Review: The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin

I must preface this review with some necessary context about myself, which of course will ramble a fair bit as I often do.

Over the past several years I’ve come to realize that what I write at this blog aren’t really reviews, as my ‘reviews’ often don’t really summarize the books I discuss. Likewise, I’ve never claimed to be a critic, as this certainly isn’t an academic exercise and I (mostly) don’t critically discuss and analyze the text. What I write is both for those who haven’t read the book and for those that have. What I write about is my reaction to books – there may be some summary and there may be discussion on how a book converses with genre and other aspects of the world – but what I do here is express my opinion about the book and how I reacted to it. In short, my writings here (usually) are not conversations with those who have or have not read the book I discuss, but conversations with myself.

So, to aid you in understanding this particular conversation with myself, I will provide some important context. Because this book, more so than most books I read, was very specifically set-up to be a book that I would fall completely in love with or became so annoyed with that I could not tolerate it even a little bit. This is a book that could almost certainly have no middle ground whatsoever. You may be asking yourself why. In a word: geology.

My day job and even where I put a huge amount of volunteer effort, is in geology, specifically engineering geology, but that is neither here nor there. My ‘expertise’ in this world is in applied geology. This is what I do, and since I live in a society that is defined by that career/jobs we are boxed into, in many ways, it is what I am.

The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin is geology applied to epic fantasy in a way I have never seen it before. No, it’s not dinosaurs with people, or clever geologic names, or even a geologically influenced map. The Fifth Season is geology made into epic fantasy, primarily through magic. The magic of this book occurs through people (and other ‘beings’) directly manipulating geologic forces. The world is one in constant geologic upheaval and some people have the power to reduce or enhance these phenomena.

Hopefully, my long preamble is starting show some focus. The Fifth Season would live or die by me on all of the little, tiny details that won’t matter or mean much to 99% of its readers. I suppose, conversely, that means that this review (or reaction?), probably won’t mean much to 99% of those of you out there. But you’ve made it this far, so why not see it through to the end (no worries, I write about much more than just geology)?

Typically when I read fiction, and most of that falls squarely in the greater SFF world, I don’t have much problem with suspending belief. Particularly with geology. I can usually pretty well ignore any issue or inconsistency. It’s not hard – because hey, it’s fantasy. But with The Fifth Season it’s too much in my face – it is geomagic (my word, not Jemisin’s – hers is much cooler). This is the dying earth metaphor in the form of fantastic geology. The folly of humanity, geologic retribution.

So far I’ve laid hints, but not flat-out said which extreme my reaction fall into. So, I’ll say it now – I love this book! The geologic aspects are very well handled – and orogene is an excellent name for a ‘geologic sorcerer’ (for a quick lesson, while it’s not technically a word in English, orogene plays on orogeny, which can mean a lot of things, but at its most basic, it refers to a mountain building event in geologic time). If I tried really hard, I could come up with some nitpicking, but considering that I would have to try so hard in a book that puts geology front and center, well that is an accomplishment. Also joyfully worth noting, geologic names for characters – Syenite, Alabaster, Carnelian, etc. (all are rocks and/or minerals).

OK, I do need to talk about some other aspects of this book. First, I think a lot of people will be talking about this book because there really is a metric shit-ton of interesting stuff in this book (yes, ‘shit-ton’ is a geologic term…at least for me it is). I’ll start with what the book is – the synopsis I read speaks of apocalypse and post-apocalyptic happenings (usually this is an instant no-go for me in a book, but that is another essay altogether). It certainly fits the general idea of epic fantasy – there’s a quest, there’s magic, etc. But what it really fits is the dying earth motif*. Past sins of humanity destroyed the natural order of the world and humanity barely survived. And the cycle of disaster now repeats itself, with humanity ever approaching the point where they don’t survive. Is this the story of the end?

Additionally, the story is told through a beautiful mosaic of diversity. The cast is largely non-white, generally lacking specific analogs to the racial and ethnic breakdown of our world. In addition to a female lead, other descriptors of the major and minor characters include transgender, gay, and bisexual. What’s best is that none of those details matter all that much to the plot. They are simply there because that’s the way it is. Which is the way it should be.

Voice. Voice makes or breaks a work of fiction, and what may be the most significantly interesting characteristic of The Fifth Season is voice. First, there is second, as in second person. This rarely used narrative voice lends both distance and intimacy to the description of the end of the world. Particularly since it’s more than the end of the world, as the voice is that of someone whose world has already ended. There is a journey as a three points of view slowly converge on clarity in the face of chaos. The journey of woman – child to teen/young adult to mother. Conflicts and emotions are different, yet relatable. And the world ends.

The Fifth Season is the first book in The Broken Earth Trilogy. Emotionally and thematically The Fifth Season provides a full plot arc as the first book in a trilogy is supposed to do, if not exactly ending with the triumphant pause in the three-act play of a trilogy. Plot-wise, there’s something of a cliff-hanger that really has me wanting to read the next book now.

I’ve thrown around the term dying earth in this review a few times as it can be a very powerful metaphor for the folly of humanity. In The Fifth Season you can choose your own analog. And this blends well into the tragedy of single human lives that make for such compelling literature. Again, in The Fifth Season you can choose your own analog for that tragedy. The Fifth Season is the story of a dying earth, it is the story of an apocalypse in a world of repeating apocalyptic events, though this just might be the end of it all. It is also the story of very personal journey(s) through a time of upheaval, and one that creates opportunity to relate on many levels. As a mother, as an outcast, as a talented and ambitious professional, as a slave to society. As I say above – choose your own metaphor – Jemisin laid the ground work for at least half a dozen, which opens the door for even more.

The best fantasy does not strive to restore the status quo. It seeks progress, progress that can be ugly…very ugly. In many cultures and traditions death is not the end, but an end. In that end there is the implication for rebirth, the implication of progress along a greater journey. I have a sneaking sense that what Jemisin is doing in The Broken Earth Trilogy is not just the end, but also the beginning of progress toward something more.

So, my own journey with The Fifth Season began with the superficial connection to a single metaphor. Or you could say that it began with the earth (maybe even the Earth). And while I quite clearly reveled in that connection, drilling deeper, to the core of the story kills the connection to the earth. In that death there is the birth of the connection to humanity, which completes the circle for a personal connection.

The Fifth Season is SFF of potential, perhaps the most potential that can be had at this moment in time.

The Broken Earth Trilogy

The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon)

*It’s worth noting that Jemisin has said that the Stillness of the The Broken Earth Trilogy is not Earth and was never intended to be Earth. It is a secondary world, though I stand by my assertion that at least in the case of The Fifth Season, there is far more kinship to Dying Earth motifs than the dime-a-dozen post-apocalyptic SFF series plaguing genre these days.

Review: Dancing With Bears by Michael Swanwick

Prior to reading Dancing With Bears (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon) I had only read one novel by MichaelSwanwick – The Dragons of Babel (Indiebound, Book Depository, Amazon, my review). At that time I raved about how much fun the book was, how subversive it was and simply how well it was written. Dancing With Bears is no different in that respect, though the subject matter is, which serves to highlight the versatility of Swanwick and as a rebuke of my neglecting to read more Swanwick until now.

 

Dancing With Bears is set in a future that is described as ‘post-utopian’ where a pair of classic highwaymen, Darger and Surplus, journey to Moscow. The world is a striking mix of future technology and genetic engineering and the regression to pre-industrial times in the aftermath of a great war with artificial intelligence (ala Terminator). A few remaining machines of the internet hive-mind have designs on a new war with Moscow as their first target while Darger and Surplus simply set out to make a lot of money. Of course chaos ensues (as it always seems to in the wake of Darger and Surplus) in the wonderfully competent and satiric style that Swanwick pulls off so well.

 

The first and most obvious subversion that Swanwick employs is the concept of a post-utopian world. Science fiction is awash in post-apocalyptic ideas, so the slight tweak to make it post-utopian is clever, though it could easily fall flat in the hands of a lesser writer. The difference between post-apocalyptic and post-utopian is one of perspective more than anything – the focus is not on the apocalyptic, but on the near-utopia that precedes it. That in itself is not enough, for Swanwick completes the subversion by setting this story in Russia, where the culture and history combine to a prevailing attitude that questions whether or not Russia ever actually experienced the utopia of their post-utopian world.

 

The post-utopian Moscow that Swanwick creates is a curious mixture of regency style class structure, crazy genetic engineering, and heavy-handed secret police with a lot of sex, a drug that makes everyone have even more sex, an underground world of outcasts, and the plotting of a resurgent technological enemy. Throw in a few genetically engineered virginal concubines gifted to the Duke of Muscovy, a Byzantium spy and the designs of Darger and Surplus and the term boiling point becomes outright explosive.

 

While I’ve continually thrown around the term post-utopian in a way that would suggest that is the main point of the book, its focus. Which is not really correct – the book really does rally around the classic highwaymen, Darger and Surplus (one is an English gentleman and the other a genetically engineered dog-man from the Vermont). The rogue-ish adventures as these accomplished con-men confidently undermine the entire Russian aristocracy in attempt to profit could almost be considered a fun take on sword and sorcery if Dancing With Bears wasn’t so obviously pointed at post-apocalyptic science fiction. It’s simply a whole lot of fun as Swanwick continuously fuels the satirical funeral byre with an underlying wry humor.

 

Everything I’ve written above only hints at this uproariously weird novel of the future with designs on the past and present. Nothing is immune to satiric wit of Swanwick and his enigmatic duo of confidence men, one whom is literally a dog. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll cybernetic wolves in human clothing combine in a drug-fueled rave of political revolution under the iconic sway of a resurrected Lenin and religious fervor as a couple of con-men make off with the gold – that’s one hell of a description for a book. This is not a novel for everyone, but it certainly was a novel for me. And once again I’m left feeling that I really must read more Swanwick.

Review: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

These days it seems that you can’t turn around without being bombarded by an advertisement, article or something related to The Hunger Games movie. It’s clear that with Harry Potter done, Hollywood is attempting to fill the void with The Hunger Games (though I like the idea of calling The Hunger Games anti-Twilight much better than the next Harry Potter). But the review is for the book that started the buzz – The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (Book Depository, Powell’sBooks, Indiebound).

Long before there was talk about the movie I was hearing good things about The Hunger Games and it’s been on my list of books to read since that time. I finally bought a copy, and copies of the other two books in the series – Catching Fire (BookDepository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound) and Mockingjay (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound). I must admit that I can see why The Hunger Games has garnered so much attention – it’s good, it’s entertaining, it appeals to more than just a YA audience and I believe it’ll translate well into film.

The USA is long past, fallen in some not-quite-an-apocalypse calamity in a now distant past. The nation of Panem has emerged from the ashes, dominated by a single Capitol City that holds a dozen other cities hostage in a dystopian regime and very stratified society. Every year the Capitol reminds its subjects of the price of a long past revolt by holding the annual Hunger Games – a contest where a male and female representative from each of the 12 districts all gather for a battle to the death, crowning a single victor. Only these ‘tributes’ are children between the ages of 11 and 18.

Katniss is from District 12, a poor district that mines coal in a place once known as Appalachia. When her younger sister is selected to be the next tribute, she volunteers to take her place and is thrust into hypocrisy of the Capitol and the horror of the Hunger Games. The other District 12 tribute is Peeta, a boy who once gave her bread when she and her family were starving, and the two of them team up to battle for their lives.

The premise of The Hunger Games is one that shares many similarities with other works – in other words, it’s hardly unique. However, what it lacks in originality, it makes up in pure execution. Collins quickly and economically realizes the horror of Panem and the Hunger Games while creating a devotion to her main characters, particularly Katniss, whom is the sole view point in a wonderfully told first-person narration. Katniss is easy to relate to and equally easy to cheer for. She is a young woman who has been forced to lead an adult life through the harsh reality she lives in. As a result, she’s never had the time or opportunity to grow into a young woman and sexual creature. Now this book is not exactly a romance and there is no sex, but it’s as much a story of young woman struggling with her sexuality as it is a tale of survival in mad, dystopian world.

The Hunger Games is a perfect storm for the YA crowd – it’s about a young girl awakening as sexual being, it’s about rebelling against authority, it’s about a complicated relationship with parents, it’s about devotion to friends, it’s about a teenager thrown into stardom and it’s topped off with a good bit of gratuitous violence and death. And while these are the sort of things that appeal strongly to a YA age group, they are also just the sort of thing that those of us who have left those years behind us (even far behind) can also get behind and get excited about. In short, The Hunger Games is a near-perfect YA cross-over.

Combining the cross-over appeal with the relatively small cast and limited viewpoint, the result is a book that could translate well into film if given the proper treatment. Now, this is a review of the book and as of the time of publication of this review, the movie is not yet released. I have not seen the movie, nor have I been following the pre-release buzz, fan and author reactions. But it certainly appears that The Hunger Games is poised to be a wildly-popular book and movie. And while I’ve gone on record in the past bemoaning the potential consequences of books and similar media becoming movies and/or TV shows, it’s become clear that the positive aspects cannot be denied.

Knowing that this book is the first in a trilogy pretty much leaves the reader knowing the ending before they get to it. While I won’t spoil things directly, I will say that it ends more or less as expected – at least as far as Katniss is concerned. However, the ultimate ending (as in the last page or three) is a bit more complicated. While it’s tough to call it a cliff-hanger, it is somewhat abrupt and the reader can’t help but wonder about what will come next. And frankly, I think that the events in The Hunger Games will be very hard to top in the rest of the trilogy. This both excites me and makes me a bit anxious (in a negative way) – this either sets up the following books to be very rewarding as they top the first, or to be disappointing. And for whatever reason, I lean toward thinking I’ll be let down, making me want to leave the series now when I think so highly of it. I imagine that I will move on and read Catching Fire, but this (unfair?) trepidation is making it a bit of a lower priority.

The buzz surrounding The Hunger Games is deafening and in my opinion, deserved. Collins tells an engaging story full of near-universal challenges faced by teens across the Western world. It’s heartfelt and fun, in spite of covering some rather dark territory. It appeals directly to the YA crowd without excluding an older audience. And it presents a great template that could be a great movie. Read it now and endure the buzz, because it’s not going away.

Review: Son of Heaven (Chung Kuo 01) by David Wingrove

In 1989 David Wingrove published the first volume of the eight-book Chung Kuo series. Due to pressures from the publisher, the final volume of that series was unsatisfying to both Wingrove and fans of the series. Fast forward to the present and Chung Kuo is getting a complete revision from Wingrove and Corvus Books. Two prequels will be added to the series, the final book will receive a near-complete re-write and be divided into two books and the original eight will be heavily revised and further divided into smaller books, bringing the re-booted series to a total of 20 books. Son of Heaven (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound) is the first volume of the new (and improved?) series, a prequel to the original series.

I never read and books from the original series, though I’ve been curious about them as I continually see them on shelves at used bookstores. I imagine that the people and events of Son of Heaven will have greater meaning to those that have read the books previously, but for me it was a blank slate – in a lot of ways, a wonderfully blank slate.

In the year 2043 the world is in a dark place – the US and China are engaged in a cold war and Western societies have reached a point where they wall off the privileged and leave the rest to fend for themselves. Jake is a hotshot trader, possibly the best in the UK, and living a large life. Jake is one of the first to notice something is wrong in the virtual marketplace that runs the economy – the prelude to the strike that destroys the world’s economy. Timed with strategic assassinations, the destruction of the world economy literally ends civilization.

Twenty years later Jake is a father making his way in an isolated village in the west of England. Crops are grown, goods traded at the market, disease can no longer be treated, and the land is plagued by armed bandits – though it’s an improvement over the chaos immediately after the fall. It’s an existence – one that Jake and the others living in their small, isolated corner of the world know can’t last. Then the Chinese come.

Son of Heaven is told through a limited number of viewpoints bouncing from 2065 to the year of the fall in 2043. Since the narrative begins in 2065, we know what will happen at the end of the 2043 story arc, just not the details. It’s the brilliant storytelling of Wingrove that makes it work. Wingrove instantly sucks you into his horrific post-apocalyptic future through his characters – principally, Jake. The simple act of walking through a field to get to the village becomes an adventure with the reader hanging on every word. This is greatest strength of Son of Heaven – the consummate storytelling of Wingrove.

The world of science fiction is rife with versions of Western society’s apocalypse. Son of Heaven does as admirable job of providing the goods on the fall of civilization, though it doesn’t stand out of the field. The near-future evolution of the internet, virtual reality and the integration of economics are presented nicely, if not entirely original. While it’s all believable while you’re reading, it does seem a bit implausible that the entire society could be taken out so quickly by a hugely complex plan devised by a single individual that executes perfectly. However, that’s not so much of an issue with strength of Wingrove’s storytelling.

As with all near-future apocalyptic stories, Wingrove’s version of the fall certainly has what would be considered a political/ideological flavor to it. While the economics of capitalism aren’t shown overly favorable, neither are they demonized – the demonization seems reserved for the political right. Wingrove’s future isn’t pretty and it’s a future shaped by the right. But again, while present, it doesn’t play much a role in the novel beyond the vehicle for the collapse – which brings us to the Chinese.

Wingrove has clearly done a lot of research into the history of China, its people and its interactions with the West. However, the portrayal of the Chinese is rather stereotypical and unfriendly – after all, they are the big bad villain in the story. Reading such a portrayal is very unsettling at times, but that seems to be the point. The presence of a very likable Chinese general who rises above the stereotypes only serves to reinforce them. The Chinese are equally stereotypical about the British. I get the feeling that Wingrove will spend a lot time in future volumes playing with the notion of stereotypes of peoples and cultures – or perhaps the Chinese are just painfully stereotyped.

One aspect of Son of Heaven that I find fascinating is the interplay of the past and future with a castle overlooking the small village Jake has settled in. It’s a beautifully presented thematic arc – modern society crumbles, in a way sending people back in time to a village overlooked by the ruins of an ancient castle. Both Jake and the Chinese general at times express a love and respect for this ancient past. However, the stalwart castle is eventually destroyed in the onslaught of the new Chinese Empire as they forge ahead with their vision of the future and effectively end Western civilization. I find this so powerful because I’m a child of the American west (or close enough), a place without the deep roots of Europe or China that can be so integrated into the modern existence that they get overlooked.

Son of Heaven kicks off the re-booted Chung Kuo series with a bang. It’s addicting stuff – addicting enough that I don’t have heartburn about embarking on a 20-book series (at least the page counts look to average less than 400). 8/10

Review: The Passage by Justin Cronin

If you haven’t heard it yet, be prepared – The Passage by Justin Cronin (Book Depository, Powell’s Books, Indiebound) is poised to become the next big thing in books. It all began with a bidding war, eventually won by Random House, and a nearly $4 million advance for a trilogy, followed quickly by a nearly $2 million movie deal. With such big dollars already invested, of course the marketing push is going to be equally impressive – to begin, something like 10,000 ARCs of one form or another were distributed. The Passage will be covered in the New York Times and every other major paper press still operating in books, it will be celebrity __’s pick of the year, book club, etc, and Cronin will make the talk show rounds. When you walk into an independent bookstore, the well-read, literary bookseller will tell you that you must read this book. The Passage will re-start the tired old debates about literary writers jumping into genre and not acknowledging it and I’m sure it’ll be at the center of discussions of genre books and awards at some point down the line. This is that book that all your friends who don’t read SFF will be reading and talking about.

But for the moment let’s forget about all of that. After all, this is a decidedly genre blog and the readers around here are fans of SFF. So, what is The Passage to us? Well, first off, it’s a damn good book. It takes the loveable, dark brooding and sexy vampires that pop culture has given us and morphs them into near-immortal, militarized weapons emerging from the labs of the US Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID). The Passage is Apocalyptic fiction giving time to events leading up to the apocalypse and even more exploring what the world is like 100 years later, a world barely alive and still battling for survival against the Virals. Overlooking all of the expected comparisons of ‘The Stand meets The Road’, The Passage takes ownership its adopted genre and deserves to be discussed in its own right – however unique it is or isn’t. The Passage really is one of those special books.

The Passage is told in two very separate parts. In the beginning we learn of a girl named Amy and how she finds herself an orphan with no last name. Then we learn about researchers with relatively crazy theories on the how a virus may have influenced the evolution of humanity and a failed expedition into the Amazon. Next we see how Amy ends up at a secret research facility for the USAMRIID and other unnamed agencies, along the way getting a feel for the world and what is about to happen. The army is looking for super-weapons created from a virus that can wipe out terrorist threats and just maybe a by-product will be the means to live forever. Of course things go horribly wrong and the twelve subjects escape, beginning the apocalypse. Amy is something else – a survivor of the virus, potentially immortal, at least very long-lived, but a child – a child with an adoptive father on the run.

The second section is told with a very different style and tone, beginning with survivors at a fortified enclave about 100 years in the future. We see how they live and die in a harsh world under the constant threat of Virals when everything changes on the day Amy arrives at their gates. A journey ensues – a journey to save the world.

Apocalyptic fiction delves into our fears of the direction the world has taken, and The Passage is no different. The near-future envisioned just prior to the apocalypse is the pessimistic extension of our own. The specter of global warming is making itself known. The United States’ struggles in the Middle East have grown into war with Iran. India and Pakistan have used their nuclear weapons. Terrorists strike the US heartland with regularity, driving it towards something close to a police state. Then the government does something really stupid and ends the world.

In the beginning, Cronin shows of his literary roots, telling the story in heart-wrenching chunks sure to bring tears to the eyes of those so inclined. Some of this section is very hard to read – both as a father and as a human concerned for the direction of our world. Cronin builds both sections of the book in the very literary tradition of dealing with themes of human relationships. The father-daughter relationship is perhaps the most prevalent, but a good bit of time is spent exploring those of father-son, husband-wife, lovers and adoptive families/communities.

Cronin succeeds not only by spinning a vampire apocalypse into a compelling story that needs to be read, but by creating characters that truly live. In the space of only a few lines he shows fully rendered characters. These characters as often unlikeable as they are likeable, but the reader quickly develops a bond with the core group of characters – a bond that carries through the hurts and joys.

The Passage weighs in at a hefty 766 pages in hardback, and this is perhaps its greatest weakness. Some scenes may not be all that necessary, but in the least, a few don’t feel as polished as they should be – The Haven comes to mind as one, though details would be a bit too spoilerish to share. The geologist in me was a bit bothered by the presentation of some of the towns in the future – some fates seem unlikely and make me wonder if Cronin has ever visited these dots on the map. Also a few of the character revelations near the end of the novel – particularly with Alicia – felt rushed or not quite right. The result is a bit uneven, but not so much that it impacts the overall quality of the book.

As mentioned above, The Passage is the first book of a planned trilogy, with the next installment expected in 2011. As such, it doesn’t stand on its own – The Passage is a story-arc with closure, though not real resolution. More is certainly to come – more that the reader is probably going to really want to read. And the last lines are a pretty juicy cliffhanger – not mind-blowing and not enough to generate out-right anger, but just right enough to dwell on.

So, the buzz surrounding The Passage is already huge and I see it only growing. It’s a genre book from a literary writer with potential appeal to a much wider audience than either alone. For us genre readers, a vampire apocalypse novel may not seem like it should be the next great book, but as always, it’s all about the execution – and Cronin executes The Passage with near-perfection. This book earns the buzz, this book should be read and discussed widely, this book is both literary and genre, this is a book I highly recommend. 8.5-9/10

Review: Sleepless by Charlie Huston

Right from the very beginning I knew that Sleepless (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound) was going to be something different – potentially something of excellence and almost certainly depressing as hell. Equally clear right from the start was skill that Charlie Huston was wielding with his writing – it’s far superior to other books of his that I’ve read (admitted I’ve only read a couple of the Joe Pitt casebooks). The potential was enormous – potentially something that would break all genre barriers and wind up on Oprah’s list (like The Road a few years ago). And ultimately Sleepless delivers – perhaps not to the same level as The Road (US, UK, Canada, Indiebound), but something special nonetheless.

Sleepless can be described as apocalyptic science fiction, a detective story, a thriller, noir, cyberpunk, near-future sci-fi, or even horror. While all are true to one degree or another, Sleepless is a crime story at its heart – this is simply the story of a dedicated cop working undercover to unearth conspiratorial crime. But let’s not forget that it’s equally apocalyptic – not post-apocalypse, or pre-apocalypse, events in Sleepless occur while civilization is unraveling.

Think about the economic crisis as we’ve known it over the past couple of years – now add to it a plague that is 100% lethal, that infects 10% of the population and is spreading. This plague knows no bounds or economic class – it is everywhere and it is incurable. Once infected a person looses their ability to sleep – they have waking dreams, hallucinations, and are unknowably tired, but they will never sleep again. And they will be sleepless and fully conscious until their inevitable death comes. And they will wreak havoc. The only potential relief comes in the form of Dreamer, a drug that will allow them sleep and if they choose, a peaceful death while sleeping. Dreamer is the drug they need and there isn’t nearly enough.

Park is a unique man who believes in absolute black and white. He truly believes in justice and injustice and absolutely believes that everything will right itself and the world will turn out right. In Park’s world there is no other possible outcome, the world must be right for his wife and infant child. Even if his wife is Sleepless and maybe the infant too. Huston paints Park’s point of view through short absolute bursts of words, approaching telegraphic prose that is perfect for a man of absolute black and white. Huston’s misguided Park denies reality by diving into his work – to infiltrate the Dreamer black-market and find out who’s behind it all. In Park’s mind this will literally save the world.

Balancing Park and his point of view is a more fluid voice, more nuanced, yet in its own way, equally absolute. Jasper is a killer. A man with the experience of a relatively long life, Jasper has embraced the apocalypse as the ideal environment for someone like him to flourish. Through these contrasting voices an interesting truth emerged as I read – the point of view of the killer was much more comforting and less infuriating that the point of view of the hero. And that’s horribly appropriate when the world is ending.

Huston creates an absolutely terrifying world – terrifying because it’s so close to our own. It shows the illusion of civilization that we all live behind for what it is. It shows just what human nature can (and does) do. These are the truths that become evident right from the start and my most optimistic reaction was ‘this can’t end well’.

Oh the end – I wish I could talk about it in detail without spoiling. It is either absolutely brilliant or stunningly wrong. Or perhaps both. I’ve thought on it for days and still haven’t decided, but I think I’ve come to accept that it fits the world that Huston has built. As I said above, ‘this can’t end well’ – the question is just how bad will it be – will any hope be left. Or does everyone die.

So Sleepless is an apocalyptic crime story plus many other pieces that all add up to literary fiction. Yes, this is a book that is both genre and literary (in spite of having a plot). It is very much a discussion on the human condition – it’s just that most of the human conditions viewed are what so many of us would choose to deny exist. This is both a book that I can’t recommend highly enough and a book that I don’t think I ever want to read again. It is excellence, it is depressing as hell, and thankfully, it’s not entirely without hope. 9/10

Related Posts: Interview with Charlie Huston