The Incendiaries

This book is astonishing.

It is a penetrating look at radicalization — both overt and obvious (literally joining a cult) and mundane and insidious (joining a culture of sexism and violence so prevalent that most people wouldn’t even think of it as radicalization). Also, there is a thematic through-line about the things mothers can and can’t do for their children that made me weep at least twice.

This book is complex and dark and definitely not for everyone. The main characters take part in wholly unforgivable acts.

I will be thinking about this book for a very long time.

Every explosive requires a fuse. That’s R. O. Kwon’s novel, a straight, slow-burning fuse. To read her novel is to follow an inexorable flame coming closer and closer to the object it will detonate — the characters, the crime, the story, and, ultimately, the reader.

The Incendiaries is a God-haunted, willful, strange book written with a kind of savage elegance. I’ve said it before, but now I’ll shout it from the rooftops: R. O. Kwon is the real deal.

Literary fiction doesn’t always work for me but this definitely did. It’s a stunning exploration of faith, doubt, and what it’s like to no longer believe. John Leal’s rise as a cult leader was quite eerie yet I could see it happening all too easily. Will was not a healthy individual, particularly once he fixated on Phoebe. He did so many awful, selfish things and yet I could relate to his struggle with religion and the loss of certainty. Phoebe was less clear, purposefully so, as we never hear her point of view. She remains obscured, even to Will, which fuels his fixation when they’re apart and gives him purpose when they’re together. I loved the way Kwon wrote and structured this; the writing itself was beautiful. But it’s the way the characters related to God (or didn’t relate to him) that really held me captive to the story, all the way to the powerful conclusion.

A classic love triangle between two tormented college students and God. The Incendiaries brings us, page by page, from quiet reckonings with shame and intimacy to a violent, grand tragedy. In a conflagration of lyrical prose, R. O. Kwon skillfully evokes the inherent extremism of young love.

The reviews I read of this book included words like “radiant,” “assured,” and “powerful.” I guess. There is a lot to like in this novel, the author’s first, but to me it suffers pretty profoundly from a lack of technical ability, or perhaps a series of bizarre writing choices. The novel has religious faith at its core and cannily invites you to disbelieve the stories about its three main characters. But, it also includes writing that is both opaque and turgid, giving it a lifeless, dull sheen that made it tough to actually, you know, enjoy. There’s a fine line between keeping a book or character mysterious and making it difficult to understand what the hell anyone is talking about — to me, Kwon winds up on the wrong side of that line too much. Blessedly, it is very short, just about 200 pages, which is a smart decision given the choice of narrative style. Another issue is that the author bounces around in time, never really providing any true narrative momentum until the very end — as a reader, I could see no actual benefit in this approach, and it takes a ton of skill to pull this off … I don’t think Kwon quite has that ability (as virtually no first-time novelist do or should be expected to). Finally, and I can’t complain about this often enough, I really wish authors would use quotation marks when writing conversation — it makes it much easier to “hear” the voices in the writing, and I don’t know what is gained from NOT using them. Anyway. Another core theme is grief, which pervades the novel, despite the youth of the characters and the seemingly constant parties. I think this might be thought of as an important book and a notable first novel from a talented writer, but shy of anything close to brilliant.

Thanks to NetGalley and to Grace Vincent, on behalf of Virago, Little Brown Book Group UK, for providing me an ARC copy of this book that I freely chose to review. Thanks also for the opportunity to take part in the blog tour for the launch of the novel, the first book published by R.O. Kwon, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
This novel describes the attempts by one of its protagonists, Will Kendall, of making sense and understanding the events that have led to his girlfriend’s, Phoebe Lin, participation in a horrific event. As often happens in novels with a narrator (or several), no matter what the story is about, the book often ends up becoming a search for understanding and meaning, not only of the events that form the plot but also of the actual narrator. Why is s/he telling that particular story? And why is s/he telling that story in that particular way? This novel is no different, although the manner the story is told can, at times, work as a smokescreen, and we don’t know exactly who is telling what, and how accurate he or she might be.
On the surface, the novel is divided into chapters, each one headed by one of three characters, John Leal (this one written in the third person and always quite brief), Phoebe (written in the first person), and Will, also written in the first person. At first, it’s possible to imagine that Phoebe’s chapters have been written by her, but later, we notice intrusions of another narrator, a narrator trying to imagine what she might have said, or to transcribe what she had said, or what she was possibly thinking or feeling at certain times. As we read this book, that is quite short notwithstanding the seriousness of the subjects it deals in, we come to realise that the whole novel is narrated by Will, who, after the fact, is trying to make sense of what happened, by collecting information and remembering things, and also by imagining what might have gone on when he was not present. He acknowledges he might be a pretty unreliable narrator, and that is true, for a variety of reasons, some of which he might be more aware than others.
The novel is about faith, about finding it, losing it, and using it as a way to atone and to find meaning, but also as a way to manipulate others. It is about love, that can be another aspect of faith, and they seem to go hand in hand in Will’s case. He discovered his Christian faith in high school, in part as a refuge from his terrible family life, and lost it when it did not live up to his expectations (God did not give him a sign when he asked for one). He moved out of Bible School and into Edwards, and there he met Phoebe, a girl fighting her own demons, a very private person who did not share her thoughts or guilt with anybody. Will falls in love with her and transfers his faith and obsession onto her. But she is also unknowable, at least to the degree he wishes her to be open and understandable for him, and she becomes involved in something that gives meaning to her life, but he cannot truly become a part of. He abandoned his faith, but he seems less likely and able to do so with his belief in her.
The novel is also about identity. The three main characters, and many others that appear in the book do not seem to fully fit in anywhere, and try different behaviours and identities for size. Will invents a wealthy family who’ve lost it all, to fit into the new college better; Phoebe hides details of her past and her wealth, and is Korean but knows hardly anything about it and John Leal… Well, it’s difficult to know, as we only get Will’s point of view of him, but he might, or might not, have totally invented a truly traumatic past to convince the members of what becomes his cult, to follow him.
The language used varies, depending on what we are reading. The dialogue reflects the different characters and voices, whilst the narrator uses sometimes very beautiful and poetic language that would fit in with the character (somebody who had been proselytizing, who was used to reading the Bible, and who tried to be the best scholar not to be found out). Also, he tends to use that language when remembering what his girlfriend had told him or imagining what John Leal might have said as if he remembered her as more beautiful, more eloquent, and more transcendent than anybody else. This is a book of characters (or of a character and his imaginings and the personas he creates for others he has known) and not a page-turner driven by plot. The story is fascinating and horrifying but we know from early on (if not the details, we have an inkling of the kind of thing that will happen) where we are going, and it’s not so much the where, but the how, that is important. The book describes well —through the different characters— student life, the nature of friendships in college, and some other serious subjects are hinted at but not explored in detail (a girl makes an accusation of rape, and she is not the only victim of such crime, there is prejudice, mental illness, drug use, abortion…).
I read some reviews that felt the description or the blurb were misleading, as it leads them to expect a thriller, and the book is anything but. I am not sure if there must have been an earlier version of the blurb, but just in case, no, this book is not a thriller. It’s a very subjective book where we come to realise we have spent most of the time inside of the head of one single character. Nonetheless, it offers fascinating insights into faith, the nature of obsession, and what can drive people to follow a cult and to become strangers to themselves and to those they love.
The ending is left open (if we accept the narrator’s point of view, although there is an option of closure if we don’t) and I was impressed by one of the longest acknowledgements I’ve ever read. It hints not only of a grateful writer attentive to detail but also of a book which has undergone a long process and many transformations before getting into our hands.
A couple of examples of the poetic language in the book:
Punch-stained red cups split underfoot, opening into plastic petals. Palms open, she levitated both hands.
The nephilim at hand, radiant galaxies pirouetting at God’s command. Faith lifted mountains. Miracles. Healings.
Not a light or easy read, but a book for those eager to find a new voice and to explore issues of faith, love, identity. Oh, and for those who love an unreliable narrator. A first book of what promises to be a long and fascinating literary career.

Slightly slow and thoughtful but solid and interesting.

A short but powerful meditation on what it means to have faith in the modern world and how love, romantic or familial, can only do so much.

Tedious read. Very little character development. Thought I’d enjoy it based upon Great review in ny times. Disappointed