Dealings in Dystopia

Dystopia seems to be everywhere these days and Shusterman was at it before Collins' Hunger Games Trilogy wet the general appetite for the sub-genre with its revamp of the gladiatorial fight to the death.  Thus, “Unwind” could almost be seen as a forerunner to the pack, made the more interesting by the premise of his YA novel in depicting medical advances by way of legality and ethics.

 

Shusterman is, of course, well known for his “Goosebumps” works, amongst others.  “Unwind”, however, brings its subject matter to the table for a slightly older age range and is hard hitting in tone and concept.  Starting from the prospect of The Bill of Life, the result of constitutional amendments following a civil war known as “The Heartland War”, we learn a human life is sacrosanct “from the moment of conception until a child reaches the age of thirteen”.  As soon as the child reaches teenage years, however, they face the possibility that their parents may choose to have them “unwound” - a form of retrospective abortion in which they are essentially broken down for “parts”; to provide donor organs for other citizens, whilst still being kept alive during the procedure.  Ultimately, this leads to a pretty grim depiction of the actual operative process once the reader has become suitably invested in the characters and the stakes for what will be lost or gained are increased. 

Interestingly, Shusterman seems to have taken some inspiration from the real life (and internet archive notorious) case of an atheist who sought to sell his soul via Ebay and was ultimately refused permission to do so.

The narrative centres around three teenagers, Connor, Risa and Lev, predominantly, and the various reasons as a result of which they are due to be subject to the process of being “unwound”.  It is giving little away to say that the progression of the narrative places them all in a position where the due date for this is put on hold.

Medical probability of being able to accomplish the procedure aside, Shusterman raises some interesting questions with his narrative and pulls no punches in doing so.  In making us familiar with his young protagonists, he forces us to confront the rights and wrongs of both medical advances in technology and how society deals with problematic youngsters.  There is even a nod to the problems of overpopulation and validity of methods of control which can and should be exercised over it.

I found the manner in which Lev’s character was dealt with particularly interesting and would have liked to have seen further time devoted to his character development to support his overall character arc.  For me, the journey from origins and religious background to campaigning crusader of chaos needed extra space to explain his choices pre narrative conclusion.  Given the potential breadth of the topic Shusterman is seeking to encompass within what it essentially a YA novel, however, perhaps it would be asking too much for a significant degree of extra detail to be established within the remit of the page count or, indeed, for it to be extended massively.  Ultimately, Lev’s decision to make his own choice, as opposed to relying on the suggestions of others is what hits home most and grants his character the emotional depth it requires to provide a lasting impression.   

Pleasingly, Shusterman refuses to let his characters off lightly by providing a trite conclusion to their struggles for freedom in what are difficult circumstances.  This is particularly well demonstrated in the case of Risa, who is forced to make a difficult decision concerning how she wishes to live and, effectively, what kind of person this makes her in confronting the choice head on.  (As a minor gripe, Connor’s contrasting situation and donor limb tied in a little too neatly with the previous plot to read as a natural development.)  Lev, too, is left to confront the aftermath of his actions, as opposed to all being forgiven and being granted a “happily ever after”. 

Ultimately, the novel confirms that there are few easy answers when grappling with questions of medical ethics and advancement.  By reaching a conclusion where the fight for what is right continues, subject to a minor but important change in the legal position, Shusterman emphasises the careful balancing act to be performed when considering such issues, during the course of his narrative or otherwise.  It will be interesting to see how the topic is tackled when and if the rumoured film of the narrative comes to screen.

Once Upon A Time...

As someone who counts The Snow Queen amongst her favourite fairy tales and recommends The Red Shoes as a film choice (if you haven’t already seen it, check it out - Moira Shearer’s stellar ballet performance alone makes it worth your while), it should come as no great surprise that I anticipated the debut of Eowyn Ivey's The Snow Child eagerly.  (There’s an excerpt courtesy of a link via the author’s website for the curious).

Essentially, The Snow Child is a retelling of a Russian fairy tale, Snegurochka, or the The Little Daughter of the Snow (reproduced at the conclusion of the novel and citing Arthur Ransome’s version as the inspiration for the eventual novel).  In Ivey’s version, Mabel and Jack, a childless couple, move to Alaska to start a new life together in the wilderness.  They have been prompted to do so by their prior heartbreak and familial expectations and, thus, seek a life far from society and the pressures this has placed upon them. 

Life in Alaska, however, has its own demands and the climate is harsh.  Initially, they struggle to adjust to the dark, cold winters and feel themselves growing apart as a married couple.  Some impulse, however, prompts them to create the “snow child” of the title, which they gift with mittens and a hat and upon which Jack carves eyes, a nose and “small, white lips”.  Mabel even imagines she can “see cheekbones and a little chin”.

 

In the morning, there is only a small heap of snow in place of the girl they have built, despite Jack’s sleep deprived brain thinking it catches a glimpse of a small figure running towards the edge of the forest and disappearing into the trees.

 

The bleak surroundings of the Alaskan wilderness contrast nicely with the hope and love prompted by the arrival of Faina, the semi-feral snow child seemingly created by Mabel and Jack within their moment of impulse.  Similarly, significant effort is expended in ensuring the reader is provided with a loving amount of detail related to the landscape itself and this is well spent.  As with the characters, we are transported to an alien habitat, with all of its perils and pleasures in its unfamiliarity.  This means the pace of the narrative is measured but, for me, did not mean it became laboured at any stage.

Whilst Ivey dips in and out of using quotation marks, this coincides with the occasions upon which Faina is or is not present, seemingly adding to the reality or unreality of her existence.  Again, it therefore adds, as opposed to detracts from the narrative.

Ultimately, Ivey keeps her audience guessing up until the last minute as to whether or not Faina is a creature of flesh and bone or simply a being “spirited” into existence by the wishes of the previously childless Mabel and Jack and is no less powerful for doing so.  This is entirely in keeping with the spirit of the fairy tale from which the novel stems.  For those seeking a narrative which blurs the boundaries between fact and fiction, this may prove to be a place to start the search.

Alternative Reads:

In keeping with this, I also have Ali Shaw’s Desmond Elliott Prize winning The Girl With The Glass Feet on my “to-read” list currently, in addition to Mathias Malzieu's The Boy With the Cuckoo-Clock Heart.

Those looking for yet further additional reading material might also like to give Frances Gordon's reworking of Rumpelstiltkin, Changeling a look.

Selected Shorts

I’m always interested in short stories, whether singularly or produced as part of a collection or anthology – possibly because I’ve seen numerous references to the suggestion that this is a “dying” art form.  (Stephen King, for one, is an author who fights against this suggestion and, incidentally, looks towards artistic expression in e-format, serialisation; pretty much anything if it gets the words onto paper.  If you haven’t taken a look already, do yourself a favour and look out at least one of his short story collections.  If you’re not a horror fan, why not plump for Different Seasons and read – or even re-read - his novella Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption, amongst others?)

This is just a précis of some of my recent reads – and, in a couple of cases re-reads, which would be worth taking a look at.

Stories (Edited by Neil Gaiman and Al Sarrantonio was a compilation I originally picked up a copy of for Gaiman’s novelette The Truth is a Cave in the Black Mountains and Joe Hill's The Devil on the Staircase (both of which are well worth the time expended in a read of).

 

It was also my introduction to Kat Howard's work, being the volume which contained her first published short story, A Life in Fictions, the tale of a girl who is, quite literally, written into a story by her boyfriend.  Since then I’ve looked up copies of further shorts published by Howard and never yet been disappointed by having done so.  I’d heartedly recommend her Beauty and Disappearance  published in Weird Tales 356 but a number of her short stories have also been published online, such as Choose Your Own Adventure and The Least of the Deathly Arts.

Speaking of Joe Hill, 20^th Century Ghosts also deserves a shout out.  Hill is often coupled with the phrase “son of Stephen King” in write ups but is more than capable of holding his own against the legacy of his father’s writing, on the basis of my reading to date.  Whilst this collection of short stories is predominantly horror based, some of the entries fall outside of this category, such as Pop Art, the story of an inflatable boy or Bobby Conroy Comes Back From the Dead, which simply takes place on the set of a making of George Romero’s Dawn of the Dead.  (Incidentally, if you’re a UK reader, there’s a short film of Pop Art available via the BBC website here, courtesy of Amanda Boyle).

I’ve also looked up a number of Karen Joy Fowler's short stories this year, within her collections, Black Glass and What I Didn’t See.  I particularly enjoyed The Pelican Bar in her 2010 collection (What I Didn’t See), in which Norah is sent to a boarding school with a difference.  To say much more would spoil the impact of the story, so I’d suggest looking it up yourself to get the full effect.

Margo Lanagan is something of an acquired taste for some but her short story collection Black Juice contains the excellent Singing My Sister Down, which was nominated for both the Hugo and Nebula awards for best short story.  It documents the tale of a young boy watching his sister being executed by way of a tar pit for the murder of her husband.

Tales Of The Underground

“Matthew has loved Ariel from the moment he found her in the tunnels, her blond hair shining and her bee’s wings falling away.  They live together in Safe, a refuge deep underground for those fleeing the harsh city Above – as does Whisper, who speaks to ghosts, and Atticus, who has thick claws for hands, and Jack Flash, who can shoot lightning from his fingertips.

But one terrifying night, an old enemy invades Safe with an army of shadows, and only Matthew, Ariel, and a few friends escape Above.  Forced to survive in the most dangerous place he can imagine, Matthew strives to unravel the mystery of the shadows’ powers and Safe’s own secret history.  For he knows he must find a way to remake Safe – not just for himself and his friends, but for Ariel, who’s again faced with a life she fled, and who needs him more than ever before.”

Above is Leah Bobet's first novel, although I’ve been following her work online for a while now, given she’s been publishing short fiction and poetry since approximately 2001.  Those seeking her earlier work might like to consult her online bibliography for short fiction here.  Alternatively, samples of her recent poetry can be found here and here.  She also maintains a blog here.

In Above we’re introduced to Matthew, the boy with lion’s feet and gills (the legacy of his father and mother respectively) on supply duty prior to Sanctuary Night - the night when those wanting the sanctity of Safe’s quarters has their right to live there reconfirmed.  Matthew is the Teller for Safe, the one responsible for collecting everyone’s stories and recounting them subsequently.  Safe is populated by the unwanted from Above (essentially, our own world and specifically the city of Toronto); the Sick or mentally ill, those marginalised by society and the Cursed.

Before long, Safe is raided by a shadow army and Matthew and a few fellow escapees, including Ariel, a girl who turns into a bee when threatened, are forced into the world Above, aided by the sympathetic Doctor Marybeth.  Life in Safe being the only one Matthew has ever known, this forces him to confront the reality of the history and Tales provided to him by others, whilst seeking a way to retake his home.  The Tales are cleverly woven into the narrative and assist, rather than detract from, our understanding of the overriding narrative arc – as well as aiding in our grasp upon the characters as we navigate the world of Above with them.

Above is populated by precise and poetic prose, with clear care and attention paid to drafting.  Ultimately, this rewards the dedicated reader with a complex and far reaching story in which there are no simple solutions to the problems presented in the aftermath of the raid on Safe, nor trite “happily ever afters” for those seeking to re-establish their broken community and save themselves in the process.

 

The social commentary related to the marginalised within society and characterisation emphasising this aspect of the novel is similarly adept.  Thus, Corner is far from the maligned villain suspected at the outset of the narrative and whom the inhabitants of Safe have been taught habitually to fear.  Similarly, Ariel provides an effective illustration of psychiatric institutionalisation, warts and all.  The premise of hope in help within its walls depends upon the aid of good doctors, such as Doctor Marybeth, as opposed to the influence of the previously destructive “Whitecoats”.  The move, however, is when all’s said and done, one towards healing and renewal.  This, then, is the image with which we are left as reader.  That of regeneration and survival.  The move towards progression.  Ultimately, this makes Above a story of humanity and all the more real for it.   

Lesser Known, Lesser Spotted

On the subject of things that go bump in the night, this brings me to Robert Neill's “classic novel of witchcraft”, Mist Over Pendle, which has been a firm favourite of mine for a while now, despite being less well known than some of the more recent titles I’ve highlighted in previous blog entries.  (For US readers, this will be The Elegant Witch).

“When several local people die in mysterious circumstances, Squire Roger Nowell dismisses talk of witchcraft as superstition.  But soon a series of hideous desecrations take place, and there are unmistakable signs that a black coven is assembling to plot a campaign of evil and destruction.”

 

Such is the premise at the outset of Mist Over Pendle.  The reader travels with Roger Nowell’s niece Margary Whitaker from Holborn into the Forest of Pendle and shadow of Pendle Hill itself, bringing both into confrontation with the inhabitants of the Rough Lee and “dark elegance” of Alice Nutter.  Soon enough, Margery becomes aware that life in Pendle has definite “undercurrents” and that these are such that some of them run “muddily”.

 

The novel is an account of the Pendle Witches, a fascinating subject in itself and Neill provides vivid descriptions of his Demdike, Chattox and Squinting Lizzie to populate well-known local history.  We also see Jennet Device, the child informant responsible for the eventual apprehension of her own family who formed part of the recent BBC Four programme, The Pendle Witch Child, presented by Simon Armitage.

 

Pendle Hill, too, seems to feature as a distinct character in itself, filled with brooding emotion, as well as the calculated manoeuvres of “our Alice”.  For those familiar with the territory the novel explores within its seventeenth century context, the level of detail and close attention to it by the author is pleasing.  Neill displays a similar level of skill in the language utilised by his characters throughout the narrative, which, again, adds to the “feel” of the tale.  We also see signs of the troubled religious times within which the events of the narrative took place.

Add to this an intriguing story arc, almost in the guise of a detective style “who dunnit” (to which the reader is already privy to the details of, unlike the characters populating the narrative itself) and you have a rewarding reading prospect.

Ultimately, though, it is the characters who provide the definitive “hook” to reel you in in this instance.  Margery is sufficiently quick witted to prove more than a match for Alice Nutter in their on-going game of “cat and mouse”.  Roger, Margery’s distant magistrate cousin, who we grow to know rather better over the course of the narrative, is pragmatic, sardonic and wise by turns.  Neither feels forced nor clichéd in their depiction.  Their battle against the Lancastrian world of poisons, curses and familiars feels real and we get a genuine sense of the frustration displayed by Richard Baldwin, the “stout Puritan”, as they search for the proof of witchcraft necessary for a committal to Lancaster.

 

Nor does Neill leave us devoid of any romance beyond the intrigue surrounding Pendle coven.  In Margery and Frank and, equally, Grace and Miles, we see genuine developing relationships, the success of which we are invested in.  Not bad all told for an author concerning whom little is known.   

In Anticipation

I was interested to see the recent announcement that Alan Garner is to conclude his Weirdstone of Brisingamen Trilogy (begun as long ago as 1960) with the forthcoming Boneland.  The Weirdstone of Brisingamen and Moon of Gomrath were books I was introduced to at school during “story time” in my senior classes and which I remember fondly for their mix of local myth and legend, coupled with the summoning of the Wild Hunt.  This is one I’ll be looking out for later this year, in light of the anticipated August publication date.

Additionally – Rowling’s first adult publication is also due for release.

Going Ghostly

“Just your average boy-meets-girl, girl-kills-people story…”  So begins the blurb for Kendare Blake's  Anna Dressed In Blood.  We’re introduced to Cas Lowood, who travels the country, together with his kitchen-witch mother and a cat who can smell the spirits with whom Cas himself comes face to face.  Add in a father whose mantle Cas has taken over, following his demise at the hands of a ghost he set out to kill and who left him partly eaten and so far, so Supernatural.  (Particularly when we first greet Cas as he encounters a hitchhiker behind the wheel of his 1969 Camaro Rally Sport, specially picked for the job at hand). 

It’s when he arrives in the new town of Thunder Bay, Ontario, in search of the spirit known to the locals as “Anna Dressed In Blood” that the Buffy reminiscent narrative really gets going.  Here, Cas encounters the eponymous Anna, who has previously killed each and every person who has set foot inside the Victorian house she previously called home since her death.  For some reason, however, she spares Cas’s life, which leads him to the conclusion that she doesn’t want to kill and is actually possessed by a dark force - the same one which leads her to rip her victims apart and hoard their bodies. 

Despite the YA tag (or, indeed, perhaps because of it), Blake doesn’t hold back from disclosing hard hitting descriptive details when dealing with the deaths during the course of the novel – one character is literally torn in two before our eyes.  Anna’s death, too, pulls no punches and makes for particularly difficult reading, both emotionally and literally; filled with blood, hatred and her desperation to escape during the attack.

The twist in showing Anna as victim as well as killer is an interesting one and one which results in an altogether fresh read, previous Buffy and Supernatural comparisons aside.  Soon enough, Cas is gathering together his new (and only real) set of friends to confront an older and more horrifying threat than that he envisaged facing in Anna herself…

As a reader, you can’t help sympathising with Anna as the narrative progresses and Blake shows similar skill in her general characterisation, avoiding cliché in her depiction of the popular Carmel and the less than popular Thomas, who becomes Cas’s somewhat reluctant sidekick.  It was also nice to see a novel with a strong male protagonist, given the recent apparent trend within the YA genre to view a story arc from the female perspective, a la Hunger Games, Delirium and Divergent, to name but a few.  Cas, too, unsurprisingly, develops from the aloof hunter, alone as a result of his own conscious choice to be so and looking for revenge for his father’s death during the story’s arc.

As an aside, it was also nice to see the attention to detail in the typescript for the novel, which is an off red, similar to the colour of dried blood; particularly fitting for what makes for a clever horror story.  Whilst the ending ties matters together satisfactorily, it also leaves things neatly placed for the forthcoming sequel, Girl of Nightmares, which will be available later this year.