The Dreaming Earth by John Brunner was first published (as novel form) in 1963. I read the Pyramid Books first printing from February 1963 with cover art by John Schoenherr. It is a relatively short novel, 159 pages, but I feel like I did not get through the novel very quickly. The main character is Nicholas Greville, a UN officer in the Narcotics Department. The novel takes place in the U.S.A. presumably sometime in the not-too-far future. The situation that humanity faces is a severely dwindling supply of resources. There are too many people and not enough to go around. There has not, yet, been a catastrophic event, but humanity teeters on the brink of absolute horror (utter devastation, war, etc.) because the overpopulated planet (I think Brunner says just over 8 billion) is strained to the maximum. Apartments are stuffed, travel is very restricted, leisure is reduced to nothing. There are efforts to develop artificially-enhanced biotechnologies for growing food (projects for the sea, projects for the soil), but at the current rate, it is insufficient.
Brunner is an excellent author. He has a strong, academic and practical, understanding of how to build a novel. Reading a Brunner novel really ought to be required reading for all those college courses about “creative writing” and “novel writing” or whatever they are. Its all very well and good to take literature classes which dissect the novel and look at those annoying classics, but it is entirely different when its seen in practice in a 1960s science fiction novel. How is it different? It seems to me that when you take Nabokov’s literature class – he already has selected the measuring stick as the example. Its too tautologous – using the standards that create the novel characteristics as examples of novels that have those characteristics. Brunner’s novel is not one of “those” classics. It is a 1960s science fiction novel that is quite sincerely a product of its times – bursting with 1960s viewpoints. Further it has flaws – after all, I am only giving this book two stars. I suppose if you complain loudly enough, I might agree that it is a three star novel. The point is, it is not even close to a perfect novel. So, examining it ought to give potential writers clues on what succeeds and what fails and why this is all so.
Let me make a bit of a taxonomy for us:
- well-built structure with seamless movements
- diverse characters with complex issues: both novel-wide and individual
- red herrings and brick walls to confront characters and readers
- tightness of writing – the prose is clean, concise, and intelligent
One would look at this list and marvel that whatever novel I am describing is not five stars! Alternatively, what sort of beastly critic must I be if I am unsatisfied with these elements and still demand more from a work! Well, there are several reasons. The most major one being that Brunner is an Icarus-author here. He took on a problem (i.e. overpopulation/resources) and he took a contemporary situation (i.e. hallucinogenic drug-usage) and once airborne, he flew too close to that tempting, delicious, ever-drawing sun that is ontology. His ill-planned flight was not accidental, he knew precisely how high he was flying [pun intended] and in what direction.
He proves foreknowledge because in chapter fifteen, the main character meets with another character, Franz Wald, and they have a terse discussion on epistemological concerns. The one character says:
“Berkelianism is a completely hypothetical view which is inconsistent with human experience. I’m pragmatic when it comes to the question of reality or das Ding an sich or whatever you call it. Human experience indicates that there’s something external to our nervous systems which acts on our organs of perception, and whatever it may be in its own essence we have to accept that it’s there. But don’t let’s get sidetracked!” – pg. 97
Well, characters are not going to bring up Modern Philosophy unless their author knows where he is driving the plotline. Now, there are lots and lots of science fiction novels wherein the readers criticize the “science” of the novel. There are less overt opportunities to criticize a novel due to its metaphysics. Usually because authors do not so blatantly march toward it with such obvious intent of making a mess of it.
The novel itself begins with a quote from the Rig Veda:
The Heaven I have overpassed in greatness and this great Earth. Have I not drunk of the Soma?
Lo! I will put down this Earth here or yonder. Have I not drunk of the Soma?
Swiftly will I smite the Earth here or yonder. Have I not drunk of the Soma?
So the author (publisher?) wants the reader to know straight off that there is some sort of antagonism between the drug usage and the earth. And the main character is a UN official working in the Narcotics Department. Unfortunately, throughout the novel, we are not really given a clear idea of what lane Greville swims in. What is his role with the Narcotics Department? Basically, it seems rather self-assigned and vague. He just sort of spends his time thinking about the problem of “happy dreams” and complaining about it. “Happy dreams” are a powdered substance that is trafficked like a typical narcotic except for a few interesting features. The product seems to defy reasonable economics – since it has a set price, which is very low, and no one seems to know where it comes from – but there is always plenty to go around.
We meet Greville en route to a research facility wherein he has a case of the powered hallucinogenic chained to him. The facility is expecting his delivery because they are performing research/experiments on apes and such to discover whatever they can about the drug. Via the journey to the facility the reader gets hands-on knowledge of the scenery, that is, how the shortages are affecting things. This is a solid example of an author sneakily showing the reader things without lecturing them or bludgeoning them. An underlying tone throughout the novel occurs wherever Greville goes: every place he visits has a stressed, tired, or frustrated feeling about it. This is true at the facility where Greville delivers the “happy dreams.”
The director of the facility introduces Greville to another on-site researcher, Dr. Kathy Pascoe. Immediately, though Brunner stinks up the works by referring to this character as “the girl.” For convenience, the characters retire – after locking the facility down very well – to the Director Barriman’s living suite. There, conversations occur: Greville is given some insights into the “happy dreams” drug and some history of incidents at the research facility. This is somewhat how the storyline progresses for the rest of the novel. Greville goes to a location, conversations occur. The fact that he seems to have utter free roaming due to his Narcotics Department job moves the plot, but it also makes the character seem like he is chasing his tail at random.
This is one of the flaws of the novel, in my opinion. Events occur usually just adjacent to Greville. It always seems like he is in the thick of things, but simultaneously like he is late to the event or that the big item happened just off-stage. This just results in the reader following Greville around and having to listen to his very frequent frustrated ponderings. Greville talks a lot. Unfortunately, he does not say anything new and it all is very repetitive. Whenever Greville’s ponderings leave him stumped, he goes to another location and begins all over again.
A novel about conversations and thinking about the weird drug-use is not actually all that exciting to read. I just could not stand another time Greville feeling like “he needed to think.”
Nevertheless, throughout, Brunner has charming bits of wordworking. For example, I really liked the start of chapter fourteen:
When he awoke, streams of rain like straight steel legs were marching across the city to the rattle of a thunder like drums. – pg 86.
The climax of the novel comes when “the girl” Pascoe and Greville witness a “happy dreams” addict actually disappear. Then it just all becomes so undeniable and Pascoe and Greville validate what seems impossible and what Franz Wald might have been on the cusp of saying, if Brunner had a better grasp of metaphysics. The truth is, late in chapter twenty, Greville is struggling, once again, to formulate the situation to a group of listeners. Except that his explanation is awful to read-through. It shows Brunner was not ready for the metaphysics. Greville stumbles around and gropes for the explanation – presumably this is why Brunner has Greville do the talking – the scientists would, in theory, do it better. Since the characters cannot articulate more than their author can, Brunner has to have Greville explain matters.
The worst part is that the resolution is exactly what any decent reader suspected all along. This is okay in the sense that it is tidy and the structure of the novel suits. However, now it feels like the whole thing was a bit of a waste and maybe could have just been a short story. Maybe the short story could even be of a UN official just giving a press conference and shocking a few scientists. Anyway, the resolution confirms the utilitarianism that was suspected all along. It could be a tidy ending – except for the absolutely unworkable, illogical, bad-reasoning of the metaphysics of the novel. Brunner, I think, just wants to smush the concepts of subjective/objective reality together like Play-Doh and hope that in the smushing, the reader is not paying attention. In terms of authors being ridiculous, this one is pretty dang unique of an example.
I like reading Brunner novels. I think he was a very good writer. This novel still has a lot of merit to it. However, its just such a fail in terms of reality, it almost feels like Brunner was hand-waving at things. Well, if you are only going to be dismissive of problems – do not attempt to tackle them and bring them in as the major elements of your story! I cannot understand what happened here, other than to give some credit to Brunner for the oddness of it all. Brunner fans only, OK?
2 stars
I read this novel during these days because of silly reasons: I wanted to challenge myself to get one more book read in January. So I purposely selected a shorter, speedy novel. Suffice it to say, I did not have any high expectations of the novel and perhaps that is the best way to read all novels. The Bormann Testament by Jack Higgins (1929 – 2022) was originally published in 1962 as The Testament of Caspar Schultz. The Bormann Testament is the retitled version republished in 2006. Higgins has a brief note at the start of the book that explains this. Allegedly, in the early 60s, it was not a legally/politically smart thing to allude to Martin Bormann (1900 – 1945), but this 2006 version reasserted the desired title and “a bit more” content. This is also one of Higgins’ earlier novels, maybe his sixth overall, I think.
The White Mountains by John Christopher (1922 – 2012) was first published in 1967 and is the first in the Tripods series written by Christopher. There are four small books in the series, which was written as juvenile fiction or young adult fiction. My copy has 195 pages and they are fast-turning pages.
The Werewolf Principle by Clifford D. Simak (1904 – 1988) was first published in 1967. I read the Berkley paperback with the Richard Powers (1921 – 1996) cover art. My copy was only 216 pages, but I think it took over a week to read – because I had just gotten home from travel and for whatever reason, my mind was feeling listless and disinterested. This is the eighth Simak novel that I have read, though, so I feel he and I are old friends, so to speak.
Continuing in my reading crime spree (a lovely ambiguous way of putting it) I finished Love In Amsterdam by Nicolas Freeling (1927 – 2003). The novel was first published in 1962 and was the source for at least one film and two television series. It seems to me that this novel was read more frequently when the years began with 19– than in the contemporary times. I have to be honest and say that this is a difficult novel to review and rate. It makes sense that readers seem to be a bit polar opposite in their feelings toward it.
Finally, after eighteen other ratings this year, I am giving a novel a four-star rating! East of Desolation by Jack Higgins aka Henry Patterson (1929 – 2022) is my first four-star novel of the year. East of Desolation was first published in 1968 and I think is one of the author’s first novels – if not the first – to be released under his pen name “Jack Higgins.” Incidentally, after reading this novel, I have read a novel with this year with the words 
I finished another book, but its another that I really did not like. In fact, I may actually dislike this one. I read Ruth Rendell’s From Doon With Death from 1964. I have heard that Baroness Rendell (1930 – 2015) is considered a strong mystery writer, so of course I started with the first of her famous Inspector Wexford novels. After having read this one, I have to say that I certainly hope that her other novels are big improvements. I think there are twenty-four novels in the Inspector Wexford series – and Rendell also wrote a bunch of other novels, besides.
Once again enjoying some vintage science fiction, I finished up This Immortal by Roger Zelazny (1937 – 1995). It is the first Zelazny that I have read, I think (unless I’ve come upon some short fiction that I have forgotten about). This is such an odd novel I actually feel bad for anyone reading this review because I feel like my review will be scattered and swirly. Sorry about that in advance.
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