In Mark Zvonkovic’s novel, BELINDA, components of a spy thriller and a workplace drama clash, battling for space on the page. It’s no wonder, then, that it proves difficult to discern the narrative’s direction at times. The beginning, focused on Belinda’s former lover and retired spy, Jay, suggests that espionage plays a pivotal role in the unfolding plot. Instead, the man’s ripe age and expendability prompt a comedy of sorts, favoring chuckles over tension. Governed by rules that prove eternally elusive, this particular subplot quickly establishes its disconnection from the central narrative, making it a fairly puzzling diversion. Similarly, BELINDA struggles with bulky portrayals of business dealings between various companies, the detailed inner-workings of which fail to present much in the way of action. This isn’t alleviated by the sheer number of characters the reader has to contend with, particularly when life stories and delineated family connections converge to stall the pace of the novel that much further.
Belinda is intelligent, ambitious, experienced, and wholly capable of navigating the hostile space she occupies. It’s surprising, then, that as a mature woman of around sixty years of age, she falls prey to narrative sexualization, “An image of her breasts in a sheer bra sliding against the inside of her blouse was in Will’s head suddenly.” She’s not the only woman to undergo such gratuitous treatment, with a female spy opting for salaciousness over practicality, “The material was sheer and the darkness of her nipples was visible beneath it. But her hair was pulled back tight into a ponytail with a rubber band, her nod to being ready for combat.” This creates a perplexing sexual charge that is forever at odds with the action brooking it, undermining the gravity of the characters’ circumstances. What adds to it is the fact that women outwit and outdo men at every turn, while most of their male colleagues prove systematically chauvinistic, acclimating to their villain roles with unnerving ease. Though consistent, such a starkly black-and-white approach to gender - particularly the idea of one being superior to the other - proves fairly outdated, forcing the story to take on an artificially predictable tone. That said, the language bringing BELINDA to life is melodic and compelling, offering descriptions that paint whole scenes on the back of the reader’s eyelids. Likewise, both humorous and cynical, the characters’ internal monologue delivers amusing insights, “She was a woman with dark moods and horrible prospects: the children would leave home, the dog would die, and her husband would do one or the other.” In the end, cast into a world made dense with intrigue, it helps that Zvonkovic’s characters are full-fledged enough to inhabit it.
In Mark Zvonkovic’s BELINDA, subplots and shadow characters overwhelm the narrative’s central drives, creating a medley that often proves too intricate for its own good. However, bolstered by dazzling imagery and the full weight of literary expression, the novel’s prose lures the reader deeper into the labyrinth of its making.
~Neil Czeszejko for IndieReader