r-^n’->’!.< ,V(f Sf> ) »ni; -J’^iL.nAdventure fiction is vigorously alive. Although virtuallynignored by critics outside specialist newsletters, thengenre has long been a dominant force both in bookstoresnand in Hollywood. Such adventure films as Die Hard, Jaws,nand the Indiana Jones epics draw millions of viewers. TomnClancy’s technological thrillers and Robert Ludlum’s volumesnof struggle and terror reach best-seller lists withnpredictable regularity. And in bookstores of any size, lines ofnpaperback adventure novels, glowing with ferocity, pack thenshelves.nWhether movie or novel, each adventure story contrives,nin its own way, to reflect the anxieties of our times and thenpreoccupations of our culture. On page and screen certainnsubjects are mercilessly reiterated: the dangerous cities. ColdnWar teeterings at the brink of thermonuclear war, ethnicnviolence, drug violence, gun violence, the terrorist assault,nand theft of the singular technological secret that will exposenthe nation to humiliating defeat. Central to the fiction arenproblems of evil, ethical conduct, and moral obligation.nRobert Sampson is a writer from Huntsville, Alabama,nwhose history of adventure fiction heroes, DangerousnHorizons, was published this year by Bowling GreennState University Press. He won the Edgar Awardnfor short story writing from the Mystery Writers ofnAmerica in 1986.n16/CHRONICLESnVIEWSnAdventure FictionnThe Machinery of the Darknby Robert SampsonnnnCoupled with these is an obsessive interest in high technologynand weapons, spilling difficult acronyms across the page.nAnd there is, as well, a decided emphasis on charactersnaccomplished in violence, who deal directly and savagelynwith contemporary problems.nThe narrative action may be driven by the poisonednsubtleties of the Cold War or by criminal conspiracies nestednat the heart of society. Or, perhaps, the evil is a devastatingnnatural force compounded by human greed and shortsightedness.nWhatever the darkness at the core, the adventurennovel presses grimly toward its direct confrontation. PeternBenchley’s 1974 novel Jaws is a prime case in point. As innother adventure stories by Benchley, the subject is thenintrusion of evil into paradise and the consequences ofndenying the presence of that evil. In Jaws, that evil is asnconcentrated as a boil. But commercial interests deny thenneed for action, and delay permits the evil to ravagenunchecked. A similar situation develops in Benchley’s ThenDeep (1976). Honeymooners skin-diving in Bermuda discovernsunken gold, and when they secretly attempt to securenthe treasure they are set upon by hijackers. Secrecy compoundsntheir problems, and only after much anguish do theynearn a bitter victory. Similarly, in The Island (1979) therenlurks a secret colony of pirates who have ravaged thenBahamas for generations. Scores of ships have simplynvanished. As in Jaws, no one will acknowledge the obvious.n