First published in 1994, Disclosure by Michael Crichton, is
one of those novels based on actual events, though this is not made clear until
the end of the book, in an ‘afterword’. Whether that information would have
made any difference to my reading is an unknown. It reads like fiction, so I
read it in that spirit.
The stated theme is that of sexual harassment and its
potentially corrosive effects on both corporations and society in general.
Written at a time when such complaints were increasingly being made by men
against female employers, it examines the subject in detail, without ever
making it into a treatise. The facts and ideas emerge naturally as part of the
plot, as guided by the characters. So, it’s a cleverly constructed work. There
was, for me, another underlying theme, though I’m not certain the author
presented it consciously: I hope he did. That other idea concerns the corrupt
foundation that underpins many commercial ideas and actions. The presentation
of many characters as ruthless, uncaringly ambitious and utterly devoid of any
moral compass creates an atmosphere in which even a flawed hero can appear
almost saintly by comparison.
There were times, early in the book, when I was unsure
whether I would read to the end. For reasons that have nothing to do with the
story, I had to read it in a number of small bites. Only the last third of the
450 pages was I able read in anything like uninterrupted form, which was just
as well, since the denouement starts early and builds very well over these last
pages. But the reason for my initial hesitation was twofold. There’s a deal of
inconsequential detail; the sort of thing that apprentice writers are warned
against: what someone had for breakfast, the processes of domestic living, etc.
The second barrier was the amount of technical information given in the form of
either business or product-specific jargon, often without sufficient explanation.
Having been involved in both business and computers during my lengthy
employment, I was able to interpret enough of this to make it at least
comprehensible. But I suspect many could be thoroughly confused by it, and I
doubt it was essential to the story; less technical descriptions could have
been given instead.
However, I’m glad I persevered. The story grew more engaging
as I learned more about the main characters and came to care what happened to
them; both good and bad. It’s an absolutely essential aspect of the story for
me: without at least one character I can empathise with, I’m unlikely to finish
a novel. Fortunately, due to good writing, there were many well-written and
engaging characters in this tale.
Lauded as ‘The thriller that opened a new chapter on the sex
wars’, this is a book that allows the modern reader to more thoroughly
understand the mechanisms, philosophies, emotions and ambitions that drive some
of the sexual harassment cases that continue to be made by both genders.
Is it a good read? The curate’s egg comes to mind, but, once
over the unnecessary detail and jargon, I found the book illuminating,
interesting and even engaging. So, for me, this turned out to be a good read in
spite of its flaws. And I’d recommend it to those who have some knowledge of
business and the world of computing. For others, it may be sensible to have a
dictionary of business terms and another of computer jargon to guide them
through the sometimes cryptic language.
Adam Bromley’s Unknown
Unknowns is a spy thriller set in a non-existent land and featuring a
feisty female protagonist. It has the usual cast of educated gentlemanly
service head, fanatically loyal killing machine sidekick and a clutch of
suitably villainous baddies. 
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