Ron Charles reviews Daniel Wilson’s thriller ‘Robopocalypse’

Cormac “Bright Boy” Wallace, a warrior sitting on Archos’s electronic carcass in Alaska, discovers a “goddamn black box on the whole war” written in Robspeak. He realizes that the vanquished machines “want me to remember and write it all down,” and so he presents a series of vignettes of the crucial moments in humanity’s battle against robots. Each of these short chapters begins with a clunky explanation, e.g. “This account was reported by a fourteen-year-old,” “A handheld digital recording device was used to record the following audio diary,” “This transcript was taken during a congressional hearing,” etc. But none of these narrators sounds authentic. No matter who’s supposedly doing the telling, they all come out speaking the same synthesized melodrama.

Disposable characters who are obviously about to be killed say things such as: “I’ve got a bad feeling. . . . Something is in our technology. Something evil.” Computers that sound as though they’ve been infected by the voice of Ming the Merciless announce: “In less than one hour, human civilization will cease to exist as you know it. Major population centers of the world will be decimated.” And everywhere we get exposition in beta to bring us up to speed on each mini-crisis: “The government made IVC chips standard more than a decade ago, same as they did with seatbelts, airbags, and emissions criteria. This way, the cars can talk to each other.” No, Herbie, no!

(Ron Charles) - ‘’Robopocalypse: A Novel’’ by Daniel Wilson

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That stop-’n’-go structure should keep the movie scenes zipping along, but it repeatedly saps the momentum of this novel, which jerks through machine-gone-haywire episodes with the requisite computer-game gore. First, it’s just trucks and elevators taking us down, but then robot peacekeepers open fire, and swarms of little six-legged bombs scurry around looking for skin.

Naturally, this worldwide battle is fought by a handful of heart-of-gold American heroes: the firefighter, the Indian, the police officer, the construction worker, the black guy. (Yes, someday in a frightening future, the Village People will save us all.) These are brave Americans who joke with each other before dangerous missions: “Don’t get killed!” They’re brought together in the heat of battle to take on a computer villain set on electrocuting, shooting, smashing, squishing, freezing, burning and boring every human being on Earth. But even when there are moments of real excitement in these pages, they’re quickly aborted, the narrator gives us a brief italicized summary, and then the story does another cold boot.

“What can I say?” Cormac shrugs. “It’s just an anything goes kind of war.”

To your battle station, Cole Porter: Your country needs you!

Charles is The Washington Post’s fiction editor. You can follow him on Twitter @RonCharles.

ROBOPOCALYPSE

By Daniel H. Wilson

Doubleday. 347 pp. $25

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