In his first novel, Chris Davis '73 brings us a healthy serving of computer-crazy, technothriller action that, although lacking many common plot cliches, is nonetheless limited by the nature of this tortured genre.

The thriller sends the well-worn message--and any budding young Clancy will tell you that a message of some sort is advisable, if not down-right moral--that the world always remains just a skilled hacker's keystroke away from complete annihilation by large balls of fire and other painful things.

According to the basic tenets of the technothriller, the plot can verge on the utterly incomprehensible if necessary to increase the techno-sity level. Death By Fire dutifully includes several staccato scene changes, most revolving around the plainly nasty actions of the dastardly HYDRA, as the United States slips closer and closer towards the possibility of world-wide war, or at the very least a increased level of snappishness and naughtiness in the War Room.

The glittering cast of characters includes a disgruntled Iraqi administration and the vital members of the White House gang. Davis also offers the twist of using the real-life figures of political life that we've come to know and revile. This allows us the comic relief of seeing our fine Arkansan leader in unguarded moments: "That's bullshit!" or "He's going to start World War III!" Or fair Saddam's familial side, "slapping his son-in-law on the back." What a guy.

As the book is a technothriller, we wouldn't expect lucid, evocative prose, although Davis does present us with the occasional gem: "He cut the corpse's intestines with the sangfroid of an obstetrician clipping a baby's navel cord..." But at other moments Davis lapses into tiresome literary tics, for example, the Amazing, All-In-One Speech Formula: within a few pages, we see people pleading, muttering, snapping, intervening, erupting, venturing, uttering in horror (a personal favorite), inserting furrowing brow in non-comprehension, half-gasping, rebutting, speaking sotto voce (a diving officer, no less), barking, snorting, and chirping.

The book also suffers from MA's--Moments of Absurdity--which one can imagine Davis hoped would somehow sound odd and appealing, but are more often disconcerting, if not downright frightening.

"...[S]he would clean Peter's room wearing only her panties, then tell him about it if things worked out."

"Thinking how good it would look that evening, she poured Lysol into the bowl, sprayed and scrubbed it."

"Roger Huey Zero One Zero One. Please instruct passenger to be undressed for arrival. Repeat undressed."

And, of course, the token techno-name gone out of control: the unfortunately dubbed "FAR T-33" aeroplane.

Of course, these problems are merely symptomatic of the larger problem of these technothriller novels: self-absorption on behalf of the author. We can imagine the writer, typing away at his word processor (another spur to novel-writing these days: anyone with WordPerfect and memories of comic book adventures can churn out a 400-pager in a few days and modem it away) loath to omit any bit of abstruse technological research accrued over many sleepless nights of study. Perhaps the MA's are the breaks he allows himself. Perhaps Death By Fire is another example of how movies have infiltrated the minds of young writers everywhere, such that they cannot imagine planes without "Top Gun" or spies without Sean Connery. Whatever the reason, we are, as a result, treated to such exchanges as the following:

"Missile Number Two," the agent intoned, "Zero-Seven-Three-Nine-Seven-Five-Three-Three-Nine-Seven-Six."

"Repeat, Zero-Seven-Three-Seven-Five-Three-Three-Nine-Seven-Six."

"Missile Number Three: Three-Eight-Four-One-Four-One-Eight-Nine-One-Three." "Repeat. Three-Eight-Four-One-Four-One-Eight-Nine-One-Three."

Wake up the kids, call in the dog--this one's a doozy.