richard Morgan’s Altered Carbon and Market Forces as well as Jeffrey Thomas’ Punktown stories. Having glanced around at the other reviews, critics seem to react in one of two manners to The Electric Church. On the one hand, they praise Somers’ style and the fact that the book is fun and doesn’t take itself too seriously. On the other hand, they roll their eyes slightly and bemoan the fact that Somers is yet another author choosing to abuse the deceased equine that is cyberpunk rather than strike out in a new direction and find a new kind of future to write about. It is also easy to see why this should be.
Among many of the more serious-minded critics, cyberpunk has a certain magical quality to it. Cyberpunk was not only a really intelligent and successful movement, it was also remarkably introspective and transparent in that it was supported by a fleet of fanzines full of angry young writers proclaiming their discontent to anyone who would listen. One of the sources of discontent was the way in which the original political and social point of cyberpunk was lost as more and more writers attempted to cash in by writing thrillers full of guys with big guns and cybernetic limbs. Given that the cyberpunk movement imploded decades ago, it is difficult to not be tempted to see any contemporary writers choosing to embrace classic cyberpunk tropes as the heirs to those writers who chose to write cash-in thrillers. Indeed, I would argue that it is only recently that Richard Morgan has managed to shed his populist image and replace it with the recognition that he’s a member of the same cadre of intelligent and challenging British SF authors as Ian McDonald, Charlie Stross and Ken MacLeod.
I point this out not to argue that Somers is a hack but rather to explain that The Electric Church is a book that challenges the critic to treat it fairly. It does not invite charity or indulgence.
Stylistically, the book is problematic. Despite featuring frequent bouts of “action”, Somers struggles to invest his words with any urgency or excitement. Every fight is approached from the internal perspective of the protagonist Avery Cates but rather than giving us an insight into his tactical thought, the result is more usually a protracted whinge about how tired he is and how dangerous the situation he’s in is and if he can... just... make it... a little... further... this does not make for compelling reading. The dialogue and descriptive passages are also troubling as the book is filled with cardboard cut-out tough guy banter and an endless progression of profanity which, while perfectly logical given the lack of education and finesse of the characters, feels forced and is not anywhere near as witty or as punchy as it should be. The characterisation is also awkward as between the poor dialogue, the lack of descriptive prose and the overly colourful nature of the characters themselves, the book never feels peopled with real people with real problems. It all feels a little bit insubstantial given how incredibly angsty and elaborate the noire genre can be.
So why did I keep reading this book if it’s so terrible? Well, the truth is that this book really does have its moments.
Somers spends as little time world-building as the plot demands. The descriptions of Manhattan as this blasted wasteland full of criminals who appear, commit crimes, and then disappear when the cops turn up is actually only strengthened by Somers’ refusal to spend any time and effort on describing the place. The effect is that the place is empty... not because Somers doesn’t give us enough information about the place but because there’s nothing there. The same is true of the society that fills Somers’ world. We are told that the richest 1% of the population are out there and enjoy incomprehensible levels of wealth compared to the rest of the population but we rarely see them and when we do they are represented as idlers playing at working. When the team move to London, they take up residence in an empty office building and it seems somehow fitting that there’s nobody there because the rich are nowhere to be seen... it is as though they have sublimed off into the atmosphere leaving behind only the empty buildings they used to inhabit and the police they used to keep the poor in place. One of traditional cyberpunk’s best loved riffs was the differences between the rich and the poor. Somers’ takes this riff and improvises with it in a style reminiscent of Jimmy Hendrix playing the Star-spangled banner. Somers’ world is not just empty, it is fascinatingly devoid of people.
Also worthy of praise is the creation of the Electric Monks. Based upon a throwaway gag in a Douglas Adams novel, the Electric Monks track down vulnerable members of society and kill their bodies before harvesting their brains, reprogramming them and placing them in metallic bodies that are then pressed into service “recruiting” more vulnerable people. While not a subtle way of portraying religion, Somers nonetheless deserves praise for the venom of his symbolism. According to Somers, the religious are not just brain-washed, they are actively possessed. In one particularly chilling section, the team manage to by-pass a monk’s control chip revealing the “real person” underneath screaming in pain and begging for death... suggesting that a person who “gets religion” has his personality papered over by the new and sparkly one forced on them by religion. A more scathing attack on religion you will not find in the current crop of SFnal new releases.
Despite having serious flaws, The Electric Church is far from being a bad book. Yes it is a piece of fun and escapist reading but it also has a number of quite interesting ideas that it brings to the party and which make it difficult to tar the book with the “populist thriller” brush. Somers also does well with what plot he has; there’s never a dull moment in The Electric Church and Somers never puts a foot wrong when it comes to pacing. It is also genuinely difficult to not warm to the book’s gleefully cynical and vulgar tone which, combined with the well executed and paced plot, make The Electric Church a swift and surprisingly rewarding read.
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