foggyreads

by G. K. Chesterton (1908)

2024 reads, 25/22:

“An anarchist is an artist. The man who throws a bomb is an artist, because he prefers a great moment to everything. He sees how much more valuable is one burst of blazing light, one peal of perfect thunder, than the mere common bodies of a few shapeless policemen. An artist disregards all governments, abolishes all conventions. The poet delights in disorder only.”

For this year’s October “spooky” read, I went in a bit of a different direction. Maybe it was because the other horror books on my to-read list were already checked out on Libby, but I decided to tackle something I added to my to-read list years ago. The Man Who Was Thursday, by G. K. Chesterton, is a novel about man who infiltrates a seven-man anarchist group, all with codenames that represent the different days of the week. And honestly, what better story to finish around Halloween, than one of metaphorical masks and anarchistic misbehavior?

A foggy London town sets the backdrop of our two main characters, Lucian Gregory, the anarchist poet, and Gabriel Syme, his foil. You’ve probably immediately clocked the biblical imagery here: Lucian, a play on Lucifer, the fallen angel of light, and Gabriel, representing the archangel and heavenly messenger. But it doesn’t stop there – the Christian allegory is rampant in symbolism and motifs throughout this novel, and I’m sure there were many allusions that I missed.

Early on, Chesterton doesn’t hold back in hitting us with a few reveals and twists, and what starts as a philosophical musing on double identities, and the role of anarchy in society, quickly unfolds into a mysterious thriller. There’s still lots of exposition on these topics, especially when Syme starts to ponder about whatever current situation he’s in, but it is contrasted by witty (and even comical) dialogue. Seriously, I was surprised at how slapstick these characters could be.

“‘Secretary,’ said the President seriously, ‘if you'd take your head home and boil it for a turnip it might be useful. I can't say. But it might.’”

Although published in early twentieth century England, the writing is not terribly dated for a novel of that era (though I did have to look up a few archaic words at times). And there’s enough action to keep things interesting, to keep you wanting to know what happens next. I guess that’s all we can really ask for, right?

“This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked like the end of the world. All the heaven seemed covered with a quite vivid and palpable plumage; you could only say that the sky was full of feathers, and of feathers that almost brushed the face.”

#readingyear2024 #british #philosophy

by Qiu Miaojin (1994)

2024 reads, 24/22:

“Man’s greatest suffering is born of mistreatment by his fellow man.”

Notes of a Crocodile is a coming-of-age novel published in 1994 by Taiwanese author Qiu Miaojin. Having gained a cult following (especially in recent years thanks to this new translation by Bonnie Huie), this book follows the unnamed lesbian narrator, nicknamed Lazi, during her college years in 1980s Taipei. I bring up Lazi’s sexual orientation because Notes of a Crocodile covers themes of LGBT+ struggles, along with mental health, friendship, chosen families, and growing up in an era where it seems everything and everyone is against you.

“I love my own kind–womankind. From the moment my consciousness of love was born, there was no hope of cure. And those four words–no hope of cure–encapsulate my state of suffering to this day.”

Reading this book feels like opening someone’s diary—not as an intrusion but as an invitation from Lazi herself (even writing in the second person point of view at times). Because of this, I felt like an insider, and at times, I even felt like a character she was writing letters to. Qiu writes her characters beautifully – not only are they fleshed out, but the relationships between them feel genuine (even if uncomfortable at times).

“Those wrenching eyes, which could lift up the entire skeleton of my being. How I longed for myself to be subsumed into the ocean of her eyes. How the desire, once awakened, would come to scald me at every turn.”

Conversely, it also feels like I don't know these characters at all. Their experiences are so far removed from my own: a different country, a different time, a different sexual orientation. I’m sure there were references, themes, and motifs I missed out on. But I guess that's why we read, right? To gain insight into different experiences that transcend time and space.

I want to keep this review fairly short because I feel so far out of my depth talking about the symbolism, and I won’t pretend to comprehend what the LGBT+ community goes through; yet I loved this book so much. I really would recommend just reading it and getting a feel for the words Qiu paints on the page. If it interests you, I also highly recommend checking out some of the reviews/analyses I’ve linked below that I’ve found helpful in appreciating her work. Qiu is putting her all into this book, which hit even harder when I found out this novel gained recognition posthumously. I’m not exaggerating when I say this may be one of the most important books I’ve read this year.

“The two of us walked down the center of a deserted road. With all human commotion at a standstill, we heard the scattered sounds of nature, the passing cry of a bird overhead. Soaked from head to toe, we found our way to the lush greenery of Wenzhou Street. The trees that lined the street appeared to have been reborn in shades of emerald. No need to be silent. Are you sinking into some corner of your melancholy? In my heart, I called out to you.”

Further Reading:

An Interview with Bonnie Huie, Translator (Neocha)

Consider the Crocodile: Qiu Miaojin’s Lesbian Bestiary (Los Angeles Review of Books)

“Notes of a Crocodile” by Qiu Miaojin (Asian Review of Books)

#readingyear2024 #physicallyowned #nyrb

by Arkady & Boris Strugatsky (1972)

2024 reads, 23/22:

“Over the pile of ancient trash, over the colorful rags and broken glass, drifts a tremor, a vibration, just like the hot air above a tin roof at noon; it floats over the mound and continues, cuts across our path right beside a marker, lingers over the road, waits for half a second—or am I just imagining that? —and slithers into the field, over the bushes, over the rotten fences, toward the old car graveyard.”

I acknowledge that recency bias may be talking here, but – did I just read one of my favorite science fiction books so far?

Science fiction is and has always been about humans in the face of progress, whether forward or backward. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? muses on what it means to be a human. Neuromancer toys with the concept of losing our humanity, and our world, to technology. The Three-Body Problem and its trilogy has humanity rallying together (and splitting apart) in the face of adversity. Even the Hitchhiker’s Guide series has humanity face the ultimate absurdity: itself.

Roadside Picnic continues this pattern of humanity facing itself, and does so extremely well. Short summary: in the wake of an alien visit, multiple “zones” are left around the surface of the earth. These zones are subject to unexplainable physics, rare artifacts, and dangers beyond our comprehension. Furthermore, these zones are illegal to enter. A subclass of criminals called “stalkers” sneak into these zones to retrieve precious objects that can be sold on the black market (and yes, this is the book that inspired Andrei Tarkovsky’s film Stalker).

The premise seems simple, but remember, science fiction is about us. The novel starts ten years or so after “the Visit,” and humanity is no step closer to knowing anything about it – it’s just humans and the Zone. Instead of an alien invasion story, the Strugatskys weave together a novella with philosophical deliberations, fairy tales, and horrific alien technology.

“I lock myself in the stall, take out the flask, unscrew it, and attach myself to it like a leech. I’m sitting on the bench, my heart is empty, my head is empty, my soul is empty, gulping down the hard stuff like water. Alive. I got out. The Zone let me out. The damned hag. My lifeblood. Traitorous bitch. Alive. The novices can’t understand this. No one but a stalker can understand.”

The main character, stalker Red Schuhart, is in my opinion one of the greatest characters ever written. Outside of the Zone, with absolutely no care in the world, he is aloof and hot-headed, careless and an alcoholic. But his skills and concentration in the Zone are unmatched: you feel his focus narrow, his conniving nature, and know that he will stop at nothing to get through this mysterious area. As I write this, I can see how this book may have inspired Annihilation by VanderMeer.

What better way to show how insignificant we are than to have an entire story revolve around the aftermath of a short-lived alien visit. The ending is one of the most bittersweet, and I’ve been thinking about it since I’ve read it. This is a sci-fi classic, and it’s short enough such that I recommend it to anyone even remotely interested.

“Aren’t humans absurd? I suppose we like praise for its own sake. The way children like ice cream. It’s an inferiority complex, that’s what it is. Praise assuages our insecurities. And ridiculously so. How could I rise in my own opinion?”

#readingyear2024 #scifi #dystopia #book2screen #favorites

by Jeff VanderMeer (2014)

2024 reads, 22/22:

“The birds sang as they should; the deer took flight, their white tails exclamation points against the green and brown of the underbrush; the raccoons, bowlegged, swayed about their business, ignoring us. As a group, we felt almost giddy, I think, to be free after so many confining months of training and preparation.”

Kind of funny that my last two books have been in the realm of “ecological sci-fi,” but here we are. However, Annihilation strips away any satire and comedy that may have been in Galapagos, and instead presents an anxiety-ridden atmospheric novel of four scientists who go out to explore the dangerous and unfamiliar “Area X.”

The descriptions of the flora and fauna of Area X are great, and the narrator writes with an unreliable tone while at the same time, sounding like writing a lab report. It’s kind of jarring, but VanderMeer captures the surreal and tense mystery through his Lovecraftian prose very well.

“I took samples as we went, but halfheartedly. All of these tiny remnants I was stuffing into glass tubes with tweezers … what would they tell me? Not much, I felt.”

However, while there was a plot, it didn’t go very far for me. And that’s okay, sometimes things don’t need to happen – I tend to really enjoy books that have no plot line at all. But for this particular brand of sci-fi, I wish for a little more. What might help with this, though, is not reading the blurb on the back of the book. Nothing is spoiled, but some things might hit harder without knowing ahead of time.

Will I finish the trilogy? Maybe. It’s not on the top of my to-read list, but I am curious to learn more about Area X and the world of Southern Reach. But if the genre of eco-horror sci-fi sounds interesting to you, you should pick this one up – and let me know your thoughts.

“You would love it here.”

#readingyear2024 #scifi #environment #spooky #book2screen

by Kurt Vonnegut (1985)

2024 reads, 21/22:

“Does it trouble me to write so insubstantially, with air on air? Well--my words will be as enduring as anything my father wrote, or Shakespeare wrote, or Beethoven wrote, or Darwin wrote. It turns out that they all wrote with air on air.”

Whether through the plot or the writing style, Vonnegut always plays with the concept of time in his novels. In almost every book I’ve read of his, it felt like his idea of “time” was stretched and distorted to his liking, adhering only to his rules. Galapagos is no different.

Although one of Vonnegut’s later works, Galapagos is still incredibly satirical, humorous, and sarcastic. Vonnegut takes on human evolution, survival of the fittest, and the failings of the human brain, from the perspective of an evolved human one million years in the future. This narrator consistently reiterates how the human brain is too big, and as a species, we have become too complex as we generate wars, famines, and any other horsemen of the apocalypse.

“Why so many of us knocked us major chunks of our brains with alcohol from time to time remains an interesting mystery. It may be that we were trying to give evolution a shove in the right direction - in the direction of smaller brains.”

However, the idea of human evolution is such a big one to me, and unfortunately it felt like his satire only brushed the surface of it. Through small-scale vignettes, connected by a single plot line, a cast of characters about to embark on the Nature Cruise of the Century become the only hope for humanity continuing as a species – but I felt that too much time was spent on the backstories of these characters (important, no doubt) rather than how they start anew. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it felt like a bit of a mismatch with the overarching implications of the human race starting over.

But don’t take my review to be a dislike of this book – if it sounds interesting to you, you should pick it up. Three stars, to me, is a simple “I liked it” with no real sway in either direction. And remember, Vonnegut is like New Jersey pizza: it’s always going to be at least pretty good.

“Some automatic device clicked in her big brain, and her knees felt weak, and there was a chilly feeling in her stomach. She was in love with this man. They don't make memories like that anymore.”

#readingyear2024 #scifi #humor #physicallyowned #environment

by Patrick Radden Keefe (2018)

2024 reads, 20/22:

“Who should be held accountable for a shared history of violence? It was a question that was dogging Northern Ireland as a whole.”

What initially drew me to this book was the TV show Derry Girls, a masterful (and incredibly funny) portrayal of life in 1990s Northern Ireland. The show juxtaposes the realities of the Troubles with the high school “problems” of a group of friends. But since the show is primarily a comedy, I was left wanting to better understand that era of Ireland. Even before Derry Girls, I had only the vaguest idea of what the Troubles were about, admittedly only through songs such as The Cranberries’ Zombie, or U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday. All I knew was that there was violence in Ireland back then, but there were many gaps in my knowledge.

Generally, I liked Say Nothing – it’s probably closer to 3.5 stars for me, as it did a great job at laying out what had happened during the Troubles. My big takeaway was learning about famous IRA figures such as the Price sisters, Gerry Adams, and Brendan Hughes, and how their stories intertwined and shaped Irish history and independence.

Keefe also spent a lot of time on the aftermath of the 1998 Good Friday Agreement, as the last third of the book focused on the Belfast Project at Boston College. This was interesting, but I would have liked to see more on the background of the conflict between Ireland and the UK (but to be fair, that’s through no fault of the author, as he clearly states the scope of his book).

Overall, I’ve been trying to increase my nonfiction reading, but my problem with nonfiction is that at times, it can feel like a bore to get through. That being said, I ultimately always come out glad I read it. Maybe I’ll get to some more nonfiction on my TBR list soon. If the Troubles, or Irish history/politics (or even journalism) interests you at all, this is a great book to pick up.

“History says, Don’t hope On this side of the grave… But then, once in a lifetime The longed-for tidal wave Of justice can rise up, And hope and history rhyme”

-Seamus Heaney, The Cure of Troy

#readingyear2024 #govpol #history #book2screen

by Ted Chiang (2002)

2024 reads, 19/22:

“Despite knowing the journey and where it leads, I embrace it and welcome every moment”

Maybe closer to 3.5 stars, but my score might surprise people with this one. Stories of Your Life and Others is a collection of science fiction short stories written by Ted Chiang from 1990 to 2002, compiled and published in 2002. The most famous story is, of course, Story of Your Life, for which Denis Villeneuve’s 2016 movie Arrival is based on. This story was my favorite too, a solid 5 stars for this one.

But the rest of them didn’t quite hit for me. Their premise was intriguing, as the subject matter drastically ranged from one story to the next; each one asking a different “what if?” question. And then of course, within the story, even more “what ifs” are posited. They branch out from science fiction, incorporating elements of fantasy, math, technology, and dystopia. Some just meandered a little bit before getting to the plot, but it didn’t turn me away from finishing them. Just how certain ideas were presented came off a little slow.

But don’t let the score deter you if you are into sci-fi; this is a highly acclaimed collection, and I’m in the minority here. They all made me think, which is the minimum requirement for solid sci-fi.

“‘Well if you already know how the story goes, why do you need me to read it to you?’ ‘‘Cause I wanna hear it!’”

#readingyear2024 #scifi #shortstories

by Thomas Pynchon (2013)

2024 reads, 18/22:

“Sometimes, down on the subway, a train Maxine's riding on will slowly be overtaken by a local or an express on the other track, and in the darkness of the tunnel, as the windows of the other train move slowly past, the lighted panels appear one by one like a series of fortune-telling cards being dealt and slid in front of her.”

Recently, I had the pleasure of attending a friend's thirtieth birthday on a night cruise that sailed on the Hudson River. On this humid summer evening, the city loomed over us, and I caught myself multiple times just staring at the city skyline; in particular, the checkerboarded city windows reminded me of a server room. All the nodes forming one large unit, signifying one breathing, living, city.

New York, I Love You but You're Bringing Me Down

Bleeding Edge takes place in New York City in 2001, right after the dot-com bubble of the nineties, the movement from Silicon Valley to Silicon Alley. Maxine Tarnow, mother of two sons (Ziggy and Otis) and Certified Fraud Examiner, is the protagonist, while Gabriel Ice, head of computer security firm “hashslingerz,” is her antagonist; but NYC is right there the whole time, the god-like deuteragonist, looming over the novel.

This alternate NYC is dark, oozing with underworld vibes. As Maxine gets further into her investigation of Ice and his illegal activities, she uncovers more and more of his capitalistic plot. Threats loom, and she meets many others who have succumbed to the city’s shadows.

“Beneath these windows they can hear the lawless soundscape of the midnight street, breakage, screaming, vehicle exhaust, New York laughter, too loud, too trivial, brakes applied too late before some gut-wrenching thud. When Maxine was little, she thought of this nightly uproar as trouble too far away to matter, like sirens. Now it’s always too close, part of the deal.”

This book is a love letter to NYC, as the only other Pynchon book somewhat set in NYC is V., his very first. Since Bleeding Edge is the most recent novel by Thomas Pynchon, published in 2013, this may be his last work; if that’s the case, it’s interesting (and perhaps fitting) how he bookends his oeuvre with The City That Never Sleeps.

A Parallel World

But if the city is the living, breathing environment, then its doppelganger is DeepArcher, a computer program that acts as a utopian parallel world of the imperfect city. Early on, Maxine is exposed to DeepArcher, since one of its two creators (Justin and Lucas) has a daughter at her kids’ school.

“When the program is loaded, there is no main page, no music score, only a sound ambience, growing slowly louder, that Maxine recognizes from a thousand train and bus stations and airports, and the smoothly cross-dawning image of an interior whose detail, for a moment breathtakingly, is far in advance of anything she’s seen on the gaming platforms Ziggy and his friends tend to use….”

The scenes where Maxine explores DeepArcher may as well be taken straight out of Neuromancer – they are incredibly done, and it felt like Maxine and other characters were physically in this cyberspace, like in Scooby-Doo and the Cyber Chase. But here, it allows for an escape, an underworld where double lives flourish and souls replicate.

DeepArcher is even presented as a pre-capitalistic paradise (or even purgatory), where anyone can come to rest and wander for eternity, but is it what it seems? In describing these scenes, Pynchon expertly straddles the line between comforting and paranoid, and it’s this idealized version of the living, breathing, imperfect NYC that makes this utopia somewhat discomforting. In fact, it’s on Halloween night, a night of masks, costumes, and double identities, that one of Maxine’s friends says, “Children of all ages enacting the comprehensive pop-cultural moment. Everything collapsed into the single present tense, all in parallel. Mimesis and enactment.”

Gabriel Ice, who wants to acquire DeepArcher, is an interesting villain – described as “amiable geek” in college, he is now one of the remaining “nerd billionaires” from the dot-com boom. I love how his last name is a literal reference to “ice”, virtual walls in cyberspace (from, again, Neuromancer) that act as defenses, furthering the secrets that he holds. And it wouldn’t be a Pynchon book without conspiracy and paranoia. Anyone getting close to Ice either disappears or shows up dead, adding weight to the plot, and furthering the consequences for Maxine each step she takes.

“She’s lost. There is no map. It isn’t like being lost in any of the romantic tourist destinations back in meatspace. Serendipities here are unlikely to be in the cards, only a feeling she recognizes from dreams, a sense of something not necessarily pleasant just about to happen.”

And just in case you need further convincing that DeepArcher is an escape from reality, somewhere to run to, then just sound out the word.

How Do You Do, Fellow Kids?

It's funny – some say this is Pynchon’s weakest work, saying that the references are out of touch; but I think that's just the times. This is the most recent setting Pynchon has written about, and I adored the many pop culture references, e.g., Pokémon, Dragon Ball Z, even Kenan and Kel. It feels like this book is Pynchon’s love letter to the generations after him, especially his son, who grew up during this age. And continuing with the cyberspace theme, one of the DeepArcher creators even describes their software using references from the cyberpunk age:

“‘Only the framing material,’ Lucas demurely, ‘obvious influences, Neo-Tokyo from Akira, Ghost in the Shell, Metal Gear Solid by Hideo Kojima, or as he's known in my crib, God.’”

There are actually a few cyberpunk references throughout the book, maybe touching on how the politics of the Cold War and secret government doings parallel that of Gabriel Ice and his megacorporation. One character even says, “paranoia's the garlic in life's kitchen, right, you can never have too much.” Or maybe Pynchon’s son just loves Metal Gear Solid. Side note, it's the aforementioned Halloween night scene that gives one of my favorite pop culture references in the book (for obvious reasons):

“‘Fiona, nice getup, help me out, you’re supposed to be–’ ‘Misty?’ ‘The girl in Pokemon. And this is–’ Fiona’s friend Imba, who’s got up as Misty’s chronically bummed out companion Psyduck. ‘We flipped for it,’ Fiona sez.”

The Barroom Floor of History

“They gaze at each other for a while, down here on the barroom floor of history, feeling sucker-punched, no clear way to get up and on with a day which is suddenly full of holes—family, friends, friends of friends, phone numbers on the Rolodex, just not there anymore . . . the bleak feeling, some mornings, that the country itself may not be there anymore, but being silently replaced screen by screen with something else, some surprise package, by those who’ve kept their wits about them and their clicking thumbs ready.”

I’m sure the setting of 2001 NYC immediately sets off alarm bells in your head. And yeah, the September 11 attacks are a pretty central plot point to the story. The actual attack itself is quickly mentioned, which is to be expected – there’s no need for Pynchon to rehash what happened that day. But the effects of the attacks are felt reverberating throughout the novel and plot afterwards.

Pynchon books are said to take place at times when America went down the wrong path, the bifurcation of the “fork in the road America never took” (taken from Gravity’s Rainbow). Publishing this in 2013, Pynchon had at least a decade’s worth of post 9/11-trauma to pull from and deconstruct. Our reaction to the attacks, however patriotic they might have seemed, has had devastating consequences in the context of conspiracy theories and the rise of white nationalism. The aftermath, felt for years to come, is alluded to during a conversation between Maxine and another character, as they walk around the city.

“They’re up on the bridge again, as close to free as the city ever allows you to be, between conditions, an edged wind off the harbor announcing something dark now hovering out over Jersey, not the night, not yet, something else, on the way in, being drawn as if by the vacuum in real-estate history where the Trade Center used to stand, bringing optical tricks, a sorrowful light.”

The immediate reaction of September 11 as a government conspiracy mirrors that of Ice and his transgressions; that everything that’s happened so far to her, to her colleagues, to her clients, is all part of one big collusion between larger powers and darker forces. This is, and has always been, the central theme to all of Pynchon’s books. The last third of the book really embraces this darkness, with a plot becoming more and more unclear.

Bleeding Edge falls in the second camp of Pynchon books, the not-so-dense but relentlessly-shady detective story of someone just trying to find their way in a world that isn’t theirs. Maxine has similar characteristics to Doc Sportello in Inherent Vice, or Oedipa Maas in The Crying of Lot 49 – but one thing she has is children and a healthy family life, which is put on the line every time she goes investigating. Don’t be intimidated to pick this one up, but as with many Pynchon books, you might find yourself wishing for an America that could have been, instead of down here, on the barroom floor of history.

“…they settle in behind Island of Meadows, at the intersection of Fresh and Arthur Kills, toxicity central, the dark focus of Big Apple waste disposal, everything the city has rejected so it can keep on pretending to be itself, and here unexpectedly at the heart of it is this 100 acres of untouched marshland, directly underneath the North Atlantic flyway, sequestered by law from development and dumping, marsh birds sleeping in safety. Which, given the real-estate imperatives running this town, is really, if you want to know, fucking depressing, because how long can it last? How long can any of these innocent critters depend on finding safety around here? It’s exactly the sort of patch that makes a developer’s heart sing—typically, ‘This Land Is My Land, This Land Also Is My Land.’”

#readingyear2024 #pynchon

by Thomas Pynchon (1997)

2024 reads, 17/22

“Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs, starr'd the Sides of Outbuildings, as of Cousins, carried Hats away into the brisk Wind off Delaware,-- the Sleds are brought in and their Runners carefully dried and greased, shoes deposited in the back Hall, a stocking'd-foot Descent made upon the great Kitchen, in a purposeful Dither since Morning, punctuated by the ringing Lids of Boilers and Stewing-Pots, fragrant with Pie-Spices, peel'd Fruits, Suet, heated Sugar,-- the Children, having all upon the Fly, among rhythmic slaps of Batter and Spoon, coax'd and stolen what they might, proceed, as upon each afternoon all this snowy December, to a comfortable Room at the rear of the House, years since given over to their carefree Assaults.”

The textual equivalent of a cinematic long take, the first sentence of Mason & Dixon sets the stage of the story into which you are about to embark. On a cold December evening in 1786, Reverend Wicks Cherrycoke sits down with the children of his family and commences an epic retelling of the lives of astronomer Charles Mason and surveyor Jeremiah Dixon. Already, we’ve got two levels of narrative: Pynchon, the author, is relaying to us the Reverend’s retelling of the history of Mason and Dixon, and on a greater level, the birth of America. It’s a fitting book to finish this past Independence Day weekend.

What is History?

Within the Reverend’s retelling, however, he is noticeably absent from most of the events with Mason and Dixon, only crossing paths with them a few select times when they are not travelling together in America. So, how do we know that the Reverend is relaying an exact story, down to the exact dialogue? How do we know that Pynchon is communicating the Reverend’s exact story? The narrative framing of M&D brings us to the first major theme: what is history, who tells it, and how we can trust what we learn about the truth of America’s past?

“History is hir'd, or coerc'd, only in Interests that must ever prove base. She is too innocent, to be left within the reach of anyone in Power,— who need but touch her, and all her Credit is in the instant vanish'd, as if it had never been.”

While M&D is rife with accurate historical fiction, Pynchon also fills this book with anachronistic references to Star Trek, Doctor Who (“the stagecoach is bigger on the inside than the outside!”), and other future events. Maybe it’s all just fun for us readers of the modern era, but on a deeper level, is Pynchon saying that history is continuously doomed to repeat itself?

For now, let’s put aside the fact that history is interpreted and retold, possibly by those with an agenda. What happens in M&D? Why should we believe what the Reverend (or Pynchon) tells us?

Brutality Uncheck’d

In the first section of the book, Latitudes and Departures, Mason and Dixon stop at Cape Town, South Africa on their way to observe the Transit of Venus. Here, they are horrified to see how the Dutch colony treats their slaves, raising the question early on: what happens when colonialists are given unrestricted power, out of sight from the laws that govern them? I’m sure you can tell where I’m going with this, as it’s in the middle section, America, we see this lawlessness continue as Mason and Dixon set sail toward America in 1763.

“The long watchfulness, listening to the Brush. Ev'ry mis'rable last Leaf. The Darkness implacable. When you gentlemen come to stand at the Boundary between the Settl'd and the Unpossess'd, just about to enter the Deep Woods, you will recognize the Sensation”

Upon reflection, I really appreciated this first section: not just for foreshadowing the colonialist regimes in early America, but also getting to know our main characters before traveling west. To be honest, their personalities and dialogue reminded me of Crowley and Aziraphale from Good Omens: Mason, ever so depressive and gothic, recovering from the death of his wife, while Dixon being wide-eyed and optimistic, happy to work with Mason and go on this journey together.

Ghosts of America’s Past

After smoking a joint with Colonel George Washington, and drinking some ale with Ben Franklin, our two protagonists set off westward from Philadelphia (“a Heavenly city and crowded niche of Hell”) to create the boundary that today defines the border between Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Delaware.

“They saw Brutality enough, at the Cape of Good Hope. They can no better understand it now, than then. Something is eluding them. Whites in both places are become the very Savages of their own worst Dreams, far out of Measure to any Provocation.”

The colonialist tendencies mentioned above noticeably continue in this section, as they arrive just after the Paxton Massacre. Like the Herero genocide in V. and Gravity’s Rainbow, it makes for uncomfortable reading, even if our main characters aren’t actively involved in these travesties. When Dixon wonders (absentmindedly) to a group of Native Americans if they are in any danger in America, a Mohawk chief responds: “‘Yes of course you are in danger. Your Heart beats? You live here?’ gesturing all ‘round. ‘Danger in every moment.’”

Throughout the novel, there’s also this constant examination of man-made and natural borders, and more importantly, the consequences as to when these artificial boundaries are imposed in our natural world; the biggest example of course is the Mason-Dixon line itself. This border separated the free northern states from the southern slave states, with consequences for years to come. M&D uses this example among others to ask us about the consequences as humans try to fight against the “natural order” of things, and I’m reminded of the concept of “desire paths,” where again, imposed boundaries are no match for human nature — this theme throughout the book was one of my favorites to think about.

“Mason groans. ‘Shall wise Doctors one day write History's assessment of the Good resulting from this Line, vis-à-vis the not-so-good? I wonder which List will be longer.’”

Mystical Beings of Control

Much like history herself, this book is veiled in a fog of uncertainty, the narrative always slightly out of focus. And with this, we get to the theme that pervades throughout all of Pynchon’s work: control. But in an age where the highest form of technology is represented by John Harrison’s marine chronometer and a mechanical digesting duck , the “shadowy technocratic forces” that I’m used to seeing in Pynchon’s other books must resort to a more primitive means of control – and what was more controlling at the time than religion?

“If Chimes could whisper, if Melodies could pass away, and their Souls wander the Earth...if Ghosts danced at Ghost Ridottoes, 'twould require such Musick, Sentiment ever held back, ever at the Edge of breaking forth, in Fragments, as Glass breaks.”

These sinister back-room societies emerge from the shadows just enough to steer our heroes under the guise of “free will,” withholding a kind of necessary gnosis from them. And it’s not just the Catholic church that has the invisible hand: the mystic arts play their own key role, as ley lines pervade their voyage, Jesuits control their messages, and forest creatures such as golems and fairies all surround our two characters. As they explore caverns, temples, and mountains, I could imagine a soundtrack of Gregorian chants in the background – or even Enya.

Religious allusions pervade their entire quest throughout America, as their journey is compared to the Stations of the Cross – some scholars even suggest that their daily morning cup of coffee is one of the blessed sacraments. These allusions had me doing a deep dive into religious mysticism, the occult, and other fantastical beings. Some are harmless, such as the TARDIS-like stagecoach or ghastly visits from Mason’s deceased wife. But remember when we put aside the fact that history is told to us through someone else’s rose-colored lens? M&D leads me to believe that these theocratic forces were the ones ultimately controlling not just Mason and Dixon, but steering America down the wrong path from the very beginning.

“Hell, beneath our feet, bounded,— Heaven, above our pates, unbounded. Hell a collapsing Sphere, Heaven an expanding one. The enclosure of Punishment, the release of Salvation. Sin leading us as naturally to Hell and Compression, as doth Grace to Heaven, and Rarefaction.”

Where is She Now?

The dynamic duo returns to England in the third section of the book, Last Transit. This section is more of an epilogue, filled with hypnagogic expository and much less “action” overall, which I think works really well after reading 700 pages of misadventures. It’s in this section that the true friendship of Mason and Dixon blooms, something that you realize was growing the whole time – I can see why people say that Pynchon’s later works showed a lot of character development, as this last section was heartening and bittersweet at the same time.

If you are interested in reading this one, know that M&D is written in 18th century style English (as you've probably surmised from the quotes above), even though it was published in 1997. This took some adjusting when I started reading, but it really helps with immersion, making you feel like you’re reading an actual primary source re: the travels of the Reverend, Mason, and Dixon. And even though M&D is set in the 1700s, it is still incredibly relevant centuries later. Are there still invisible hands at play, pulling our strings under the guise of free will? Are there still colonialist tendencies, patriarchal hierarchies, and systemic racism? I'll let you answer that yourself.

“Does Britannia, when she sleeps, dream? Is America her dream?— in which all that cannot pass in the metropolitan Wakefulness is allow'd Expression away in the restless Slumber of these Provinces, and on West-ward, wherever 'tis not yet mapp'd, nor written down, nor ever, by the majority of Mankind, seen,— serving as a very Rubbish-Tip for subjunctive Hopes, for all that may yet be true,— Earthly Paradise, Fountain of Youth, Realms of Prester John, Christ's Kingdom, ever behind the sunset, safe till the next Territory to the West be seen and recorded, measur'd and tied in, back into the Net-Work of Points already known, that slowly triangulates its Way into the Continent, changing all from subjunctive to declarative, reducing Possibilities to Simplicities that serve the ends of Governments,— winning away from the realm of the Sacred, its Borderlands one by one, and assuming them unto the bare mortal World that is our home, and our Despair.”

#readingyear2024 #american #history #postmodern #physicallyowned #pynchon

by Philip K. Dick (1968)

2024 reads, 16/22:

It’s hard not to picture Harrison Ford as Rick Deckard, the main character of Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by PDK, and the inspiration for Ridley Scott’s 1982 movie Blade Runner. But this isn’t a bad thing, especially since Blade Runner is my favorite movie. It’s also surprising I’ve only now gotten around to reading the source material.

“Future and past blurred; what he had already experienced and what he would eventually experience blended so that nothing remained but the moment.”

Lots of differences between the movie and the book, and the biggest of which that stood out to me was the large focus on religion in the book. The core religion in DADOES, Mercerism, ultimately aims to increase human empathy; this sounds great, but it has its flaws. For example, its followers must use a device called an “empathy box,” which connects multiple people simultaneously into a virtual collective suffering. I loved this double-edged sword take on religion – by basing it on human empathy, we are led to believe in its inherent “good.”

Animal imagery is also much more prevalent in the book. This futuristic society seems to not just categorize, but rank, different beings: replicants, animals (both real and ‘electric’), specials (or chickenheads), and humans. It’s not as simple as humans vs. replicants; there are layers, or tiers, to this society. Maybe it’s because of the background reading I did on religion before reading Pynchon's Mason & Dixon, but this societal structure reminded me of the great chain of being, a hierarchical structure of all life decreed by God (the perfect scapegoat). This all circles back to the dark underside of religion, adding another dimension to Mercerism.

“Empathy, evidently, existed only within the human community, whereas intelligence to some degree could be found throughout every phylum and order including the arachnida.”

Based on how much I’ve mentioned the movie left out, you might think that this is a case of “the book is better than the movie” – and maybe, for most people, it is. But I just think they are two different pieces of art, trying to resonate with us in different ways. Reading this book got me thinking about adaptations in general, and what causes them to fail or succeed.

While they both accurately portray this concept of humanity and empathy, PKD does so by allowing us insight into the characters’ thoughts and feelings. The inner monologues of Deckard and John Isidore are all laid out. On the other hand, Ridley Scott chooses to use atmosphere and soundtrack. We read the characters’ faces, we feel Vangelis’ score pulsing throughout, pulling us in and widening our view on dystopia. We get a general sense of the time and mood, which is, in my opinion, also extremely effective.

After finally reading this book, I fully believe that Blade Runner and DADOES both get five stars, in their own way. If you like the book, give the movie a chance. If you like the movie, give the book a chance. I’m sure you’ll enjoy at least one of them.

“You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so. It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation; this is the curse at work, the curse that feeds on all life. Everywhere in the universe.”

PS: The unnamed owl in the movie, is officially named “Scrappy” in the book…

#readingyear2024 #scifi #dystopia #book2screen #pkd #book2screen