Hygiene and the Assassin

Hygiene and the Assassin – Amelie Nothomb; Europa; 2010

Amélie Nothomb’s first novel, Hygiene and the Assassin was first published in 1992.  The English edition was published by Europa Editions in 2010.  I read this novel in February of 2013.  At 167 pages, I was not entirely sure what to expect.  Anything I read of the author always highlights her multicultural personal life.

I do not have a lot to say about this novel.  I did not really like it.  First of all, a lot of the novel is vulgar.  It harkens back to Louis-Ferdinand Céline and his writings – off-color, politically-incorrect, and vibrant.   Nevertheless, it is not easy to emulate really good authors and, in many cases, it is not always a good idea.  Oddly, I found this novel even more vulgar than one would find Céline’s.   Yes, the language is vulgar, but so are the topics.  I am an adult, I am not a Puritan – so my concept of “vulgar” is a bit more critical.  When I say vulgar I mean to suggest a work that is vulgar and also does not have to be.  So, language and topic is, at times, vulgar – but when I look at the whole concept of the novel, I do not think this was necessary for the story.  Does it work with the story? Yes. Is it the only way for the story to work? No.  And there you have it.

Second problem:  Jean-Paul Sartre.  I am not a fan of existentialism and I am an even bigger not-fan of Sartre.  I really, really dislike him.  And his “philosophy.”  If I knew him personally – he is not someone I would trust.  Also, I find his “philosophy” to be pathetic.  In general, I find existentialism to be what people who want to pretend to be philosophers talk about. You know, dilettantes and such.  So, you can find people in Starbucks discussing authenticity while a copy of Being and Nothingness sits on the table.  All of this scene is repugnant to me.  Kierkegaard was alright. . . . I will have no truck with Sartre. I mean it:  I am so not sharing my truck with him.

In Nothomb’s novel she is really heavy-handed with the Sartrean concept of bad faith.  If you do not know what is meant by the terminology “bad faith,” you will probably miss a lot of the “depth” of this novel.  However, if you do not, in general, know about this terminology or concept, it’s okay because you are not really missing anything profound.  (Oh I know my dislike of existentialism is dripping here… sorry.) “Bad faith,” like many concepts developed in existentialism, seems to me to just be a pile of empty verbiage.  Yeah, sure, okay, sounds cool….. and then what?!

The main character is an author.  His name is Prétextat Tach.  He has been diagnosed with cancer and has only a couple of months to live.  In the meantime, this Nobel Prize winner is being interviewed by journalists eager to get the scoop on this reclusive and misanthropic writer.  The entire novel takes place in Tach’s “apartment” and almost all of the novel is in dialogue form.  This is all a big conversation/interview.  Again, some readers find this sort of storytelling to be tedious.  I, personally, do not mind it, and I find that it reads quickly.  However, in some places it just seems too obnoxious and fake.  Ultimately, this is the same sense that I got from the usage of existentialism and Sartre in this novel:  seems too fake and forced.  And well, yeah, isn’t that really the overarching scenario; i.e. authenticity.

I read the novel quickly, was repulsed in some parts, was vaguely entertained in parts.  When the ending came along I kind of saw where it was going and felt it was a bit drawn out.   Nevertheless, you can mostly guess what will happen.  Well, it happened, I went: “Huh.” …. and moved on to the next book.  There just is not anything really and truly awesome and deep in this one.  It’s not a wretched concept, but I think there are some pieces that did not come together perfectly.  However, I will be merciful and reiterate that this is the author’s first novel.

There are only two pages that I was able to draw anything worthwhile from.  I want to share what the main character says here about people who read:

There are a great many people who push sophistication to the point of reading without reading.  They’re like frogmen, they go through books without absorbing a single drop of water.  Those are the frog-readers.  They make up the vast majority of human readers, and yet I only discovered their existence quite late in life.  I am so terribly naive.  I thought that everyone read the way I do.  For I read the way I eat:  that means not only do I need to read, but also, and above all, that reading becomes one of my components and modifies them all.  You are not the same person depending on whether you have eaten blood pudding or caviar; nor are you the same person depending on whether you have just read Kant (God help us) or Queneau.  Well, when I say “you,” I should say “I myself and a few others,” because the majority of people emerge from reading Proust or Simenon in an identical state:  they have neither lost a fraction of what they were nor gained a single additional fraction.  They have read, that’s all:  in the best-case scenario, they know “what it’s about.”  And I’m not exaggerating.  How often have I asked intelligent people, “Did this book change you?” And they look at me, their eyes wide, as if to say, “Why should a book to change me?”  . . . . . .  Most people do not read.  In this regard, there is an excellent quotation by an intellectual whose name I have forgotten:  “Basically, people do not read; or, if they do read, they don’t understand; or, if they do understand, they forget.”

The character who says all of this is convinced he is never read – and certainly never read by the readers who actually are changed by reading his works.  The character is really a complete psycho who utilizes sophistry and who snarls and insults everyone.  But finally, at the end of his life, he is met by someone who has truly “read” his works and who sits across from him representing the things that he despises, doubts, and denies.  Bad faith. etc. the end.

2 stars

The Magicians

The Magicians – Lev Grossman; Viking; 2009

The Magicians by Lev Grossman was released in 2009.  I finally got it in 2013 at a used book library sale.  For a dollar. I had seen it a couple of times for $3 for a new tradeback copy at Books-a-Million, but I passed it over and it was all sold out eventually.  Color me pleased when I found it in January for $1 for the hardback.  By that time, I had read a number of reviews on Amazon.com and Goodreads.com.   Reviewers keep reiterating that it is like an “adult Harry Potter” novel.  Well, no, I do not think it is.  Not that I have read the Harry Potter books, but I feel if you go into the novel thinking that you are setting incorrect expectations. Bottom line here:  Not an adult Harry Potter. Don’t believe the hype, folks.

The storyline itself is actually well-written.  Scenes move reasonably into other scenes, characters develop at a good pace, clues and hints throughout the story come back and play roles, and the balance between description and action is decent.  The conversation dialogue is actually fairly accurate for the characters.  It does include “adult language.” (It’s not adult – it’s called “cussin,’ folks.)  There is not an overabundance of hefty vocabulary (Cp. China Mieville) to bludgeon the reader with the author’s intelligence.  Some of the more causal speak actually seems forced – as if the author is more comfortable writing formally than colloquially.  For example, the phrase: “But still.”  What the heck does that mean? Nothing. It’s just a spoken phrase that has worked its way into everyday parlance. Things that like that pepper the novel; perhaps to give the reader the sense of reading about teenagers and college students.

And this is why I insist that the book is more like Donna Tartt’s The Secret History than the Harry Potter novels. The book is about smart, rich, entitled kids who are magicians.  They go to a secret University in order to formally train in magic.  Magic is not a thing of wonder and surprise. In this novel, magic is much more like a martial art, a skilled trade, or a scientific field.  The University is not a fun and mystical place.  So, if you expect the Escher-like corridors of Hogwart’s or the silliness of Wonderland – forget it.  That’s not what this novel is doing and complaining about this novel because it actually isn’t those novels is faulty.

The characters are easily dislikeable.  Really. I mean, who does not dislike young adults who are practically hedonistic and whine about how they are misunderstood and their lives are boring?  And this is not entirely unheard of.  I am sure Grossman has run across plenty of college students who have this air about them.  In fact, having spent some time in universities, I can vouch for the fact that some students even put on this sort of act because they feel this is how students are “supposed” to be.   If the average reader finds this all very abhorrent and toxic, well, they are probably overreacting.  It’s easy to hate characters for not being how we think they should be or because we are jealous of them, or because they are so very different from us.  But a good reader can move past that feeling and realize they are not the author and it’s not their story.

The main character is Quentin Coldwater.  He’s not a bad character, all things considered.  He is a bit tentative and cowardly, but very few young adults are actually authentically confident and secure.  He makes mistakes – not really bad ones, but things have a tendency to snowball on him.  And while it is good that he finds people at the University that he can belong among, they are also not the greatest influences he could find, either.  But that is exactly how real life is.  Perfection is somewhat rare in the real world.  I like Quentin well enough and I do feel bad for him at times. Some times I wish he would pull his head out of his butt and think.  Sometimes I understand him completely:

It was a glorious relief.  The numbness of it was just magnificent.  At the moment when it had been at its most intolerably painful, the world, normally so unreliable and insensitive in these matters, had done him the favor of vanishing completely.  — pg. 252

The character Alice Quinn is pretty cool as well. I really enjoyed the foray into her parents’ home – that was creative and interesting writing.  In fact, just because Grossman’s concept of magic is not that of Tolkien’s or Rowling’s does not mean his is weak or stupid. In fact, of them – his is actually the most fleshed out and developed.  He shows us magic in a variety of settings and uses.  And he presents a somewhat darker image of it – not the starry-eyed kiddos’ of Hogwarts.  Anyway, Alice is probably the best magician and student of the bunch.  She’s interesting and she is a good character to match with Quentin.  Their story develops and as it continues, I think readers have a lot of respect for her for a number of reasons.  Her insightfulness, her bravery, and her dedication.

I found Eliot to be the most tedious of characters.  In a lot of ways, he’s the most stereotypical character – one wants to say “yeah, he’s in the story because every story has one of him.”  I disliked him and I suppose he has a role to play, but honestly, he is arrogant and crass and a lot less likeable than the others.  He does take that archetypal character in a University, though. The aloof loner who is uppity and yet slums with the losers on occasion.

The novel uses the tools that C. S. Lewis and J. K. Rowling created.  I do not think this is a bad thing. I think it’s fairly gutsy and interesting.  I think readers who focus on the similarities and spend time calling Grossman’s work derivative are missing the good of The Magicians.  Using the tools the other authors provide, Grossman is telling us a different story.  The thing that I do not really like about Grossman’s story is the existentialist feeling it has.  Existentialism (to me) always seems dreary and navel-gazing. So, it was this element that weighed the novel down – and yes, at places, this is a heavy dismal thing.  Nevertheless, the ending leads us right into the sequel.  Maybe by then readers will stop comparing the novel to what it isn’t and read it for what it is?  And what it is, is a question of how much hope and redemption Quentin Coldwater can find in any world – Earth or Fillory.

2 stars

October the First is Too Late

October the First is Too Late – Fred Hoyle; Fawcett-Crest, 1968.

October the First is Too Late by Fred Hoyle was first published in 1966.  The edition that I have is the Fawcett Crest 1968 edition. I do not know who the cover artist was – but this is one of my favorite pre-1980 science fiction book covers. Fred Hoyle is the British astronomer and mathematician (1915 – 2001) who was knighted in 1972.  Sir Hoyle was also one of the scientists who were outspoken regarding the “big bang” theory.

October the First is Too Late is not a good read by any standard. Really.  However, Hoyle warns us about this in the brief “To The Reader” paragraph at the beginning of the book. He writes:

The “science” in this book is mostly scaffolding for the story, story-telling in the traditional sense. However, the discussions of the significance of the time and of the meaning of consciousness are intended to be quite serious, as also the contents of chapter fourteen.

Hoyle was a good scientist. He had good schooling, studied well, published actively.  Although his positions on major natural science arguments may have been unpopular, I like that he defended his position and stuck to it. Also, I want to mitigate some of his stubbornness because he was of an older generation of scientists that had to confront a great deal of speedy advances in technology and science. He was born a few years after my grandparents – and frankly, I cannot imagine them ever having adapted quickly or smoothly to the technology of even the 1950s, much less the 1990s.

This book is a first-person narrative, told to us by a musician. The musician is good friends with a Nobel Laureate named John Sinclair.  Because of this friendship, the musician gets involved in matters by association. For example, he meets the prime minister, he travels with the Navy, he hangs out with scientists, etc.  On his own, however, he is admittedly a bit unschooled in natural science and he does not really offer anything else other than musical skill.

And I appreciate Hoyle’s understanding of music.  Each chapter is subtitled with musical terminology; for example: fugue, tempo di minuetto, andante con moto, etc.  The main character is a pianist of some standing and throughout the book he plays the piano.  In fact, this is one of the more absurd moments in the book:  he drags a piano to Ancient Athens. A piano.

See, the world has shifted in such a way (something to do with a pseudo-beam of light a la PKD’s VALIS) that multiple points of time are existing in various places around the globe.  So, it is 1966 in Great Britain, but it is WWI in France and Germany. Russia is very nearly the end of the world – where the surface of the earth is nothing but hardened, featureless glass.  Greece is in the age of Pericles and North America is wilderness.  There’s the science fiction in the novel. It all starts because of a birthmark – which Hoyle does tie in to the conclusion – yet I can make no real sense of what he was trying to do with this little plot device.

But while this concept would be really cool to explore and in the hands of a good author would really be a heck of an adventure, Hoyle just plods along with our somewhat dreary and banal main character. Who brings a piano to ancient Greece?! Farcical!  So, instead of being a wicked time-space mashup, we get long-winded thoughts regarding music theory.  But it’s serious music theory – it helps if you are familiar with Schubert and Chopin.  And here when I say “familiar,” I mean you can actually recognize their work.  I liked Hoyle’s explanations of notes/tonality – it gave me more to think about. Music theory can be difficult to understand – because of the jargon. This explanation made me want to listen to Arnold Schoenberg and see what I hear after having read this novel.

At 160 pages, this should be a fast read. However, it was incredibly boring and absurd. Not a good absurd either.  It was pathetic at points in terms of novel/literature/fiction aspects.  Basically, if you are reading this for exciting science fiction – forget it, you will be completely and certainly disappointed. Maybe even annoyed.  However, if you want a semi-interesting read about music, this book might interest you.  I have to praise chapter twelve because it was, for me, the only interesting and exciting chapter in the novel.  It has a lot of interesting ideas and can conjure some fun images – if only this chapter were expanded and by a better author.

The chapter fourteen that Hoyle mentioned above depicts a very dismal and wretched human history that is doomed to repeat itself.  Apparently, humans are miserable and are meant to live in discord and violence.  We learn about the history of the earth and how cataclysmic human-initiated events devastate the earth and the animals (including humans). Eventually, the last chapters depict the “final humanity” which is resigned to it’s fate:  that of not even trying to learn from mistakes and avoid catastrophe, but willing to simply live until they are no more.  I read some dystopian stuff – but the last chapters in this book are probably some of the most dismal and despairing ever. So, it leaves the reader with a dismal feeling after having read a rather poor novel.

2 stars

They Shall Have Stars

They Shall Have Stars – James Blish; Avon 1966

They Shall Have Stars by James Blish was published in 1956.  The edition that I read was the Avon 1966 paperback copy. They Shall Have Stars is the first novel in the Cities in Flight collection by Blish.  The four “novels” were collected into one omnibus by Avon in 1970, which I also own.  The trickiest part of understanding this collection is that several of the “novels” are actually fix-up pieces that Blish originally published in the famous Astounding Science Fiction magazine. For example, from what I could dig up, there are two relevant issues of Astounding that relate to They Shall Have Stars.  The February 1952 issue and the May 1954 issue contain stories that eventually became this novel.

Blish wrote a short three-paragraph author’s note for the front of the Avon 1966 edition.   It’s actually really helpful if you are attempting to read Blish’s work or attempting to read Cities in Flight. He writes:

This first volume of Cities in Flight is a prologue to the work as a whole, and hence contains neither any flying cities nor any characters in common with the remaining three volumes.  Instead, it undertakes to show the circumstances under which the two fundamental inventions which made the Okie cities possible were discovered. . . . . We begin in 2018 A.D.. . . .  and the events here cover about two years.  There is a leap of several centuries before Cities in Flight proper begins, and thereafter the action is continuous through the remaining three volumes, all the way to 4004 A.D.

The writing of Cities in Flight occupied me, off and on, from 1948 to 1962, and like many such long projects, the order of composition of its parts wasn’t orderly at all, and was further complicated by the publishing history.

I think that is about as good as an explanation of the chronology of these novels as any.  And it’s authoritative because it’s direct from the author himself.  So, what we have learned so far is that, though this was not an actual novel at first, nor was it the first novel in the series published, you read this one first.

However, you may be disappointed.  (As we science fiction geeks usually are with prequels/prologues, etc.)  Since this particular novel takes place prior to the “big events” in the other novels (which I have not yet read), it leaves a lot to be desired in terms of action and events in the storyline.  This is why I wrestled with giving this novel 2 or 3 stars for it’s rating.  As a prologue, it deserves three full stars.  It does everything a prologue ought to do – including not running on and on longer than it should.  This novel does a solid job of providing the setting; it presents the scientific and political milieu for the year 2018, which sets up the rest of the Cities in Flight storyarc.  Published in the mid-1950s, we are also given an image of rampant McCarthyism and the Blish’s negative view of it.  I have always been rather hateful towards McCarthyism.  It’s, oddly, still alive and well even today and so I sympathize with Blish’s view.

This is the dystopian aspect in the novel.  There is a very clear-cut distinction made between The West and The Soviets.  This is all apropos of the 1950s. But what is surprising and refreshing is that while Blish utilizes this obnoxious us/them dichotomy, he also chooses to simply step outside of it.  This is how, in the novel, McCarthyism (represented by the character MacHinery) is defeated.  The novel tells us that The Soviets (knowingly or unknowingly) have defeated The West – not by overcoming them in military struggle, but by gradually developing the zeitgeist of The West into one similar to The Soviets. i.e. secretive, stagnant, repressive, and full of witch-hunting. There is a lot of identity/alterity philosophy combined with political ideology inherent in this idea that would be great for someone to make a thesis out of.  Blish doesn’t really preach at us at all, though. He just tells us this is what has happened and we calmly step on outside of this paradigm with him.

On Jupiter the reader is treated to the “hard science” of the science fiction side of this prologue story.  There are mathematical equations here. Chemistry diagrams depicting molecular structure.  There’s not a lot of them – but there they are, and Blish makes it seem like he really actually tried to make all of this believable and realistic.  In fact, one of the best things about this novel is the utilization of the scientific properties of ice.  Yes, ice – the frozen state of water, so to speak.  Did you know that ice actually has about fifteen stages of solidity determined by temperature and/or pressure? I feel like I knew some of this in a very vague way – but since I read this novel, my imagination is having a blast thinking about ice.  Anyway, because the phases are relative to pressure/temperature – Blish explores ice on the planet Jupiter, which has crazy temperatures and pressure that can challenge scientists.

Because that is the other really big idea being put forth in this novel.  The state of scientific inquiry under an era of Soviet-ideology/McCarthyism/1950s.  One character (a respected scientist) says that the scientific method no longer works.  Several characters wrestle, throughout the novel, with the problem of whether or not the “really big science experiments/projects” are a thing of the past and are no longer feasible or important.  Where does humanity stand with regard to “gigantic research projects”?  Some of this is political in nature, some of it is economic. Some of it is just plain biological – humans do not live long enough to bother with the gigantic project. So, this novel plays with some of these questions and presents a few tentative, subtle responses.

However, throughout this review, you’ll notice I have not talked about the characters or the action or the events in the novel. Because, really, there is not anything worth saying. While this novel is an excellent prologue, it is clearly a prologue that is solely designed to set up the rest of Cities in Flight.  Nothing really happens in this novel.  The reader will have a strong sense of the story never getting started, never going anywhere, and wondering if there really is a story in there at all.  At the end of the novel – there are some cool ideas and this is obviously an introduction to a future humanity.  So that is why it gets two stars for a rating as novel qua novel.  Ultimately, that’s what I have to give as the final rating, too, since I review novels here – not prologues.

2 stars

Rogue Moon

Rogue Moon by Algis Budrus; Avon; 1974

Rogue Moon by Algis Budrys was published in 1960.  It was nominated for the 1961 Hugo Award – but lost to A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller jr.  Generally, it seems I do not rate award-winning science fiction books very highly.  I do wonder if this is because I subconsciously expect awesomeness and therefore raise the bar unconsciously when reading them.  I know some people might suggest that some of these novels are “dated” and that’s why I don’t “like” them, but that’s not the case.  I have no problem with novels being “dated.”  I have had this on my to-be-read list for a trillion billion years and I even started it and made it to page 60.  Then I got aggravated with it and chucked it aside for months and months. Finally, I picked it up again.

I was most interested in the novel not because it was a Hugo nominee, but because of the author.  Budrys is a Lithuanian-American.  This is significant to me. Also, this past year I have been reading a lot of Eastern European writers. For example, Bulgakov, Goncharov, Nabokov, Lem, et al.  I have another novel by Budrys that I intend to read – the fact that I did not love this novel did not put me off of the author, but I can’t say that I was not disappointed with Rogue Moon.

I love the science fiction concept and idea that Budrys wants the story to tell.  I want to have a 400-page novel about it and have it be really good.  However, that seems to be the smallest part of this book, oddly enough. Instead, the novel is filled with the two-dimensional characters who are incredibly egotistical and who like to make speeches in each others’ presence.  There are about four major characters in the novel.  The main two are the daredevil macho man named Al Barker and the sullen scientist Edward Hawks.  Many pages of the book take place at Barker’s mansion. I absolutely abhor all of these scenes and they are what made me drop the book in the first place.

Seriously, what happens is that these egotistical 2D characters lounge around the pool and the house grating on each others nerves and having temper tantrums.  Barker’s girlfriend, Claire Pack, hangs out there.  Much of the novel purports to explore her psychoses – and, as a reader, I disliked her immediately.  She’s wretched.  Now, I know that these scenes are supposed to be some sort of psychological exploration of these characters in the context that they are not the average, normal members of mass society. They are all “screwy” in their own way – so it is supposed to be interesting to see how they interact with each other and what their perspectives are on various topics.  That’s what’s supposed to happen. Instead, I felt like I was at a really hideous pool party wherein only self-centered, immature wackos were invited. Their musings on topics is painful.

The main topic is the concept of man qua man.  What is a man? And further, what is it for a man to die – what is the death of a man?  This is really the whole point of the science fiction in the novel. Sure, the plot is somewhat about a large alien artefact found on the Moon. People enter and explore it, but are inevitably killed for violating the unknown alien rules in force within the structure. But this whole (and really cool) science fiction item is kept very vague and is only a plot device so that the characters can do self-discovery and ruminate on death.

“The thing is, the universe is dying! Bit by bit over the countless billions of years it’s slowly happening. It’s all running down. Some day it’ll stop.  Only one thing in the entire universe grows fuller, and richer, and forces its way uphill. Intelligence – human lives – we’re the only things there are that don’t obey the universal law. . . . But our minds, there’s the precious thing; there’s the phenomenon that has nothing to do with time and space except to use them – to describe to itself the lives our bodies live in the physical Universe.” – pg. 167

That is the best quote, I think, in the novel.  Don’t think that the novel is full of such insight. Sometimes, what seems profundity is really just navel-gazing.  And while the rumination on what man is and how he dies in the universe can be philosophical, I really wanted the science to be there. I wanted to learn about the item on the moon. I wanted to be creeped out by alien technology and to read the scientific insights into how the artefact works.  I wanted to see the humans discover, learn, and conquer.  Instead, I am not entirely sure that they characters even conquer themselves. Maybe a little. I don’t know. The psychological aspects of people who are not the norm do not make good survey samples.

Overall, the novel is simply not what I expected.  There are sections that are tedious and wretched.  There are times when I feel the characters are preachy.  In the end, I think that people who enjoyed this novel did so because they liked the light pseudo-philosophy running through it – and not the science fiction elements.  However, the philosophy itself just isn’t enough for me to give this novel any good marks. The two stars is a gift. I just think it’s better than the 1 star books I’ve read.

2 stars

The Man in the High Castle

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick; Mariner Books 2011

The Man in the High Castle is the fourth Philip K. Dick novel that I have read.  It was first published in 1962 and it won a Hugo Award in 1963.  I will state right away that I am only giving the novel two stars because I have read better from PKD. Also, this novel was not as easy to breeze through and immerse within as the other novels by PKD that I have read were.  I think that the concepts in this novel are five-star concepts, no doubt. But I am docking for execution.

This is easily a good novel for discussing lots of philosophical ideas.  It would probably be best read within a reading group.  Some of the neat philosophical ideas PKD throws out there include:

• historicity
• notion of fakes/counterfeits versus value of original/authentic
• the Japanese concept of Satori
• duties to State versus duties to Self

But overall, the part of the novel that makes it qualify as science fiction is that it presents an alternate reality. I want to say a bit more on this point, but that would involve giving away spoilers.  Suffice it to say, PKD again makes the reader question reality – is this the really real or a false reality?

There are a whole mess of characters in this novel and the plot does not necessarily just hinge on one of them alone. I think I prefer books with a clear main character. I sometimes had a difficult time remember who was who and what and where. I hope your German is better than mine, because I had no mind for German names, phrases, or places. However, if you are a WWII buff, you may find this book of some interest.

Anyway, the character that I liked the most and followed most avidly was Nobusuke Tagomi – a trade missioner in Japanese-controlled San Francisco.  I think it is with this character that PKD gives his all in terms of character development and also the thread of the I Ching that runs through the novel.  Tagomi is the only character that I could feel sympathy for and was interested in. I think this is because PKD manages to pull off an “authentic” traditional Japanese persona here, whereas with the other characters, they are only playacting at their heritage/ethnicity.  For example, most of the Germans seem too obvious and the other Asian characters seem almost simulacra of stereotypes or something.

One thing this novel excels at – without a doubt – is presenting the concept of authentic/false.  This is done with objects, art, people, countries, beliefs, names, and even such small details as hair color and clothing.  This novel could really just be a study in simulacra and simulation. (In case you’re curious, no, no connection from Baudrillard’s book, which was published in 1981.)  If you are interested in the Philosophy of Art and are curious about the ideas of forgeries and fakes versus imitation – this would probably interest you, as well.

Ultimately, this book would interest a lot of readers for a variety of different reasons and aspects. However, the one group I do not really recommend it for is the science fiction audience.  This book is a little less psychological and a little less science fiction than the other PKD books that I have read, and maybe that is why I am only giving it two stars.

I hated the character Juliana Frink with great animosity. As soon as we meet her in the novel, I want to make her go away. It kind of sucks that she ends up as a device for the big reveal at the end. Overall, I find her to be a hideous person and I do not know who PKD modeled her after, but I am sorry for them.  Juliana is an annoying, sickening, vexing character. A novel with her in it cannot get more than two stars, sorry!  Also, I am starting to believe maybe the Hugo Awards are on crack…..

2 stars

Gateway

Gateway by Frederik Pohl; Del Rey

Gateway was published in 1977 by Frederik Pohl.  It won a heap of awards including the 1978 Hugo Award for Best Novel,the 1978 Locus Award for Best Novel, the 1977 Nebula Award for Best Novel, and the 1978 John W. Campbell Award.  The cover of the edition I read is an example of the awesome artwork created by John Picacio.  You should go visit his website and be on the lookout for books with his covers. His artwork is fantastic.

So, how does a novel that won all those awards (won more, was nominated for a bunch more) and have such a beautiful cover suck so much?  I am extremely disappointed in this novel.  For one thing, this was the first Pohl work I’ve read and disliking this work so much does not bode well for future forays into his writing.  Another thing is that I was really hyped to read Pohl since he is considered a “Grandmaster” of science fiction.  After all, look at all the awards this novel and it’s author have won? Surely, if there was a book that was going to rock the house – this has got to be it, right?

Well, and it was a ridiculous chore to acquire this book.  Bookstore did not have it (shock…) and I had to order it. I actually had to order it thrice, and it took about three months to get it shipped to the store.  I am not going to order books from that store location anymore.  Now, I know this has nothing to do with Pohl or Gateway – but it was a sure omen that I ignored.  And, well, it did not help that after finally getting the book in hand I was practically ravenous for reading it. And then WHAM! let down.

The structure of the book is pretty neat. I really like how there are three sections happening simultaneously.  One is the past (but told as if it is still present) which takes place on Gateway and involves all the coolest aspects of the storyline.  One part is the current time in which the main character visits his psychiatrist, Sigfrid. This is unique because the psychiatrist is a machine – a computer.  The third, and lesser, section is the miscellany from the explorations and studies related to Gateway.  These are cool and would be good fodder for the series.

The main character, Robinette Broadhead, is infinitely hateable. I do not mean that I dislike the character – I mean I pretty much despise him.  He’s a whiney, cowardly, selfish jerk.  He only goes to Gateway because (1.) he wins the lottery to do so; (2.) he’s looking for a get-rich-fast scheme to get out of his miserable life.  He has mommy issues, he has girlfriend issues, and he has money issues.  He’s consumed by guilt. Well, I guess it’s not difficult to see why he sees a shrink.

Gateway is a planet that is a portal and space-dock that was constructed by the presumably extinct Heechee alien race.  They left their ships and their tunnels and cleaned up all the rest of the artefacts.  Basically, the Heechee are a big mystery, but the Corporation finances “prospectors” to get into completely uncontrollable Heechee ships and fly out into space.  The ships control themselves to whatever destinations the Heechee have programmed into them.  Most prospectors do not return alive. Some do. Some return with information or artefacts, which the Corporation buys and pays out royalties for. Hence, the prospectors’ get-rich dreams.

I have two problems with this plot. (1.)  it makes humans seem like they have lost all of their technological and scientific ingenuity. Sure, they are attempting to reverse-engineer Heechee things, but throughout the novel, humans seem woefully clueless. (2.)  the Corporation paying out huge sums based on a random rubric for the prospectors’ efforts seems off – humanity is supposedly struggling – hungry or impoverished in general (except for the ultra-rich).  So who is buying/selling the Heechee info and items? To whom? And why? There seems to be a supply/demand issue that isn’t really thought out perfectly. There are options that Pohl could have used, but he doesn’t get into it and it leaves a little bit of a blank there.

For the majority of the book, Robinette mopes around Gateway trying to trick himself into working up the courage to go out in a ship.  His friend Shicky makes the best point in the whole novel:

You don’t need so much courage. You only need courage for one day:  just to get in the ship and go.  Then you don’t have to have courage anymore, because you don’t anymore have a choice. – pg. 233, chapter 26

However, throughout the book in the sections where Robinette is seeing Sigfrid it is presented to the reader that Robinette has become very rich.  By chapter 26, the reader still does not get the how and where. While on Gateway, Robinette blows money left and right at the bar and the casino.

The worst part of the book, which makes it hover a bit closer to a one star rating, is the R-rated sex throughout the book. No, there are not graphic detailed scenes – this isn’t (thankfully) erotica.  However, Robinette confuses sex for love, uses sex to distract himself from his cowardice, taunts Sigfrid with Freudian Oedipal comments, continually is agitated by the character Dane Metchnikov, and, once off of Gateway, runs through girls like they are paper towels.  There is one scene where Robinette gets a bit physically violent with his supposed-girlfriend, and does so in front of a young child.  And there is the last paragraph of chapter 25, which is really horrendous and actually made me want to chuck the book into a wall. Dreck.  None of this wins any points for the novel.  In fact, I mention this here, because there are not too many people to whom I would recommend this novel because of these parts. Some reviewers have commented that this is typical of 1970s mentality – I don’t think so; I have read bunches of books from the 1970s and I don’t really feel like making excuses for this dreck. I suppose the title is supposed to be punny…..

None of the marvel, grand adventure, wonder, or awe that is found in the best science fiction space-going novels.

Two stars is kind of a gift.  This is science fiction. But if someone was looking for great reads in science fiction, I would not suggest this.  Why all the awards? Maybe 1977/1978 was just a really bad year for science fiction novels.

2 stars

Despair

Despair by V. Nabokov; Vintage International

Despair was first published (in Russian) in 1936, Nabokov edited and revised it for the English translation in 1965.  This is the second Nabokov novel that I have read, the first was Lolita; although, I do own Pale Fire and Invitation to a Beheading.  I absolutely despise Lolita and am not sure that Despair is any better of a novel.  I do want to read The Defense.  I do not honestly know how much more Nabokov I can take – if The Defense is no good, I swear off of the author forever.

I know that by saying anything against Nabokov, it is almost as if I am making myself into some sort of literature-pariah and that I chance no one taking seriously anything that I further say.  Make no mistake, I understand Nabokov’s literature – I understand his writing, the allegories, themes, color, lyricism, etc.  I just do not like it.  I find his writing to be tedious, interruptive, stupid, and immoral.  Without a doubt, the feeling I get from reading Nabokov’s writing is that he is unbearably arrogant and obnoxious.

I have read Russians – the classic group of them (no need to list them) – and I think they are the greatest of writers. Nabokov does not deserve, in my opinion, to be counted among them.  I never can see what readers find in his work. I am beginning to suspect that actually no one really likes his work, they just feel it is their duty to nod their heads and agree with everyone else.  I cannot be one of those people – I dislike Nabokov’s writing and reserve the right to do so in the future.

Reading Despair was a chore. It was a bore – I hated the narrator-character immensely.  Actually, there wasn’t a single character I liked at all. The writing (supposedly that of the main character) was wretched and all over the place (presumably to designate his state of mind or WHATEVER…) but through it all, once again, seeped Nabokov’s wretched arrogance.

So, why did the main character plot and carry out his own murder? Was it for the insurance money? The thrill of it all? Because he fancied himself part of the great mystery-drama that he was writing?  Frankly, I just don’t care.  I am sure in stuffy classrooms across the globe students attempt to plum possible responses to these questions for their mid-term papers.  However, I just don’t care why the character did it.

Maybe there was no actual murder and such. Maybe it was all part of the story-within-a-story. Again, I really don’t give a rip.  Just like the idea that the main character has a double who looks like him – but only to him. Everyone else fails to see the resemblance. Was there a resemblance or wasn’t there? And just why does the main character think there is one? And, most importantly, does anyone care? Not I, surely.

I was uninterested in the tribulations of a self-congratulatory author (main character), the arrogance of Nabokov’s writing, the attempts at vaguely replaying Crime & Punishment, the pseudo-mental anguish of the main character.  Nabokov, you waste my time – I despair of reading any more of your works.

2 stars

The Trial

The Trial by Franz Kafka; Schocken Books; 1984

Years ago I read the three “major” Kafka works:  The Castle, The Trial, and The Metamorphosis.  I really enjoyed the The Castle and I was okay with The Metamorphosis.  Well, I am recently reading a “genre” of books that The Trial sort of can be categorized within, so I finally scrounged up a used copy for $4.00 and read it again.

The Trial was originally published in 1925, after Kafka’s death.  It is considered “unfinished,” but it does come to an end of sorts.  The edition I read is the “Definitive” edition (as opposed to the “Critical”) and translated by Edwin and Willa Muir.  Anyway, my copy was published in 1984 by Schocken Books, the cover illustration is by Anthony Russo.  The cover for this edition is pretty neat, actually, so I will also say that the cover design was by Louise Fili – nicely done!

The Trial – if you don’t know – is about a bank clerk named Joseph K. who is “arrested” and spends his time coping with what this may mean.  To be quite honest, I am not really into the “existentialist scene.”  By this I mean that I really dislike Albert Camus, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Soren Kirkegaard.  If you have read that The Trial raises “existential questions” or something like this, I cannot speak to the veracity of it.  I suppose it does, but I find existentialism tedious and pathetic.

The noir-existential story of being “under arrest” and “having a case” all without knowing the charges or the accusers is actually an interesting concept.  Fighting the unknown minions of an “Establishment/System” is also a well-trod path in literature, which never seems to grow old.  However, Kafka is inconsistent and unable to maintain the greatness of these concepts in the novel. Frankly, he falls into boring sidetracks, navel-gazing, and pointless simpering.

I really hate the main character, so it’s difficult to work up any sympathy or concern for him.  And even if we are going to interpret the main character as a focus for mocking the mid-level banking/lawyer/official – I don’t find his troubles enough to mock him, I’m more so disgusted by him.  I did find it interesting that my response to this character was disgust – and I wondered, as I read along, if this would have been different had I read the novel in, say, the 1950s or 1960s.  I suppose the main character moves through a series of psychological responses to the fact that he “has a case.”  First it’s outrage and indignation, followed by indifference and disinterest, then the “case” begins to overwhelm him and he begins to obsess and suffer anxiety over it. I feel like in the hands of Dostoyevsky – this psychological movement could have been gripping and intense, whereas with Kafka the thing is weak and boring.

Anyway, the real reason I read the novel, as I said above, has to do with my recent interest in a certain category of novels. I was/am most interested in the sections of the novel that describe the bureaucracy and establishment.  The entirety of Chapter Seven carries the bulk of the book and includes the passages that I was most interested in. For example speaking of the Court/Systems’ officials:

They could not help feeling the disadvantages of a judiciary system which insisted on secrecy from the start.  Their remoteness kept the officials from being in touch with the populace; for the average case they were excellently equipped, such a case proceeded almost mechanically and only needed a push now and then; yet confronted with quite simple cases, or particularly difficult cases, they were often utterly at a loss, they did not have any right understanding of human relations, since they were confined day and night to the workings of their judicial system, whereas in such cases a knowledge of human nature itself was indispensable.

The ranks of officials in this judiciary system mounted endlessly, so that not even the initiated could survey the hierarchy as a whole.  And the proceedings of the Courts were generally kept secret from subordinate officials, consequently they could hardly ever quite follow in their further progress the cases on which they had worked; any particular case thus appeared in their circle of jurisdiction often without their knowing whens it came, and passed from it they knew not whither.

I think these are the most relevant passages to the whole idea that this is a dystopian novel – and that Kafka is commenting on the legal system as a whole.  Satirical and mocking, I suppose these are some of the thoughts that coincide with feelings from both Stanislaw Lem’s Memoirs Found in a Bathub, Arthur Koestler’s Darkness at Noon, and Orwell’s 1984.  There is this gigantic bureaucracy that employs minions who are kept occupied, many times with meaningless tasks, and who hardly have any knowledge of the huge edifice under which they toil.  And I feel there is the derived sense of how, in contemporary times, we view huge government and lawyers in general.  It also calls to mind the 1992 Egyptian film Terrorism and Kebab ( Al-irhab wal kabab), which takes place in the gigantic government building The Mogamma.

Also, there are instances in the novel that bespeak some weird sexuality of Kafka’s.  The segments that are obvious are with Leni and Fraulein Burstner – but also the really BDSM Whippers chapter. I am no Freudian, but even I can see this is odd stuff. Overall, I give the novel two stars since I appreciate certain parts, but I do find it inconsistent and tedious.

2 stars

The Ringworld Engineers

The Ringworld Engineers by Larry Niven; Del Rey

The Ringworld Engineers is the second book in the Ringworld series by Larry Niven.  The Ringworld Engineers (1980) was published ten years after Ringworld. The cover art was done by Dale Gustafson.  The novel is divided into three parts.

Overall, this is really not a good novel. Ringworld isn’t actually a great novel, either. But there’s something about science fiction that allows for bad novels to still be fascinating and readable.  The Ringworld Engineers starts off with a pretty neat scene.  Louis Wu, twenty years after the discovery of the Ringworld, is sitting in the lotus position in his home on the planet Canyon. He is attacked by assassin/kidnappers.  Louis Wu has also become an addict to the wire – electrical brain stimulation.

Soon, Wu is kidnapped and finds himself as the captive of The Hindmost, a puppeteer. The Hindmost is much like the puppeteer Nessus in the novel Ringworld, displaying all of the usual puppeteer traits. For example, Hindmost is cowardly and a bit insane.  Once on Hindmost’s ship, Wu discovers that The Hindmost has also captured a kzin:  the former Speaker-to-Animals, who is now named Chmeee.   Hindmost has captured these previous explorers of Ringworld because Hindmost seeks to return to his homeworld bearing technological marvels which will reinstate him at an exalted status on homeworld.

Louis and Chmeee are dispatched from the Hindmost’s ship on a mission to find amazing technology and return it to the ship. The overarching problem throughout this mission, however, is that the Ringworld is “slipping.”  It has departed from it’s standard orbit and is going to crash into it’s solar body.  Naturally, Louis and Chmeee try to keep their efforts to overcome the Hindmost secret, but they are both fighting their own personal battles:  Louis’ addiction to the wire and Chmeee struggles to deal with his now more youthful body. These two travel parts of the Ringworld (The Hindmost is far too cowardly to leave the ship) and have a variety of adventures which are not entirely interesting.  I guess, the author wanted to show us the diversity of the planet’s inhabitants as well as re-familiarize the reader with the magnitude of Ringworld. However, it just seems Louis and Chmeee are getting sidetracked. Once again, we get to experience The God Gambit, which is a neat little trick Chmeee and Louis use to manipulate the natives.

And the reader unfortunately gets acquainted with the concept of  rishathra.  This is sex practice outside of one’s species used to create, bind, and recognize contracts/promises.  It’s really not one of my favorite concepts in all of science fiction, let me just say that. Besides if you consider the beings with which Louis performs rishathra with, it’s actually a bit disturbing. Though the Ringworld Engineers had eradicated disease, the inhabitants of the planet are basically primitives or cross breeds. Louis, you are a nasty man.

There are vampires in this book, city-builders, kzin, etc.  But overall, even though I understood the general outline and plot of the book, a lot of the stuff that happens just seems unnecessary or confusing. I mean, there are times when I really do not know what the point of certain threads in the story is. Basically, I assume it’s just to give Louis (or Chmeee or Hindmost) something to do. I basically do not like any of the characters, but then again, there is this magic about Ringworld that makes me want to read it regardless of all it’s flaws. One of the most amusing aspects of Niven’s characters is their ridiculously extreme deadpan dialogue. I mean, there are times when it’s just a hoot because Hindmost and Louis and Chmeee will be having a near-death-experience and one of them will be very blah and matter-of-fact about everything.

In this second novel, we learn a lot more about the history of the Ringworld, the placement of the Known Worlds and the Fleet of Worlds, and about puppeteers. One of the technology that is used quite often in this novel is actually really neat:  stepping discs.  This is cool stuff and I feel this concept could be explored and developed repeatedly. It’s good techy geek stuff. Even if I have not been able to conjure up a mental image of what the Hindmost’s ship looks like.

2 stars