Friday, January 22, 2021

PICNIC IN THE RUINS :: Todd Robert Petersen

 A version of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness and is republished here with permission.



A murdered, self-taught archeologist dentist, a National Park ranger, a disillusioned German dermatologist, an assassin named Scissors, two hapless brothers (one "tall and thin and off-kilter," the other resembling a "burnt stump"), a Japanese video game designer, a Princeton doctoral candidate, a conspiracy theorist recluse, sister wives and numerous other intriguing characters converge near Bryce Canyon National Park in Picnic in the Ruins, Todd Robert Petersen's darkly comic, madcap thriller with overarching social themes.



When artifact collector Bruce Cluff is killed, several maps are stolen from his home. What the maps show and who wants them is the greater plot arc, supported by a series of underlying threads that add to the mystery and lunacy. Sophia Shepard is researching her thesis on the ethics of preserving ancient artifacts ("One person's artifact is another person's ancestor"). Tourist Reinhardt Kupfer, disillusioned with the U.S. and his tour group, departs on his own "quest." Paul Thrift, park ranger and Sophia's semi-romantic friend, takes her on an outing to one of the secret map locations where she learns things she doesn't want to know. Not long after, they find themselves in a shootout and on the run with Reinhardt.



Unsurprisingly, Petersen (Rift) teaches creative writing and screen studies at Southern Utah University. Picnic is wildly creative and easily envisioned. The cultural appropriation and preservation lessons are thick, but they come by an honest need to avoid being engulfed by the blackly humorous, action-packed adventure. This fun caper stands up to some needed mindfulness.

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About Malcolm Avenue Review

I was lucky enough to be born and raised in a nifty, oak-shaded ranch house on Malcolm Avenue, a wide-laned residential street with little through traffic, located amid the foothills of Northern California. It was on that street and in that house I learned most of my adolescent life lessons, and many grown-up ones to boot. Malcolm Avenue was "home" for more than thirty years.

It was on Malcolm Avenue, through and with my family and the other families that made up our neighborhood of characters, that I first learned about and gained an appreciation for the things I continue to love the most to this day: music, animals, photography, sports, television/movies and, of course, books.

I owe a debt of gratitude to that life on Malcolm Avenue. It gave me a sense of community and friendship, support and adventure. For better and worse, life on that street likely had the biggest impact on the person I've become. So this blog, and the things I write here, are all, at their base level, a little bit of a love letter to Malcolm Avenue.

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