Reviews of three new books. When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro (Knopf, 336 pages, $25) "When we were children, when things went wrong, there wasn't much we could do to help put it right. But now we're adults, now we can." Christopher Banks, the detective narrator of Kazuo Ishiguro's new novel, clings to this belief. Unfortunately, for all of Banks' self-proclaimed prowess as a famous detective, he neither knows exactly what went wrong with his own childhood nor how he can put it right. Ishiguro, best known as the author of The Remains of the Day, again gives readers a clearly unreliable narrator. But while the truths Stevens the butler ignored were eminently clear in Remains, Ishiguro raises the stakes in Orphans. When Banks was a boy in prewar Shanghai, his parents vanished. Subsequently growing up in England, he was haunted by their disappearance. Now, in the 1930s, Banks obstinately believes that he can return to Shanghai, solve the mystery and find them alive and well. Though Ishiguro's previous novel The Unconsoled was maddeningly Kafkaesque, Orphans tempers its fantastic elements with solid doses of reality. Ishiguro is in control of every twist and turn, exploring the fragility of memory and identity and the realization that evil, though an imaginary monster in childhood, is a very real presence in the world of adults. As Shanghai falls into the madness of war, Banks descends into the insanity of his own past, and truth becomes increasingly difficult to discern among the rubble. His search, however, leads to powerful discoveries, which confirm Ishiguro's status as a writer of talent and imagination. Dan DeWeese Lying Awake by Mark Salzman (Knopf, 181 pages, $21)   God knows Catholic nuns don't need glamor, mystique or fashion sense. But when one is the central character of a 181-page novel, she should at least be interesting. Sister John, the nun in question in Mark Salzman's Lying Awake, is both lifeless and unmemorable, making this novel a drag. Sister John lives in a Carmelite house (one that requires a vow of silence) in the heart of Los Angeles, where she suffers from severe migraines that are accompanied by fantastic visions of God. When a doctor ascribes the migraines to epilepsy, Sister John must reexamine her faith. These elements should make Lying Awake an intense work of literature, just as Pi was a powerful piece of film. Instead, it falls flat because the good sister lacks personality. Most of the novel is in Sister John's thoughts, though a third of it dwells on her personal history. By the end, though, she remains a stranger, a paper cutout executing the author's will. Salzman sprinkles some pretty profound and pithy aphorisms about God throughout the text. His writing is tight, and many of his metaphors are breathtaking. The chapters are (thank God) short, and the scenes flow easily. Those looking for a few good epigrams to quote at dinner parties will probably find the book a pleasant experience, but a good novel should be more. It should grip your mind like a vise, so that you can't think of anything else while you're reading it, and the world should seem half-askew after passing the last page. Lying Awake just flits about like a down feather, light and uncommanding. Lisa Lambert Dead and Gone by Andrew Vachss (Knopf, 334 pages, $25)   New Yorker-turned-Oregonian Andrew Vachss turns in yet another straight-razor-sharp installment in his ice-eyed, bad-ass Burke series. And while even hardcore fans of Vachss' remorseless avenger could be forgiven for fearing that the series might go stale, Vachss manages to inject enough fresh blood into Burke's cheerless world to propel the character and series. Early on, it's clear that watershed changes are in the works for Burke, whose sleazy milieu, unsentimental attachment to violence and unquenchable hatred for child molesters have become familiar tropes to Vachss fans. For starters, Burke takes a bullet in the face. Barely surviving, he finds himself snared in a conspiracy involving the Russian mafia, skinheads and a shadowy attempt to carve out a political haven for perverts. His increasingly bizarre attempts to suss out the web that binds him form the book's core. Apart from peril to the hero, a quick relocation from New York to Portland also infuses Dead and Gone with energy. While Vachss doesn't treat PDX to the same grimy, intense evocation he's traditionally lavished on Manhattan, the relocation works. For a guy who claims to take no real pleasure in writing, Vachss has honed a smooth delivery that often contrasts sharply with the nastiness that befalls his characters. Unfortunately, as is the case with so many suspense writers, Vachss' strange denouement doesn't match the build-up's tense pitch, although it remains absolutely unpredictable. Still, for those addicted to the bitter sting of Vachss' prose and Burke's bare-knuckled insistence on honesty, loyalty and honor among thieves, Dead and Gone is an exceptionally high-test fix. Zach Dundas