Friday, August 23, 2013

The Windup Girl

 Paolo Bacigalupi's The Windup Girl is an important book because of its vision of global warming and of food insecurity arising from food being corporate-owned. The novel also ties together a number of interesting subplots, resulting in an explosive ending (spoiler alert: the ending will be discussed). 

The novel is set in future Bangkok where dykes keep the rising oceans off the streets. "It's difficult not to always be aware of those high walls and the pressure of the water beyond. Difficult to think of the City of Divine Beings as anything other than a disaster waiting to happen" (7). Thus, the initial conflict is the setting itself and the difficulty of preserving life in that setting: 

The main character, Anderson Lake, runs a factory making power sources called kink-springs that substitute for increasingly rare fossil fuels. The factory is a front for Anderson's efforts to locate new foods on which his company could capitalize. Most foods are corporate-owned, which comments on the current threat of seed patents leading to the inability of individuals to grow food for themselves. 

Other key characters include Anderson's employee Hock Seng, who seeks to recapture his former wealth and status by stealing kink-spring blueprints; an android Emiko, the title character for whom Anderson conceives a passion, designed to pleasure Japanese businessmen and now working as a prostitute; the aggressive Environment Ministry Captain Jaidee Rojjanasukchai and his lieutenant Kanya Chirathivat, who plans to betray him in revenge for his destruction of her village; and businessman Richard Carlyle with government allies who wants to eliminate trade regulations such as pollution controls and quarantine. 

As the conflicting interests of the characters converge, it seems as if the Thai government will be forced to give up its precious seedbank to corporate profiteers, but Kanya rebels, kills the foreign corporate leader, and initiates a diaspora of monks carrying seeds. Of course, the dykes fail, and the city floods. The novel ends with an Epilogue where the reclusive scientist Gibson promises Emiko that she will have genetic offspring and that they will be fertile. 

These concluding images suggest hope but also the potential for future problems. The seeds and Emiko's fertility indicate that life will continue, despite humans' failings. The image of the deluge promises a new landscape and the potential to start again without the existing problems of corporate and government intrigue. But, the future is also clouded by the fact that Emiko is not human. The novel has taught readers to care for her, that she deserves respect and sympathy, as any other being, but the comparison between androids and cheshires, engineered cats that are fertile, suggests such fertility may be dangerous. The cheshires are a threatening presence in the cityscape, suriving off of carrion. But perhaps the key quality is survival. The seeds will survive, the cheshires will survive, and some form of quasi-human culture will survive at least through an android population.  

Work Cited: Pacigalupi, Paolo. The Windup Girl. San Francisco: Night Shade Books, 2011. Print. 


Thursday, August 22, 2013

A Princess of Mars

 My 10-year-old daughter and I read Edgar Rice Burroughs's A Princes of Mars out loud and enjoyed the adventure. 

Because I was reading it aloud, I also enjoyed the language: lush, complex sentences with the big words more common to the reading culture of the early 20th century. Here's an example of a single-sentence paragraph that impressed me: "It was a chance to fight, an opportunity to loot, and they rose to the bait as a speckled trout to a fly" (180). There's something about the rhythm of the repeated "to" phrases and of the first three sentence elements ending in a single-syllable word ending in a harsh "t" and then the lightness of the trout image in sense and sound that makes that sentence just leap off the page. Of course, the sentence also signals a key turning point in the novel where the Tharks join John Carter in going to war on behalf of Helium and the Princess of Helium, Dejah Thoris. 

I was surprised to enjoy the novel as much as I did. I am familiar with the pop culture depictions of Tarzan, including the various films and the Frazetta artwork depicting Burroughs's characters, which seem steeped in a stereotypical masculinity. And, John Carter is nearly a superhero with the way Mars's thinner atmosphere allows him to jump higher and hit harder than anyone else. But the novel includes more interesting gender depictions than I anticipated:

1. The Tharks are completely warlike, without softer, more "feminine" feelings. John Carter attributes their attitude to their communal lifestyle, which includes communal doling out of offspring once they have hatched. The fact that the only love arising among the Tharks does so in Tars Tarkus's illicit family where his partner secretly raises their daughter until she is old enough to insert into the communal selection of offspring suggests that the idea of love arises between parent and child. 

Of course, one might argue that this version of love relates to the patriarchal valuing of a man's biological offspring over any other children and to the patriarchal, heterosexual family unit where the father separates the mother and children from other similar groups in the community, demanding love focused on him and reciprocating it. 

But because the emphasis falls on "father or mother love" (42), on nurturing rather than filial relationship, and because nurturing is what permits friendship across racial barriers, such as that between Tars Tarkas and John Carter and that between the Tharks and Helium, the novel seems to value "feminine" feelings as important to individual and community life and to require that violence be tempered with compassion. 

2. The novel depicts Barsoomian culture as having a gender divide. Thark culture is divided into warriors and women, but women are trained fighters and have important work in addition to child-rearing, including making "everything of value" (51). Given that this novel was published in 1917, the valuing of women's work seems surprising. But perhaps the depiction of warfare and of women is influenced by World War I? Burroughs's first Mars story was published in 1912... 

While few female characters are depicted, the three main ones are key: Sola is the nurturing child of Tars Tarkas who is made miserable by Tharkian cruelty and takes care of John Carter when he arrives on Mars. Sarkoja betrays Sola's mother to the Tharks and later pits herself against John Carter. And then there is Dejah Thoris, Princess of Mars. 

Dejah Thoris is depicted as a prisoner and threatened with rape at the hands of Tal Hajus; the narration repeatedly refers to her as a "girl," although she is clearly a woman; and she is routinely rescued by John Carter as they flee from the Tharks and while fighting in the palace at Zodanga. But she is also a strong presence because she is honorable, brave, and well-spoken. Her first speech when addressing her captors indicates these qualities. She does not cower but faces her adversaries, states her name, reflects on the research task that brought her squadron into Thark territory (precursor of "We are on a diplomatic mission to Aldaraan?"), and challenges the Thark culture as uncivilized and ignorant in the extreme, as the Martian atmosphere requires scientific maintenance in order to support all life, including that of the Tharks (60). These qualities give Dejah Thoris a presence in the narrative that belies the stereotypical portrayals of Burroughs's work. 

3. I'm also interested in the egg in the golden incubator that John Carter leaves behind at the end of the novel. Apparently, Barsoomians reproduce through eggs rather than gestation. So the offspring of John Carter and Dejah Thoris is an egg. What interests me about this depiction is that early development of offspring occurs outside the female body, giving both parents the potential for an equal role. While the egg remains an egg at the novel's end, and while the Tharks clearly identify child-rearing as women's work, I am curious to know how Heliumites treat child-rearing when the responsibility for early development is not gendered female by the physical reality of pregnancy. I guess I need to read more of the series. 



Work Cited: Burroughs, Edgar Rice. A Princess of Mars. New York: Fall River P, 2011. Print. 


Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Connie Willis, My Hero

Connie Willis is my hero. Wow! I listened to her novel All Clear as an audiobook and was astounded by her storytelling and also by the detail associated with the World War II-London historical moment. 

All Clear is the second in a two-book series depicting time-traveling historians from 2060 who go to World War II London for research purposes and get stuck there. I haven't read the first book, Blackout, but I have read another of Willis's time-travel books, Doomsday Book, about travel to medieval England, and Willis's Passage, which is about near-death experiences but involves at least mental time travel. Both of those novels are also very good. 

With regard to All Clear, I want to note a key sequence where the trapped characters are trying to meet up with another time-traveler at St. Paul's Cathedral during a December night in 1941 when much of the cityscape around the cathedral catches fire. The scene covers the night-time hours of one day, but the scene continues for many pages as the characters are delayed, delayed, delayed. The scene is particularly impressive because of the attention to historical detail. Because the sequence is long, readers feel as if they’re in the moment in the World War II bombing of London as the characters attempt to find their fellow time-traveler, find one another, prevent buildings and the cathedral from catching fire, and save lives, including their own. My experience of the sequence's duration was particularly powerful because I was listening to the novel read aloud, which slows down the storytelling, as the eye can't skip forward when the brain wants to see what will happen. I was totally immersed in the characters' desperation to reach the cathedral. 

Perhaps a more interesting aspect of the novel from the perspective of narrative theory (and here I should warn about revealing a detail that may spoil the impact of the sequence for folks who haven't yet read the book) is the fact that Willis integrates the delay into the actual plot. Avid readers will recognize that frustrating characters' goals is a great way to build suspense and keep readers reading. In other words, frustration is an effective narrative-marketing plot device. As I was reading, I was thinking, wow, Willis just keeps throwing barrier after barrier in her characters' way, yet I want more than ever to find out WHAT HAPPENS! I was glued to the story, despite the fact that I felt manipulated by it--very impressive. Then, Willis impressed me even further by making the delays of that night part of the plot: the characters start to realize that they are trapped in 1941 and experience repeated failures to return home not because they have interfered with history but because the Net by which they travel is protecting history. Even bigger wow. The delays that were starting to feel heavy-handed were exactly the clues the characters and readers needed to figure out what was happening, which turned what I thought was a narrative weakness into an unexpected and therefore impressive strength. 

I went out and bought several more Willis books. I'm not much of a short story reader, but her stories have won top awards, so I guess I'm headed in that direction, as well as reading the rest of the novels.  

Image Source: All Clear Audio Book Cover. Amazon. com. n.d. Web. 21 Aug. 2013. http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41zICyP89NL._SX260_.jpg