|
What
THEY Said
"Like
some delicious, delirious mashup of H.P. Lovecraft, Mervyn Peake and L.
Frank Baum, but with his own verbal dexterity and perverse ingenuity,
VanderMeer's book is a dual autobiography…Looping back and forth through
time, built of small intimate moments and large societal set-pieces (the
wartime opera performance is positively Pynchonesque), this novel never
allows its elaborate literary apparatus to muffle its affecting narrative
about love, art, sibling rivalry, commerce, history and some really nasty
'shrooms."
--Paul
Di Filippo, The Washington Post
There are a lot of puzzling reviews on this book. We get the feeling
that on one really explored it like VanderMeer intended. This is an
example. We've often quoted Di Filippo on this site--usually to his
celebrity. But this is just weird. In a way, we guess, L. Frank Baum is a
curious but interesting analogue to these stories but in the end that only
speaks to the setting and nothing at all about the themes that he sets up.
We feel that there is a true and sober seriousness about this book that is
belied by the jocular tone of these sorts of reviews.
The great
city-state of Ambergris, situated on the banks of the river Moth:
conceived in sin—the wholesale slaughter of its indigenous inhabitants,
the mushroom-like gray caps—and haunted by tragedy—the sudden and
unexplained disappearance of thousands of its inhabitants, known as The
Silence. Ambergris's citizens tread lightly on a ground beneath which the
gray caps still lurk, the thin veneer of their lives' normality frequently
punctured by eruptions of madness and violence.
--Abigail
Nussbaum, Strange Horizons
Now here is an example of someone who got it. Look at the kind
of thing that VanderMeer evokes in his reader: a city "conceived in
sin" and "haunted." These are certainly not the words of
the historians who bicker endlessly about whether a "sin"
occurred or what caused the "tragedy." These are feelings that
emanated out of the novel and enveloped Nussbaum. That's the mark of a
great book. In the end, Nussbaum wrote a rather negative review of the
book but even a negative review reveals some of the challenge and majesty
of this book. That's another mark of a great book.
I've read
trade paperback originals from the United Kingdom, and finally, a
legitimate first-edition hardcover from Tor, the mammoth god of all
science fiction publishing, who doth handeth tablets down from above and
raineth crap down from below.
--Rick
Kleffl, Trashotron
This was a pretty decent review but we quoted because of this hilarious
description of Tor. Yes, Tor, that publisher that with one hand gives us
VanderMeer and Wolfe and Michael Flynn but with the other smacks us around
with Goodkind and Jordan and endless permutations of Orson Scott Card.
What a weird place that must be when they're trying to decide what to
publish.
What
We Say
Duncan Shriek--Historian--is the voice of the Platonic Ideal of the
scholar. There is a great deal to say about this remarkable book but it
starts and ends, not with Janice Shriek who is the notional author of the
book, but with Duncan Shriek, Historian.
It is said of VanderMeer that the city of Ambergris is his great
achievement. Certainly. But what causes Ambergris to be and what gives it
its power is The
Early History of the City of Ambergris by Duncan Shriek, Historian. This
flawless short story appears in The City of Saints and Madmen and
is the centerpiece of that collection of stories. It is out of this book
that we are given this first novel of Ambergris, Shriek: an Afterword. The
Early History of the City of Ambergris is an essential read in general--truly one
of the most casually terrifying short stories ever written--and it is the
introduction and an understanding of Ambergris and of Duncan Shriek... the
man who will be described by nemesis/collaborator Mary Sabon as a man
"composed entirely of digressions and transgressions." Duncan
admits as much where halfway through the very first sentence of the story,
the reader is treated with what--as far as we know--is the only example of
three footnotes all in a row following one of the principal characters
showing as: "Cappan John Manikert1 2 3." With
apologies to VanderMeer for quoting so heavily, The second of those
footnotes announces, "A footnote on the purpose of these footnotes:
This text is rich with footnotes to avoid inflicting upon you, the idle
tourist, so much knowledge that, bloated with it, you can no longer
proceed to the delights of the city with your customary mindless abandon.
In order to hamstring your predictable attempts--once having discovered a
topic of interest in this narrative--to skip ahead, I have weeded out all
of those cross references to other Hoegbotton publications that litter the
rest of this pamphlet series like a plague of fungi." Then, footnote
3: "I should add to footnote 2 that the most interesting information
will be included only in footnote form, and I will endeavor to include as
many footnotes as possible. Indeed, information alluded to in footnote
form will later be expanded upon in the main text, thus confusing any of
you have decided not to read footnotes."
Indeed,
The Early History is half-composed of footnotes filled with witticisms,
asides--really digressions and self-described transgressions. The reader
will quickly discover Duncan's familiar handiwork in this Afterword.
Earnestly written by his sister Janice, he has taken it upon himself to
fill it with digressions and transgressions in the form of parenthetical
asides sprinkled throughout the book. We are called upon to quote JD
Salinger from Seymour, an Introduction in preparing
the reader for the proliferation of parentheticals: "I privately say
to you, old friend (unto you, really, I'm afraid), please accept from me
this unpretentious bouquet of very early blooming parentheses: (((()))). I
suppose, most unflorally, I truly mean them to be taken, first off, as
bowlegged--buckle-legged--omens of my state of mind and body at this
writing." Duncan does the same in his foreword: "I hope Janice will forgive or
forget my own efforts to correct the record." The powerful voice of
Duncan acts as a foil, a counterpointing (dis?)harmony, and often tells us
much by his editorial silence on certain subjects as he does in his
writings. It is a mark of the astonishing genius and creative ability of
VanderMeer that, after pages of muttered asides by Duncan, we suddenly
feel a yawning absence in the text where we feel Duncan should be
speaking--we expect him to speak--but he does not. Why not here? we
are forced to pause and wonder. These dramatic pauses are next to
Shakespearean in their presence.
Janice--with the able (obscuring?) assistance of Duncan--writes a joint
family biography of their time and efforts in Ambergris spanning early
years of cultural revolution, to outright civil war, to later times of
coming strife and change within the city itself, which becomes known as
The Shift (cross-reference with The Silence from The Early History).
Their mutual autobiography is not necessarily a study of their
lives--though it is--but is a steady as a metaphor in the ideal life of
the scholar--hence our notion of the Platonic Ideal, which we'll borrow
liberally from the Classics--that is the siren call for all scholars
working in academia or in any similar analytical position. As Arthur is
the model king, as Alexander is the model field commander, as Da Vinci is
the model Renaissance Man, as Einstein is the model physicist, as Archimedes
is the model mathematician (all these to the extent that any actual or
half-actual person can achieve the Platonic Ideal) so Duncan Shriek is to
the scholar. Yet before exploring this notion of the scholar, first
consider the city of Ambergris itself.
There is plenty to explore in Ambergris as an embodiment of the concept of the "new
weird." There is plenty weird here. The city is infested with a kind
of fungal infestation that has become casually accepted by the populace.
They live in uneasy truce/armistice with underground dwelling mushroom
people (the grey caps). They live in relative isolation, assimilate local
tribes of native peoples, adore opera and other forms of art, and exist in
a state of anarchy apparently politically stabilized by two publishing and
mercantile houses rather than a government.
One of the interesting things that critics constantly note about
Ambergris is that the city itself is a character. It's a slippery concept,
really, to announce that a place and a setting is as rounded and complete
as a character. What does it mean? Is Gondor or Lothlorien a character of
Middle-Earth? How about Rome in various histories and fictions? The
Confederate South in Civil War commentaries? Chicago in Sinclair's The
Jungle? For us, we believe a place emanates a character-like aura when
it's distinctive characteristics as a population or its reactions to
certain events become peculiar or unique. Ambergris definitely qualifies
in this sense. For example, the Festival of the Freshwater Squid as a kind
of mardis gras like celebration featuring a mixture of revelry and riot is
something that is faintly familiar but peculiarly Ambergrisian. Their
infatuation with opera, while odd to us, has a kind of familiarity with
armchair politicians and quarterbacks alike. The fungal
infestations--casually identified as spores in the air, growths on people
and appliances, and even weaponry based upon infestations is extremely odd
but faintly familiar as the technological that permeates our own existence
in the 21st century. VanderMeer has masterfully provided a touch of the
familiar to all of his amazingly "weird" inventions and it gives
Ambergris its distinctive characteristics. More importantly, though, it
makes the city accessible to his readers... something that many
authors never do.
The other item that characterizes Ambergris and its citizenry is what
we see as a concept of the pioneer. Not necessarily the romantic
wagon-train riding, gun-toting manifest destiny pioneer... but rather, a
people who are living in a fairly settled city but living in isolation
from the rest of the world. Ambergris is mightily isolated. They proudly
point to their pioneering heritage with Manzikert and we even have
displaced peoples and massacres of aboriginals in the grey caps. There is
even a foreign power of greater wealth and prowess that threatens the
boundaries. What makes the pioneer such an interesting effect is that the
history is all relatively recent; the issues of the city really the issues
of the universe for al practical purposes; and there is literally no
possibility of succor from outside: they are entirely dependant upon
themselves. It affords a kind of justifiable myopia. But it also lets
VanderMeer explore how people adapt and become accustomed to the most
outrageous circumstances. The manifestations of the grey caps, the fungal
explosions, the wars and battles over matters we might regard as trivia,
and the reactions of the people... we might regard all of this as
"weird' but really, it is again faintly familiar. We know of many
historical circumstances where populations have become accustomed to
shocking events. In the end, Ambergris is human and it celebrates a
kind of human adaptability and power. Humanity has the ability to
assimilate and adapt... to become absolutely careless and casual of the
most terrifying of instances.
The grey caps become an enormously complex and exciting metaphor for
many different things. They are the monster under the bed, the conspiracy
theories, the poltergeists, the horoscopes, and all things we know of
today that are borderline preposterous but tend to command a kind of
terrifying and addictive draw. But there are much more. They are a
metaphor for the oppressed... or more correctly, the not quite fully
oppressed. Few populations are suppressed completely and there is an
undercurrent of violence and rebellion seething underneath the most bland
exteriors. The grey caps symbolize an unsettling but dimly visible threat
that permeates a great deal of modern society. Moreover, they are
elemental. They are of the natural world. They are natural catastrophe,
natural decay, the ultimate danger and triumph of the physical world over
anything mankind might build. No matter what we construct or what we do,
we are but one earthquake, volcano, or other obscure threat away from
complete extinction. Furthermore, failing any sort of final catastrophic
event, the human race is ultimately doomed for we will not survive
forever. The earth has swallowed all species, great and small, over the
eons of time and the grey caps seem timeless in comparison to the
inevitably transitory Ambergrisians. Finally, they are utterly mysterious
and unknowable. Even Duncan Shriek, who appears to know more of the grey
caps than any other person alive and perhaps in history, is himself
transformed and strangely afflicted plus, in the end, no more capable of
helping or resisting than the most clueless of the citizenry.
But hear now what this book is about! The
book is about Duncan Shriek The Scholar! In many, many ways this book is
about scholarship. From their historian father and isolated upbringing,
Duncan and Janice have all the hallmarks of the archetypal upbringing.
Duncan himself follows in his fathers footsteps where Janice takes on the
bohemian lifestyle of the New Art... and VanderMeer has lots to say
about this. Very interesting, very relevant, and very revelatory things.
There are sections in the early parts of this book that will make the
academic weep and shake in recognition of himself and the things he always
thought just below the surface. For that reason alone, academics
everywhere should adore this book. There is enough material there to fill
essays of many English 101 classes across major land-grant universities...
or websites purveying papers, whichever the case may be. But there's
something very, very special about Duncan.
The Historian Duncan Shriek is--not the
ironic, marginalized scholar of The Early History--but rather
something that takes more from the archetypal criticism of Northrop Frye
and Joseph Campbell than the archetypical scholar. He follows in his
father's footsteps, who's slightly discredited work he takes up. He
discovers that his father's quest into the mysteries of the grey caps were
investigating not dry dusty legends--the provenance and dubious world of
the academic--but rather something mysterious and important to present-day
Ambergris. He takes up his father's mantle and becomes studies his work.
Slowly, surely, he takes up the quest. Not unlike Luke Skywalker taking up
the light saber or Arthur taking up Excalibur Duncan's studies take on a
kind of mythic quality that he firmly believes will bring about a kind of
saving of grave threats to Ambergris. He even suffers from powerful,
romantic love only to lose her as every hero from Luke to Arthur must!
It's here that the deadly accurate portrayal
of the academic slowly and majestically--just as the spores of the grey
caps seep into the fabric of Ambergris and transform it--turns to the
fantasy that the academic dreams for himself. What more can a historian
want than that which Duncan Shriek finds himself within? He diligently,
quietly, and with noble sufferings studies his craft--in this case,
history--in order to shed the light of Turth upon the present. He sculpts
youth with this Truth, still quietly and nobly suffering, to the deeper
understanding of all. He suffers the Cassandra Complex--he sees the truth
and the consequences where no one else can and does work that no one else
could. All with the understanding that at some point--at long last!--he
will be in vindicated. His publication will ring across the world like the
horns of the Second Coming or the wild horns of Rohan raising the siege of
Gondor... the city saved, the people rejoicing, his name celebrated in
richly deserved fame.
VanderMeer has woven a truly remarkable
novel. A celebration of the fantasy of the scholar immersed within the
study of a frontier society and its bizarre evolutions as a people. For
all the weirdness that these people adapt to, grow accustomed to, and even
celebrate, their very human hopes and dreams and desires and loves and
fantasies ring through every page of this book. It's a monumental success
for VanderMeer.
Place
in the Genre We
are about to say these things not because this is a bad book. It's a very,
very good book. Rather, we say these things because it was so good and
because it inspires so many ideas about what makes writing important. We
write these things as a result of VanderMeer's power as a writer rather
than in defiance of it. We chose above to compare this book to Hawaii
by James Michener and that comparison makes one think. As a book of a
place and a book of a time and a book of a people--or peoples--Michener's
work stands peerless in many regards. He takes the place of Hawaii,
populates it but never moves away from it, and leaves the reader with a
profound sense of comprehension of both place and people. VanderMeer, in
Ambergris, has situated a novel regarding a place and a people. Where
Michener chose a third-person omniscient narrative, which allows him the
sweeping scope and majesty of the work, VanderMeer chose a very personal
1st person narrator (or rather, a hybrid-mind narration of brother and
sister and publishing editor). This separates the two books. It makes
VanderMeer's by far the more artistic, the more psychologically
investigative. It makes him, perhaps, the better literary scholar in the
realm of academic theory, let us say. Michener, by choosing omniscience,
is able to reveal things about Hawaii that VanderMeer never can about
Ambergris. VanderMeer's narrative style is limiting in exactly the sense
that many readers will crave the most: that deep and profound
understanding of place. Where Hawaii enlightens Ambergris remains opaque
to our questions and comprehension. This will delight many but, for the
purposes of mass appeal, it may limit VanderMeer's audience. In
a way, VanderMeer's answer to this was his (impossibly brilliant) short
story The Early History of the City of Ambergris. Here, we are given a very
literal history of Ambergris. As brilliant as that short story was,
however, it doesn't interpenetrate the experience of the people... in
essences, we don't see the history created; only chronicled. And it's not
the same. We use Hawaii here as a metaphor for where one could
really put in a host of historical- and place-fictional novels of greater
and lesser work. This is not Shriek's objective--and we don't imply
that it is in any way a failure for it--but in investigating, seeking, and
reaching audiences and readers it's always interesting to speculate about
what reaches readers in a very special way. Our rating scheme, our
reason for reviewing, is to estimate how books will stand the test of
time. Can Shriek reach those same people and critics who will
maintain a book across decades? We don't, perhaps, see that here. Rather,
like City of Saints and Madmen, this book might be more the
provenance of the scholarly elite. But who knows? The scholarly elite keep
books alive from Finnegans Wake to The Book of the Long Sun.
There is certainly merit enough here to put it in the qualifying rounds
for canonization. Who
Should Read It's
a fantasy book for adults... but in that vein its the kind of book that
can appeal to a wide variety of readers. Academics will revere moments in
this book (the flesh necklace of Mary Sabon is a particularly appropriate
vision for what else do professors garb themselves with if not people?
Both the living and the dead?) People who have read and enjoy Kingsley
Amis, a man celebrated in academia, will enjoy this book a great deal.
This has always been a great audience for VanderMeer whose past works have
similarly been warmly received in those circles. Additionally, while some
readers may have trouble getting past some of the more esoteric moments,
as a study of a city and a people it is a match for other celebrated works
in the New Weird such as Perdido
Street Station and The Etched City. Yet despite our
acknowledging esoteric principles in the plot, the characters are so human
in every way that we can equally give a hearty recommendation for
readers who enjoy Stephen King a great deal. Who
Should Avoid We
suppose that there was a decision in the publication process not to
include the short story The Early History of the City of Ambergris.
It's a very different book with a very different purpose (we believe) that
probably would've conflicted with Shriek. Yet at the same time it's
such a vital piece of understanding for the city of Ambergris itself.
There probably was no good solution for this but nonetheless we worry that
new readers to VanderMeer's world will be confused about Ambergris and the
place in which they've arrived. Some may put the book down in despair (and
to their unknowing woe). Readers who are easily confused or put off by
hazily defined shadow worlds that may or may not make immediate sense (or
ever make sense) will be repelled by the story. They would be better
served by the more straightforward fantasy works of George RR Martin--a
world that operates with all the mechanical clarity of a master
clockmaker. VanderMeer did not make a clock... he painted something in the
impressionist style. Additionally, the framing of the book may irritate
some readers... this is unavoidable because one of the books finest
strengths are the intrusions of Duncan over the narrative of
Janice--really almost sibling squabbling in some cases--but it will also
turn away some readers. Those who attempted Wolfe and were daunted by the
Books of the Long and Short Sun will not find Shriek an enjoyable
read.
Feedback on this review |
