The Sorcerer's House by Gene Wolfe

I also finished reading a new novel by Gene Wolfe entitled "The Sorcerer's House". It was described as a fantasy, and I have found Wolfe to be an erudite, engaging, ambitious writer whose style has influenced my own. I wish at times that I had walked along the path that he cleared, he having also been an engineer who gave himself over to literary pursuits, and produced such indelible works as "The Fifth Head of Cerberus", "The Sword of the Conciliator" and "Soldier of the Mist".

His style, as indicated above, is literary, and seems almost stately. However, he is never completely trustworthy, and this is due perhaps precisely to his encyclopedic nature. Wolfe has read so widely and has so many literary precursors to draw upon that he seems to be more than just a compendium of styles. He frequently jars our perception by introducing inconsistencies that seem to escape notice because we are seduced by the action and the intoxicating prose, but are there nonetheless. He makes me think of what Jorge Luis Borges might have become if he had chosen to write longer works of fiction, rather than the short stories for which he is known.

In this case, I didn't quite know what to expect. Perhaps I was hoping for something along the lines of "Mythago Wood" by Robert Holdstock, where we had a window into the archetypal layers of the human mind. Or maybe I was hoping for something along the lines of "The Wizard Knight", a recent fantasy that he published a few years ago, detailing the growth and development of an apprentice warrior who assumes mythical qualities.

When I think about it, there always seems to be a mythical quality to all his protagonists. They are heroes, in the Greek sense, figures who are better than ordinary humans but who have frailties as well. They don't quite realize their special status, and they fail at times, but they have a greater destiny and they always seems to find a series of challenges and encounters that are quite metaphorical, as they echoe the mileposts of the hero's journey. The hero is always reluctant, but grows into his role.

In this case, we have an ex-con by the name of Bax who comes into possession of a mysterious house located in a small town in the midwest. The provenance of this house if very mysterious, and there is a lore associated with it. The community seems to think it is haunted, and Bax will begin to have mysterious encounters of his own.

It turns out, this house serves as a portal to the land of fairie. However, excursions to this place do not figure prominantly in this novel. Instead, the adventures take place in the mundane world, one in which the protagonist has to struggle with obtaining money to sustain himself, while coming to terms with the growing list of characters he encounters. That he never seems to question his sanity is perhaps a little perturbing. It would be easy to think that this novel represents the reflections of a character who has become unhinged, but despite all the fantastic elements, he proceeds as normal in a novel that takes the form of epistolary exchanges.

The hero is, as always, appealing, and there is always an air of innocence to him. The same can be said of Severian from the Urth of the New Sun series, or Latro of the historical fantasies, or the protagonist of the Wizard Knight. He is earnest, however it may be that he also has a deep wellspring of knowledge and a deep philosophical grounding. Such is the case with Bax, who is always discovering something about himself.

The element of danger comes into play in the threatened encounter with a werewolf, one who goes by the name of Lupine (Wolfe, as in the author's name), and a creature that has attacked and killed several people in the town. I almost suspected Lupine to be an externalized materialization of the character Bax, but it is, indeed, a cartoonish, deadly femme fatale. We have encountered them several times in his fiction. they wish to seduce the protagonist, but there is no love that is offered by them. It is to be a type of conquest.

Bax resists, and he finds new family members. The motif of identical twins is reproduced several times, which only serves to emphasize the idea that we have a character who is splitting off from himself. Bax has a twin brother named George who despises him, and they in turn have a different set of identical brothers who live in fairy. The mom is also an identical twin. This twin motif is redolent of some deeper meaning, of a psyche that is budding off in some form of fractal movement, curling and reproducing the same structure over and over.

Yes, the novel does incorporate some trite stereotypes that seem at time jarring, but only if we fail to appreciate that Wolfe's protagonists have a certain juvenile quality. Such were the ideas of youth, and such were the exciting yearnings and sexual fantasies of juvenile males, those that have been continually acknowledge by fantasy writers, and took the form of voluptuous, scantily-clad females in pulp novels. (Think of Frank Frazetta artwork.)

The ending seems muddled. It concludes rather hastily, and it seems to be characterized not by a logical, satisfying tying of all the loose ends, but by a precipitated encounter. It belies the pace that we have come to associate with Wolfe novels.

I found this novel enjoyable at times, but ultimately, disappointing. I will, however, continue to read his works. They form a common thread that links my teenage self with the person I have become now. I can certainly share in this sense of innocence, even if, more and more, I seem to be obsessed with retracing my steps.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013

Wolves Eat Dogs by Martin Cruz Smith

I must be losing more of my brain cells than I realize. I seem to be having more and more trouble logging into this blog. The attribution of a causal mechanism to physiological deterioration may be faulty, however, in this instance. If I were to be truthful, I would have to state that I am losing the urge to continue with this blog.

Recently I finished reading Martin Cruz's Smith's novel, Wolves Eat Dogs. It details the further exploits of his iconic Eastern European police detective, Arkady Renko, who first came to the fore in the novel from the 80s, Gorky Park.

He may conceivably have appeared in other books, but I first encountered him in that one. It was a novelty at the time, to have a detective/crime fiction narrative set in the Soviet Union. Back then, our perception was that the country was a police state, and that lurid crimes did not provide the convenient narrative fodder that we associated with much more disorderly countries such as those of the West. After all, if Big Brother was watching over you constantly, what could escape the notice of the watchers?

It was a satisfying thriller, as I remember, being a teen back then. Now, all these years later, we have the latest exploits of a detective who, seemingly, would be in his sixties, but would more accurately be assigned an age in the forties. Arkady will always be that age. He will go through live growing wearier and wearier, but he will also never become completely frail. He is world-weary, as all detectives should be.

In this instance, he investigates a crime which involves the murder of a Russian oligarch, that species of predatory capitalist that arose out of the ashes of the Soviet Union. What is detailed is a world filled with bewildering change, where the New Russians of the post-Collapse are engages in an orgy of consumption, given full scope for the expression of their predatory instincts. That they have plundered the economy and accumulated immense wealth is not to be denied. That there may conceivable be a deep backlash is also a prospect that seems worrying.

In this ecosystem we are transported as well to the dead zone around the Ukrainian site of the Chernobyl accident of the 80s. I remember that accident, and it seems as if it took place only yesterday. We had always believed that the Soviets were insufficiently careful with their industrial pollution, but this was a mishap of a scale that was breathtaking. There were expressions of panic throughout Europe over winds that might spread radioactive waste throught the continent. It was a moment of terror and, given that the country was still a closed society, we may never really know the full scope of the damage caused by this disaster.

Well, it turns out that there is a connection between this zone and the murder of the oligarch. Arkady is sent to investigate, and he comes into contact with the band of survivors and returnees who have chosen to make a life in this zone. There is still life in this area, and the region is not a dreadful husk of its former self. There is live in the detective as well.

He enters into relationships, and seems to be seeking a sort of absolution or, at times, an excuse to give in to his self-destructive nature. It is a stereotype that we hold about the Russian mind, the one that is burdened by the sheer scale and relentless struggle visited upon him by his surroundings and his history. We have no nostalgic schmaltz surrounding the memories of a past age of greatness, such as we have with the Portuguese "saudade". We have bitterness, and a deep sense of loss over what is perceived at times to be an idealized rural past. Did this Russian mentality, distorted as it may be by the Western imagination, really exist in the past as well? What happens to countries that are shaped by this sense of loss?

There is action, there are dangerous encounters, and there are fascinating, fictionalized details about this area. In the end, the mystery seems to be resolved rather messily and, to my mind, in a formulaic way. While it could have been anticipated that the culprit would be revealed to be an unlikely suspect (in this case, the scion of the famous Gerasimov clan, a researcher who promotes ecological restoration even if the radiation from the dangerous isotopes will persists for thousands of years), what I disliked was the fact that we had scenes in which, once again, the villain delays executing the protagonist and seems to gloat, spending just enough time to ensure that salvation comes to the detective. It seems almost like a failure of the imagination to give in to these plot devices.

I relish this character, and can certainly identify with him. I am now approximately his age, and feel at times the spiritual weight of my own years. However, I didn't find this novel particularly satisfying. And yet, I will return to him as long as Martin Cruz Smith continues with this series.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013

A Light in the Road

I also finished reading Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road”. I first heard of this author last year, when I saw the film by the Coen brothers, “No Country for Old Men”. I was intrigued, and while I didn’t go out and look for that novel, I still somehow appreciated the dark vision that was evident.

This novel deals with a society in which the natural environment seems to have been irrevocably destroyed, and the last few humans are scrambling desperately to survive. A man and his son are on the road, traveling south, looking for some form of haven but having to deal with seemingly impossible odds.

The poetic language is compelling. I was continually intoxicated by the language, and recognized a vividness of image as well as association with memories and reflective stages, in which the thoughts of sadness and loss seem to predominate. This is no happy narrative, no world of sunlight and plenitude and confidence. All these characters are in peril, and they are all lonely and seemingly lost in this world.

What kind of natural disaster could have befallen such that it could kill an entire ocean? Who can imagine the scale of extinction that could encompass the eliminations of whole species of birds, as well as the loss of fish in streams? The characters, and almost all the humans that are encountered, are reduced to scavenging for food, trying to find the last stores of canned goods, and even, most hauntingly, to cannibalism. This is most poignantly demonstrated in the episode with the three scarecrow figures that are seen from afar, one of them a pregnant woman, and the discovery that comes after.

The man is trying to protect his son, and any sense of moral rectitude and hope seems to lie in the love that they express for each other. There is no society any more. Human extinction seems to be the strongest possibility, and the dark tone of this work is echoed by the weather, by the clouds and the chill and the rain and the snow as winter sets in. It is the gloam, if I am indeed recalling a word that would suggest that period before darkness sets in, and yet, the innocence of the child seems to represent the one lonely, consoling light.

Traveling as they do, they come to know each other and to deepen their love for each other. And, as the father says in their rather terse dialogue that is so concise it becomes poetic, they are lucky. Something is sustaining them, even as they risk capture, and torture, and are punished by hunger and solitude and sickness. They reach out to each other, and each gesture of affection represents a moment of hope that stands out in the darkness.

The ending, as one may imagine in a dark work, is one that is in keeping with this predicament. There is no prospect of a happy Hollywood ending, and of a rescue by representatives of a resilient society. The truth is, society is not resilient. Disaster seems to have overtaken everyone on this road, but the journey also obeyed a human imperative. Who can exhaust the meanings of the road? It served to sustain them, and to give hope when there was none.

I look forward to reading more of McCarthy’s works.

A Dark Fantasy (Odd John)

I few weeks ago I read the book “Odd John” by Olaf Stapledon. It had been my impression that I had never read this novel before, although I had read other works by this author. However, as I delved into this work, it seemed to me as if faint memories were awoken, and with them, some reservations.

This book deals with a recurrent theme in science fiction, that of a transformed humanity. In this case, mutations are cropping up and selected humans are being born with a novel brain structure, one that increases their intelligence dramatically. The title character, “Odd John”, is one such being, and this book details the story of his life, from his beginning and the anxiety provoked by his odd appearance and behavior to his adulthood, one in which he undertakes to search for others of his kind and to form a separate society.

Their intelligence is a rank above that of ordinary humans, one so much as to brook comparison to the chasm that separates men from cattle. He, the boy, is able to progress far beyond the frontiers that have been established by the brightest of the human race, and this contributes to a feeling not only of condescension (mild, but nonetheless disturbing), but also to a certain recklessness that comes with the idea that he ordinary limits and restraints don’t apply to him. Thus providing justification for an early murder.

If one can see beyond the hero worship of the narrator, an erstwhile friend of the superhuman, one can see indeed a being who is somewhat monstrous. After all, besides his intelligence, he is also able to engage in telepathy, and can control minds by suggestion as well as by the implantation and the erasure of certain thoughts. Who can stop such a being?

Of course he and his kind will awaken fear. And this is recognized early on, because in addition to telepathy, these beings would seem to be able to see into the future, an ability to forecast, perhaps, trends and likely outcomes based on their acute reading of psychological motivation as well as sociological trends. Of course normal human society will reject them, and they will be attacked at some point.

The superman is not an innocent being, after all. With unrestrained power we have to face the possibility or, perhaps closer to the truth, the inevitability of abuses that will be committed. The book seems to obscure this with the admiring perspective of the narrator, but the reader can’t help but feel alarmed, a sensation that I have no doubt was one that was consciously crafted by the author.

After establishing their society in an island which the superhumans brutally take over by expelling and killing the inhabitants, they proceed to conduct their experiments. Part of these involve biological investigations, ones in which they callously and, once again, brutally carry out, this time by extracting eggs and other tissues from inhabitants (women, mostly) from neighboring islands. At this point, the narrator also feels a certain amount of horror, but he is also thrilled by the display of power, and it is a phenomenon to which all of us are, perhaps, susceptible.

The scoundrel and the tyrant have ever been compelling figures. I look, for example, at the doings of a tinpot dictator such as Hugo Chavez of Venezuela, who is always engaged in bombastic speeches, denouncing aggresors and enemies, both foreign and domestic, and expropriating property as well as shutting down free speech. They have a certain entertainment values, as if we were to imagine that they take us into a different realm of perception, one in which we can engage our own power fantasies. Like the example of the man who finds a magic ring that grants him invisibility in one of Plato’s works, evolution is at work regardless of the level of supposed intelligence, one in which we give way to brutal acts of self-interest.

These superhumans will be confronted and, after accomplishing a somewhat mysterious mission of cogitation or transcendence, one that seems undecipherable, they die and somehow sink their island. However, I am left with the impression, not of futility or ambition thwarted, but with the idea of a monstrous threat that remains ever present in human society. They may have been super-intelligent, and they may have been unnaturally dextrous physically, but they behaved with naked self-ambition as well, and seemed no more spiritually developed than an obstreperous five-year old.

It is, indeed, a dark fantasy.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013

A little man's dreams

After a break of several months in which I have been involved in a never-ending project that has yet to reach completion, I have decided to resume blogging. If perhaps I feel less strongly than before about the need to maintain a record of books and movies and outings that I have seen and participated in this past year, I nonetheless continue to feel that this is a good excuse to include thoughts about my life and endeavours.

Earlier today I saw the German film, Merchant of all Seasons. It is a film by the prolific Rainer Werner FaBbinder, the West German director who did so much to revitalize the films of his native country. Of course, when I was a young man, I had never heard of him, but when I commenced taking German language classes at the university, I still remember the admiration that was expressed by the graduate student instructors who taught our classes. He did produce a series of compelling films that highlighted human interactions, and the ways in which German society was developing.

This film deals with the story of a rather modest, short and pudgy German man by the name of Hans, one who seems to be somewhat lost and is stumbling through life. He has experienced rejection from his family, and finds himself in a somewhat tepid marriage to a woman named Irmgard.

The film deals with the breakdown suffered by this man, as he finds himself unable to stop yearning for that which was unobtainable for him. What was unobtainable was a life that was honest, one in which class considerations, social conventions and the pressures for conformity and upward mobility were not as crushing. After all, he is a fruit vendor who peddles his product from his cart, all during a period of time in which the German economy has sprouted and grown wings, this transformation being known as the “Wirtschaftwunder”.

His family despises him, and the real love of his life rejected him. He seems out of sorts with the culture of his time, and the spirit of rising expectations. It was, perhaps, an optimistic time, but one in which everyone was compromising their values in order to gain financially. Hans, however, seems unable to do so.

We will see the desintegration of his family and, slowly enough, the continued disintegration of this man. Life in which ambition and personal dreams are unreachable seems to be a curse that he can’t withstand, and the film in its modest way suggests this psychological crisis. I say that this is done in a modest way because the acting is not particularly noteworthy. It would seem as if a director who was known for low-budget films relied on seeming amateurs, at least from what is evident in this movie.

The characters are never truly convincing. This may also be the fault of the screenplay, which seems also a little too simplistic, with much awkward dialogue that seems to not mirror the true rhythm and expression of everyday life. It seems more like a student film, and the direction as well seems somewhat amateurish. Once again, perhaps because it was one of FaBbinder’s earlier films, although I also seem to recall being very impressed with another film that came from this era, “Ali: Fear eats the Soul”, about a migrant workder (Gastarbeiter) who falls in love with a middle-aged German widow.

There are scenes that are not convincing, and that seem comical in their awkwardness. One such is the scene where he is being whipped by a towering black man during his stint in the Foreign Legion in Morocco. Who would honestly think that a mild, pudgy man with no earstwhile talent or physical dexterity would have been accepted for the Foreign Legion? And who would think that adding this background detail would in any way lend credence to the character? Once again, this must have been an early FaBbinder film.

What it does do is recall the way in which each society will inevitably generate its own outcasts. The merchant is one, unable to become a staid and respectable businessman until the very end, when it is too late. Ironically, this ends up driving him over the edge, as he reflect that it hasn’t changed the way he is viewed by his family, one that patronizes him and which he has resigned himself to never being able to win over. It seems almost like a film about adolescence in mid-life, with all the anxieties and all the self-deceptions and the untameable anger. Irmgard, his wife, forgives him after he has beaten her, but he never seems to be able to redeem himself, and gives himself over to longing.

In the end, I would hope to find more articulate, realistic, creative exploration of human dilemmas. I appreciate good dialogue, and intriguing direction, and novel ways of exploring human dilemmas. This movie, ultimately, seems somewhat frivolous. It does, however, awaken nostalgia for me, nostalgia not for the 70s when it was filmed, but for the 80s when I was a young man in college, desperate as I was to discover the world, and taking my first German courses, and feeling seduced by the spectacle of a transformed Germany. Perhaps I was also seduced by the spectacle of social mobility and transformation, on a deeply personal level.

Eternal Observer -- ORomero (c) 2013
Copyrights ORomero 2013