The Shadow Of The Wind - Book Discussion

I like to jump right in, so this is the heads up: Book = The Shadow Of The Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. These two quotes will help to bring anyone up to speed and provide focus:

"When peace finally came, it was the sort of peace that haunts prisons and cemeteries, a shroud of silence and shame that rots the soul"

“Wars have no memory, and nobody has the courage to understand them until there are no voices left to tell what really happened, until the moment comes when we no longer recognize them and they return, with another face and another name, to devour everything they left behind"

Carlos Ruiz Zafon creates War and its Aftermath (which for ease I will call Aftermath with a capital “A”. Even though Zafon refers to that time after War as Peace, I don’t think it felt especially peaceful, as the lingering effects of War were still causing distress with attempts made to repress memory) as nearly personified forces. I’d say “elemental” forces but I’m not sure that will carry the same meaning universally as an elemental being leads my thoughts to a humanoid shaped being constructed of X element. Or in this case, a dispersed body with a will / purpose but lacking the complexities of human character. I’m drawing these thin lines across ground that maybe nobody cares about to begin with. I do though. It affects the tone and feel of the story to think of an actual, living, malignant force suffocating Spain. And then it becomes “other”. War isn’t described as action taken by people, not as people behaving badly / cruelly. The people involved in the war have left their human bodies (they no longer act or understand as humans do) and are thus untouched by human emotion (their own) and cannot be understood by others. In the beginning of the story, Barcelona is surrounded by War but the residents hold their breath hoping that it skips them by. That’s the first effect of War, to create a terror that denies confrontation. Everybody in the city not talking about, no behaving as though it’s near, but characters retelling the stories of their lives during this time make it clear the thought of it has hallowed out a portion of everyone’s mind. They are not going about their lives “as normal” but purposefully avoiding any contact. Then War does come into Barcelona. Any stories told of this time are bereft of the precise details that are usual in the stories any character tells of their past. Everything is vivid, from dates to emotions, but not anything of War. It’s that Terror that War brings that has pushed them out of living in the present moment that these characters typically do, and forced them into a numbed state. Events are still recorded on some level: the torture, killings, and shifting alliances of Francisco Javier Fumero aren’t missed or ignored, just not engaged with. War is being characterized by the reaction to it. War is a monster too terrible by reputation to even look at. In this way, as one unified force divorced from human input, War’s form (how it is fought) cannot be altered in part of whole, nor can it be associated with any noble ideas. I contrast this with the current (2011, United States) conception of war as a tool, used in limited or full scale effect, and expressing some idea (liberation / freedom). In The Shadow of The Wind universe, War possess humanity to destroy it. There can be no debate then: War is evil.

The Aftermath personifies the malaise of Barcelona. It’s the intense regret of the citizenry being unable to confront War and thus being abused by it. It’s the feeling of losing one’s dignity, and to some extent their sense of self. Meaning that, again, all are bullied into a quiet regarding, exactly, what happened to them and their city. Nobody will confront the war, even after it’s past, because to do so will necessitate reliving their shame of who there were during it. By attempting to save face, the war generation deprives the next of any guard against war coming back. Daniel’s investigation seems to pull the lingering life out of all the war’s survivors. They give away all their secrets and hopes at being remembered well posthumously, gaining small relief from whatever infected them. Which isn’t to say they were “saved”, the evil cloud scattered, as each was disfigured (metaphorically, though Julian Carax was physically) by the events of the war. There isn’t a reset to happy times. Actions matter because their result must be lived with. The relief comes from no longer worrying or caring about the eventual consequences. Like a body’s death sigh; the fight is over but the outcome is still death. Making Daniel an innocent little soul collector. Curiosity started him off but fear from the numerous threats he soon gathered is what pushed him to fully coax out the truth. His chief interest was preserving himself. That makes sense too, to finish the characterization of humanity as selfish, giving reason for the weakness which makes it easily penetrated by War.

What’s so astounding and beautiful about Carlos Ruiz Zafon’s prose is that it creates two worlds at once. One is the story, the combined sequence of actions with Daniel at the center. The words. The other is a loose, outlined but undefined, painting. The image of War circling Barcelona. War coming back with another face. To me if feels as though he painted a giant, Sistine Chapel-like, story. It’s one image but as your eyes take it all in the story presents itself. He does this at least once a chapter… It’s how one imagines a story about War and Aftermath, with all its secrets, without the aid of words to describe them. They have to be given form. The two worlds reflect slightly different versions of the other back, inspiring but not giving a more nuanced understanding of them both. And just to heap the praise on, the worlds are equally interesting and beautiful. Beautiful not a description of quality but the qualification of form. The concept of. I’ll call this a book just so anybody can identify the physical space it occupies. About as accurate and useful as “over there”. This book is a work of art.

Orbus by Neal Asher - Book Discussion

I memorized Neal Asher’s name as an author to watch after reading Strood (In Years Best SF 10). The story was so weird; I felt it actually captured the feeling of “alien”. I read a lot of science fiction but rarely do I feel challenged that what I’m reading, what’s supposed to be “alien”, is any great leap away from familiar and human. Seems to be the quick and easy way to create an alien civilization is to exaggerate one small cultural practice and make it uniform for an entire race. Deciding to start at the beginning of Asher’s Runcible (Or Polity I’ve seen it called) Universe, I read Gridlinked… Just a whole mess of clichés and “junk”: Ideas and characters that can seem intriguing or, I will say it, cool, at a glance but are ultimately broken in many ways (shallow, childish, stupid). I’ve made peace with the fact that Neal Asher is not my personal salvation and now enjoy his stories as just pure fun. But such was the strength of Strood that I still look into new Asher novels hoping for a return to that alien feeling. His short stories are consistently good, fun, and entertaining, so my faith gets incremental reassurance.

I write all that so that it’ll make sense when I write “I was surprised by Orbus”. Asher actually changed the fundamentals of his universe. And, perhaps it was a realigning of my expectations but, the junk ideas were more fun this time and not as exasperating. There were moments of “alien” feelings. But more important than expanding the range of imagination is feeling that characters are actually doing / changing. Else what is the purpose of the story?

I WILL NOW SPOIL VARIOUS STORY ELEMENTS. The spatterjay virus worked on a number of levels to really make this story. First, I will admit, it makes people really cool. I love that Asher can fit this ancient sea captain into his science fiction universe and have him not be ridiculous. Beautiful thing that traveling a little this way and you can get a heavy cybernetics / A.I. emphasis, and cross a line over here to get brutal monsters, and in-between are all manner of cowboy types and monolithic superbeings. Orbus (the old captain) underscores the raw cruelty of Asher’s universe by being powerful only by virtue of the virus, which at first is just another natural part of the universe. As if the universe is saying “here is a match to your best creations”. Later, once it’s revealed that the virus was engineered by a mysterious / ancient / long gone/ incredibly powerful race (but they’re bugs! Which are typically the fodder of alien races), the virus still functions as a warning that everywhere has something that wants to kill; not even a world completely lacking in technology is safe.

Characters that are driven to acquire new (armor, ship, money, armies, powers) imbue the story with life. I care much more about someone, real or fictional, actively pursuing a goal in their life. Characters just out to solve THE problem are boring. I want to see all the sides of that character, what they would do if they had X power. And the best thing about the spatterjay virus was that, so long as the character kept living, they got more abilities. More possibilities to do. It feels like the universe is actually going somewhere. Characters only goal isn’t to reestablish the status-quo set at the beginning of the story. Topple a king, invent immortality, even discovering a better career are much better uses of their time and mine. The virus also added this mean undercurrent in that anyone infected with the virus, but that couldn’t eat non- infected food to recover, would lose their mind to the virus. Now every battle has a cost to be paid at the end. A new something that must be acquired. Little events, like eating or equipping new armament, make the character more than a plot device. It also means I get immersed in the fiction, which is exactly what I want. Orbus was full of that. I got so excited when Vrell captured the dreadnaught class Prador ship. And justifiably so. He created an army, got in a position for revenge, got a base with all sorts of utility.

Best of all, as far as progression of story in concerned, the virus changes this animalistic, feudal, shortsighted race, into something that will at least have a long term goal. They may stop eating their own young, which is both a metaphor and not. I was so happy the character of the Prador gets altered, not because they weren’t any good before, but because they’ll become more powerful (and thus interesting) by the results of contact with the spatterjay virus. So enjoyable to see Asher shuffle around his universe. And at a fundamental level! This universe’s identity was Polity vs. Prador. And now the Prador are different. I don’t even know what the details of this shift are; just the fact of evolution gives me a good feeling in the reading.

Also, on the naming conventions Asher uses. Many of them I hate. Sniper, Dragon, Prador. I associate such names with a level of creative prowess that would be insulting to Mr. Asher (because he is not at that level). Prador is obvious a few letters chopped and switched from Predator, which is an accurate adjective for them but also plain and ugly. Even just use a better adjective to cut up. Vicious. Viious / Vious / Vous. I’ve got a thing for names and this continues to bother me a great deal.

The Dream Of Perpetual Motion - Book Discussion

Book discussed is "The Dream Of Perpetual Motion" by Dexter Palmer

The dream of perpetual motion is the useless hope of a better world while evidence of widespread decay of the actual world is all around. “Dream” is apt because the characters seem to be willing themselves not to see how far gone their world is, clinging to ideas or people (in this case, people embody ideas) as salvation when they are clearly not. The dreamers are everyone. The world is collectively trying to dupe itself. Which, one would think would work if everyone is in on the game, but what they want is impossible (happiness) and nobody is really trying anyway. What everyone wants stays a wish and the world crumbles with no effort put into its maintenance.

This story might only work provided the reader is male. The salvation everyone believes in is a girl. Do women also believe salvation comes from women? I’m working under the assumption that this is a man-myth or romanticization (the process of romanticize-ing) or women. Maybe it works because children (majority of the story the female is a child) equal innocence and girls especially so. Sexist? I think it’s a common enough idea for anyone to at least grasp it.

The narrator, Harold Winslow, is detached from humanity, no longer understanding what one does or how one feels as a human. He can recognize where emotions, and which, are appropriate but lacks the will to summon them or the understanding of why he should. He isn’t unique in this regard and apathy  runs rampant. A powerful form of nostalgia too, that has older members of society believing that angels and miracles walked their earth. But the present state of the world, as Harold navigates it, is dead. Nothing oppressive or invasive. No pervading darkness. Because even that would be motion and life. Harold’s world is devoid of color and life. The cover of the book does a great job of setting this up. I pictured the whole novel in shades of bronze. Additionally, the current onslaught of new technology so confuses civilization they lose sight of any meaning to their lives, falling back on old stories (in a general sense, not specific ones) to make sense of their life and tell them what to do next.

All hopes of this lost world rest with Prospero Taligent. Genius inventor. Lives in a tower (never leaves). Eccentric. Sounds too close to an archetype character to be interesting but Dream is also commenting on the role of stories in people’s lives. So he’s supposed to instantly be familiar. Actually, Prospero turns out to be the most fun and weird characters of the novel. He is the one building the hope of all people; his daughter Miranda. I love this: Humanity’s only salvation must be built by humanity itself, it won’t come from anywhere else, but humanity rejects any savior that itself makes because it then lacks some mystical property (which nobody can define, if they could it wouldn’t work) essential to it being a savior. Prospero knows this. He tries to create the perfect girl with a mixture of odd tech and force of will. It’s like he’s trying to summon the answer all the while knowing there is no magic. Very desperate world. The conflict, at its core, is the feverish human search for meaning that proves people are special but humanity itself doubts it’s capable of being anything. Like wanting to be a superhero and knowing it’s impossible and that want just eats away at a person until they’re sick. Confusion infiltrates even fundamental understanding so every possible action is tried in desperation, disregarding any moral system or sense of how ridiculous it might be. Great quote from Prospero ,“ If you're so damned concerned about the few pounds of flesh that holds the information matrix - what! You come to me now with talk of ethics? A little late for that, I think. Now you'll do what I say. You cut her there, and you cut her to the bone, and you cut her in C-Sharp, with a blueness".

I don’t know how it all works out in the end. It gives some evidence that Prospero failed all throughout (his perpetual engine isn’t perpetual) but the closing words are upbeat and hopeful. One of those hideously ambiguous, “pick your own ending” type, horseshit. The author should tell or show me what happened, and not cop-out at the very end. It’s their story they’re telling, don’t leave it to me. [Anger]. Here’s how I see it, since the author doesn’t have an opinion. The groping for specialness is growing pains, an adolescent yearning for the magic of childhood when the world seemed bigger and there was always something to look forward to (the nostalgia in this story). Left to define themselves, people can’t, their imagination defaulting them to helpless victims in an endless struggle to (but they don’t know it) come up with an identity. Too scared to take the next step, or seeing all possibilities of the future as just fictitious childhood imaginings, but well past the stage of believing in magic they stagnate. Choosing an identity is integral to everything else in life. What does one do, what do they want, how do they feel, what do they think of? Identity gives purpose to life. Rejecting stories as “fake”, and thus rejecting adopting the personas of, the test is to come up with something completely unique / new and validate the notion that life is dynamic and limitless. Which, put like that, is again slaving under the past / old / fake because that concept of life is an old idea (but a true one and thus exempt?). It’s a paradox. Human language and understanding don’t allow one to invent something completely beyond them yet there is this idea of doing so, and wanting to do so very badly. To become alien. That’s a good thing, right? How else is new achieved or the next stage (of evolution or thought) gained without impossible standards being set? What better goal, and better tribute, to all that is life then surpassing it? Fill every possibility, work within in completely, but to stay would be the same as dying, so moving on.

I give all this extraneous thought in lieu of providing another ending. I can’t get past the paradox or come up with something new. If Harold leaves in a portal of light to the fulfillment of all, then is that good or just a trite happy ending? Does he just curl up and cry, never able to rise above childish instincts? Critics, if they poke holes in a work, should fill them. Sorry I can’t.