The twelve : a novel /

THESE are confusing times to be a vampire. In the early days, things were clearer: you were a filthy, exsanguinated revenant, doomed to wander graveyards after dark, feeding on the blood of living humans (often children), sleeping in coffins, biting necks and hiding your face from sunlight, mirrors and God. You were a rat whisperer. One step up from a zombie. You were neither rich nor sexy. You did not sparkle. But then the Romantics discovered you, and you went from being an underground word-of-mouth legend to a supernatural star of page, stage, screen and cereal box. The newly industrialized culture was mesmerized by you. No longer a mere monster, you ascended to metaphor. But transformation is as much a staple of the genre as bats and bloodsucking. Every new vampire story absorbs and reconfigures the tradition, as Justin Cronin aptly demonstrates in "The Twelve" - the second installment to a vampire trilogy that began in 2010 with Cronin's blockbuster novel "The Passage." If that book was a bit twee at times, it was also smart, well crafted and entertaining. Fans will be happy to learn that "The Twelve" delivers much of the same vitality and vision. Like its predecessor, it is a strange new creature for the 21st century: the literary superthriller, driven at once by character and plot. "The Twelve" opens in Texas five years after the events in "The Passage," returning readers to that book's world and narrative style. It briefly reintroduces a few familiar characters, then circles back to Denver in Year Zero, the moment of the vampire virus outbreak, where Bernard Kittridge - a minor character from "The Passage" - now takes center stage. Known as "Last Stand in Denver," Kittridge sequesters himself in an 18th-floor penthouse, shoots some virais (a k a vampires) from the balcony, meets some new characters and, along with them, tries to make his way through the same cataclysm we saw from different perspectives in Volume 1. Putting us back at Year Zero may feel slightly regressive in a sequel of this scope, but Kittridge's ordeal nonetheless enthralls. Though there's nothing here quite like the artful and plaintive first third of "The Passage," these human relationships remain well developed and emotionally affecting. And Cronin offers a few revelations that will ease the story more gently into the future. As in the grandfather of all vampire novels, Bram Stoker's "Dracula," extratextual artifacts help carry the narration: maps, military documents, transcripts from global conferences, signs in the style of the Old West ("CAPTURED! . . . The despicable murderer!"). Not that these touches are strictly necessary, since Cronin's actual prose provides one of the book's many pleasures. Here, he depicts Kittridge in a moment of meditation on the balcony: "At night, regions of blackness blotted the city, but elsewhere, lights still glittered in the gloom - flickering streetlamps, filling stations and convenience stores with their distinctive fluorescent glow, porch lights left burning for their owners' return." Jump ahead a hundred years and the heroes of "The Passage" return: Amy, Alicia and Peter, all of whom we get to know much better - especially Amy, whose interior life is rewardingly complex. Like Kittridge, these three meet up with a rich cast of new characters and unite to hunt down the 12 original virals, those death-row inmates deliberately infected with the vampire virus. Sinister and lordly in this second volume, these 12 Ur-vampires come off as perhaps a bit too arch: "My brothers, your new home is waiting. They will bow before you; you will live as kings." Their deaths may be the only way for humanity to survive. Let's hope the heroes get to them before the sun goes down. Like 'The Passage,' this sequel is a strange new 21st-century creation: the literary superthriller. Joseph Salvatore's story collection, "To Assume a Pleasing Shape," was published last year. He is an assistant professor of writing and literature at the New School.

The second installment of Cronin's postapocalyptic trilogy (after The Passage, 2010) continues 5 years after the fall of First Colony (97 years after the government-made virus first wiped out mankind as we know it, turning people into horrific vampiric beasts). The title refers to the original 12 carriers of the virus, convicts who became unwitting test subjects and are now supercreatures. If the original 12 can be destroyed, the legions that they created will also die, leaving the remaining humans safe enough to rebuild the world. The plot mostly follows Amy, the young girl who represents the antidote to the virus, who remains a mysterious, messiah-like figure, and a band of characters from the first novel who find themselves under even more trying circumstances than before. Collaborators (a rogue band of humans) are capturing others, creating a gulag for the red-eyes, vampires who have set up a creepy, paranormal government of sorts. Although the twisting plot is often convoluted, Cronin writes scenes of palpably growing terror and manages to keep up intense pacing and characterization. Passage fans will be clamoring for this one.--Vnuk, Rebecca Copyright 2010 Booklist

Bestseller Cronin's bloated apocalyptic thriller, like many a trilogy's middle book, falls short of the high standard set by its predecessor, 2010's The Passage. The struggle for survival between humanity's last hope, personified by Amy Harper Bellafonte, and vampire-like virals comes across as watered-down Stephen King, short on three-dimensional characters as well as genuine scares. The action shifts from the "present"-five years after the First Colony, a refuge, has fallen to the virals-to Year Zero, when the virus that caused the catastrophe was unleashed, but the value added by the flashbacks isn't obvious. A prologue surveys the events of The Passage in biblical prose ("And a decree shall go forth from the highest offices that twelve criminals shall be chosen to share of the Zero's blood, becoming demons also"), but fails to bring readers adequately up to speed. A dramatis personae at the back listing more than 80 names is scarcely more helpful. 15- to 20-city author tour. Agent: Ellen Levine, Trident Media Group. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

Cronin's sequel to his 2010 best-selling The Passage is not a straight continuation of that novel. Here, he introduces new characters and a new plotline while advancing the story about the spread of a human-made apocalypse. A foreword neatly recaps the first book's highlights, allowing listeners to jump right in. Scott Brick's deliberate narration is serviceable but suffers from a monotonic delivery and lack of emotional range. VERDICT Fans of The Passage and of horror will not be disappointed. ["Cronin's masterly prose and intricate plotting bring an entire world to life...[the] vast scope of his story begs favorable comparisons to epics such as J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings and Stephen King's The Stand," read the review of the New York Times best selling Ballantine hc, LJ 9/1/12.-Ed.]-Julie Judkins, Univ. of Michigan, Ann Arbor (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Cronin continues the post-apocalyptic--or, better, post-viral--saga launched with 2010's The Passage. The good citizens of Texas might like nothing better than to calve off into a republic and go to war with someone with their very own army and navy, but you wouldn't want to wish the weird near-future world of Cronin's latest on anyone, even if it means that Rick Perry is no longer governor. Readers of The Passage will recall that weird things have happened to humankind thanks to--sigh--a sort-of-zombie-inducing virus unleashed by, yes, sort-of-mad-scientists who were trying to create supersoldiers out of ordinary GIs. You may be forgiven for thinking of The Dirty Dozen at that point in the plot, but the "virals" in question are far badder than Telly Savalas and John Cassavetes. Enter Amy Harper Bellafonte, known Eastwood-esquely as The Girl from Nowhere, whose job it is to save humankind from its own dark devices. Amy's chief butt-kicking sidekick is a virally compromised cutie named Alicia Donadio, "scout sniper of the Expeditionary," who has a weirdly telepathic way of communicating with the baddies. The tale that ensues is pretty generic, in the sense that the zombie/virus/sword-and-sorcery genres allow only so much variation from convention; if you've seen the old Showtime series Jeremiah, then you'll have a good chunk of the plot down. Cronin serves up a largely predictable high-concept blend of The Alamo and The Andromeda Strain, but his yarn has many virtues: It's very well-paced. It's not very pleasant ("A strong smell of urine tanged in her nostrils, coating the membranes of her mouth and throat"), but it's very well-written, far more so than most apocalypse novels, and that excuses any number of sins. And it's always a pleasure to see strong women go storming around as the new sheriffs in town in a world gone bad, even if they're sometimes compelled to drink blood to get their work done. A viral spaghetti Western; it's not Sergio Leone--or, for that matter, Michael Crichton--but it's a satisfying confection.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.