Twistaplot #16 Secrets of the Lost Island

Last time I encountered nearly every possible broadly drawn Egyptian stereotype, learned one weird trick for upper body strength (acrobat training) and defeated Belly Dancer Slavery cartels. Obviously, almost anything is going to represent a significant retreat from such concentrated excellence, so it's time to go back to a series that never seems to properly deliver the "turn to this page" goods. This time out we're looking at some sort of Island of Dr. Moreau trick bag, so let's cut the preliminaries and enter the house of pain.

Intense bald dude seems trustworthy.

By Twist-a-Plot standards the opening paragraphs are unbelievably brilliant. We jump right into the action, with myself and "Uncle Dave" caught in a storm that may or may not be perfect and forced to try to steer the boat toward an island, quite possibly one that holds secrets. Then, with my attention captured by the crazy nautical action, we get back-story. The author obviously worked hard in that "Basics of Constructing a Narrative" correspondence course. "First get the reader interested, then they will have more tolerance for your lame exposition." It's crazy enough to work.

And make no mistake, the exposition is not great. It turns out Uncle Dave is trying to find his missing wife who decided it was a good idea to swim in open waters and promptly vanished. Even the Coast Guard has given up on this as a lost cause and we all know how grimly determined they generally are. The upshot is that I've agreed to help him on this White Whale quest, citing basic human empathy as a motivating factor. Yup, that will screw you every time. Now the boat is headed toward rocks.

 Ninety minutes of "Something's on my leg!"

Dave and I ditch the boat and try to swim for the island, but the current is too strong. When things look the worst I feel "cold hard metal" on my foot and moments later am standing with Dave on a submarine. It's been that kind of day. With no better option we enter an open hatch, already anticipating the "I live under the sea, away from the prejudices of small minds!" madness that surely lurks within. 

Inside there's creaking and clanging, along with a round and rectangular door. The hatch has closed, so I have to choose one. I pick round, which is the much more sensible design. Rectangular doors in a submarine? That's just silly. 

We make our way through bunks and a galley, but there is no crew or even the obligatory lone crank. Instead we reach the control room and face a choice between "manual" and "automatic" because a dive boot can probably be controlled with two large buttons and maybe a healthy dose of ESP. 

  Seems pretty straight forward.

With the pilots that already made the sacrifice presumably disposed of, I assume the controls and hit "manual." A little messing around provides the basics for everything except surfacing, which we probably won't need for awhile anyway. Unfortunately, warning lights are going off in regards to an obstruction ahead. Without any additional information, I decide to steer "left or right" which seems vague enough. Three dimensional maneuvering is not really well-suited to this format.

I avoid the danger (it was a rock) and soon become accustomed to a new life living on this metal tube, but just when I'm nearing the "acceptance" phase of the process I find a lever that can be pulled to surface. Might as well try it out. It works!

From the topside we can see the island far in the distance, but worry about steering while surfaced for some reason. Wouldn't it be the same, just much easier? Yeah, no problem. We reach the island and, as you might expect, Dave's missing wife is right there waiting. She's even got a highly plausible tale of being kidnapped by sailors and held in a...well, a hold. We're almost done, so she somehow was able to escape, easily swim over open water in hurricane season, etc.

The story ends with Dave happy to wait for "years" on this island, while I'm perhaps somewhat less enthusiastic about picking fruit all day and trying to ignore them getting busy all night. Still, I'm a glass half-full type of person, noting there will be no school and I'll get a truly righteous tan. Ignorant and burned to a crisp is no way to go through life, son.

Tanning. It's a LIFESTYLE, man!

I guess this one managed to reach the lofty heights of "below average." The lengthy submarine simulator wasn't exactly compelling, but the writing was decent enough. Again, it's amazing how much a decent opening lets you get away with. "Man, this Ishmael guy is pretty righteous. I guess I'll just plow through the next hundred pages of irrelevant digressions and tattoo descriptions." 

 Where would you even wear it?

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read free excerpts here and here.

His first novel "The Foolchild Invention" is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Choose Your Own Adventure #26: The Phantom Submarine

Previously, my Mayan adventure ended rather ingloriously when my love of wells, drilling for water and allied concepts let to kidnapping and, presumably, torture porn. After that disaster it's time to finally try to chase a lame literary trend and look at a book that's all about submission. And by that I mean, of course, submarine missions. Top off this already can't miss concept with bizarre eighties ideas about ESP and it's time to get hype.

Before we go any further I have to address the sad state of Extra Sensory Perception as a cultural belief. Seriously, why isn't that a thing anymore? Instead we get "I control 100% of my brain!" which sounds awesome until you realize every waking moment would have to be spent manually commanding your heart to beat and so on. There's a good reason we don't control that stuff, and it has nothing to do with sexy rebellion against whatever warmed-over 1984-for-babies dystopia that refuses to recognize how special and wonderful being different truly makes me.

Anyway, the point is kids today don't know 'bout the ESP and it's sad.

There's some underwater stuff too, I guess.

I'm just sitting around maxing and relaxing when I basically have an epileptic aura and/or psychotic break that involves buzzing, swirling visions and objects colliding. Apparently, this is my lame super powers kicking in to predict the future and not the beginning of a life of being shuffled from one institution to another, being prescribed the latest fashionable "meds," and finally being abandoned by the system and becoming a hopeless derelict. Instead, there is indeed a minor fender-bender and this is proof I'm the chosen one and definitely not clinically insane.

I have a similar incident at school. In today's best of all possible worlds this would probably mean a 'script for kiddie crack, but this is 1983 and the imagination hasn't been outlawed yet. I tell my parents and Dad sends me to meet with a professor, because meeting a professor is the kind of thing that makes for entertaining reading. He's all "You've got Extra Sensory Perception!" and I'm all "I know, right!"

 "Your cool super power will keep you from skidding!"

The upshot of this meeting is that I'm contacted by a government agency that is collecting people like me to stare at goats or whatever. Incredibly, they actually ask me if I want to participate, instead of being all "Phony scandal" this and "It's the right thing to do" that. Man, thank goodness L.A. based punk rock was there to keep Dictator Reagan in check. 

Because they asked politely, I agree.

"Mr. MDC, tear down this poster."

I tell my mother that I deserve "to know what's going on in my head" which is something every parent must dream of hearing. Dad shows great restraint by quietly assenting, instead of recommending a methadone clinic as a more cost-effective alternative.

I'm taken to Washington D.C. and a doctor asks me to guess the numbers on cards, perhaps in hopes of getting me into the super-secret government "Repay the Debt Via Blackjack" program. Unfortunately, I don't do very well, so my powers are only good for predicting disaster and won't be able to defeat Vegas. Speaking of disaster, I sense one coming on right now.

From the makers of "Child Bagman."

Sure enough, a truck slams into the building. Are we going to get "Terminator" style carnage? Well, no. Instead it's some guy who blames "bad brakes" for his almost unbelievable negligence. The doctor decided that I've got some abilities after all, even if they're not exactly what you'd call practical unless you're hanging around people who are super accident prone or simply have cursed luck. 

As you might expect, this leads to an assignment as an "ESP Specialist" on a submarine.

Continue this very logical and predictable plot, it turns out this dive boat will use my mind powers as a "special backup warning!" It turns out that ships, and especially submarines, are being lost at a alarming rate both by the West and our Red "friends." Clearly my head issues will be the difference maker.

Double-secret salvage of the Queen's wayward sons.

The submarine is, naturally, no ordinary model. It's basically a giant metal manta ray, complete with non-nuclear missiles and an undersea scout craft that would have R.A. Montgomery nodding his head and saying "Yeah. That's how you do it." The "Manta" has never sailed, but obviously the darkest hour of an international crisis is a good time to try out this massively impractical prototype. 

Also the ships are generally disappearing right after they are first launched from port, but the law of averages suggests we'll survive so no worries.

I'm pretty much in charge of everything, another excellent idea, and am assigned an isolation booth where I'll use my sixth sense to guide the ship. I decide we should go to the Arctic. We head toward the Bering Strait, passing Sarah Palin's house and noting the presence of Russia.

This new house in Yalta is awesome!

We sail under an ice floe, but the amount of space for the submarine is rapidly shrinking. Still, my powers insist this is the right way and I haven't been wrong yet. Except all those cards, but forget that. As it gets narrower, we come to a full stop trapped by a "solid wall of underwater ice." Yes, a classic era Metallica song was almost certainly inspired by this book. Please update Wikipedia accordingly. 

I decide we should blast our way out with torpedoes. We manage to create a nice hole in the ice, but for some reason I'm given the option to go out in the wussy scout ship. How about "no."

We enter the hole, I try to ignore the massive Freudian subtext, and then get "stuck." Then we get crushed to pieces. For some reason my danger sense had nothing to say about any of this. 

I'll be fine.

I liked the general concept of this one, but it suffered from not enough choices and way too much exposition, a problem that will become more common as we get deeper into this series. Richard Brightfield has his moments, but when my overall impression is "a less good R.A. Montgomery" it isn't exactly high praise. The ESP gimmick was pure eighties, but if you're gonna give me the spider sense it can't just turn off at critical moments. Also "Phantom?" Did the author actually want the title "Manta Submarine" but slurred it and was misheard? Seems likely.

Check Out My Books!

Aaron Zehner is the author of "Posts from the Underground," now available in paperback and e-book. Read free excerpts here and here.

His first novel "The Foolchild Invention" is also available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.