Robson, Justina: Living Next Door to the God of Love
Living Next Door to the God of Love
Writer: Justina Robson
Genre: Science Fantasy
Pages: 453
When I was writing it I thought, "I'm going to be honest about what goes on inside my head, just on the off-chance it goes through a lot of other people's heads as well." --Justina Robson, "The Tao of SF", April 2006 edition of Locus, Issue 543; Vol. 56, No. 4
I tend to let my Locus issues pile up for a rainy day, so I never read this article until today, after I finished reading Living Next Door to the God of Love. And I have to say, she achieved her goal grandly, because I figured out that's exactly what she did before I ever read the article: wrote from everything in her head. And you'll have to forgive me, because I'm going to be very blunt: when I began this book, I thought, "What a mind-fuck." When I finished this book, I thought, "What a mind-fuck."
I think some people would consider this book genius. I am not one of them. I don't think it's bad either: Robson is a good, technical writer with some lovely poetry to her prose. But I really can't decide one way or the other how I feel about this book, and right now, I have more complaints than praises.
What I didn't know when I read this sucker is that it's set in the same universe as her Natural History, which from what I can gather, is far more tightly plotted and introduces certain elements that were background in this particular book. If I'd known that before, I would've likely read NH first, but no matter. Other things drew me to this book than the world--such as the romance and sexuality--so I may pushed onward. I'm sure my understanding of the world would've been richer if I'd read NH before this, but like I said, oh well.
This book is a mind-fuck. I can't stress that enough. It's not an easy read by any means either: there are a half a dozen points of view, all but one of them told in the first person (past). While this is the kind of style that normally makes me giddy, it was a death blow to this book, and therein lies my main criticism. I wanted, and NEEDED something solid to hold on to. The setting sure couldn't do that for me, with all its talk of multiple dimensions and seeming lack of rules. The plot sure as hell couldn't do that for me either, which would've been okay, if I could've latched on to a character, but alas: the points of view are so intermingled and intermittent that once I get comfortable with one person, I'm jerked away to someone else. I'm still pondering why we got the points of view we did, because the protagonist of this piece (Francine) sure as hell didn't get enough screen time.
And let's talk about Francine, and the fact she's fourteen. Forget it's the far-future, and forget she was basically designed by her mother, the sexuality of this completely bothered me in it's own right--why, on EARTH, does this character have to be FOURTEEN? Loneliness and search for identity is something experienced at any age, and while it's most prominent for teenagers, Francine could've easily been sixteen for this story to work. But, but! Then there's the rape scene.
The rape scene.
I am getting SO TIRED of rape scenes. Forget the fact this kid is FOURTEEN, what the FUCK is up with the constant use of rape as a device? It's overdone in fiction and rarely done well (though this scene was done well, I'll give it that), but COME ON: I'm tired of seeing writers resort to this method as a means of torturing their characters. I'm also suddenly tired of WOMEN writers doing this: can we please, for once, rape men for a change? That's not in a redneck, Deliverance-esque setting? I don't get on a feminist soap-box very often, but I honestly think women writers have some responsibility, and one of those responsibilities is to avoid that particular cliche. Granted, rape scenes can work, and they can work well, but if we're going to use them, we have to ask ourselves: is this REALLY necessary? In this case, I can't decide--aside from being PISSED about the rape scene, I can't get it out of my head that the girl is FOURTEEN. If I ever meet this writer, this is the question I'm asking, because it honestly pisses me off (the rape scene, not the writer).
Moving on.
Despite Robson's handle on language, this book was a stream of conscious that finally found some kind of plot, but unfortunately, held the reader back at all the wrong times. There is SO MUCH to digest and so many questions that by time the plot lands in your lap (which happens around the rape-scene), it's all you can do to follow the thread as convoluted as it is. Until then, it's characters interacting, and while I've seen reviewers call this character-driven fiction, I have to disagree; this is more character-FOCUSED fiction. I have yet to discern the motivations of most of the character's actions, and like I mentioned before, had a terrible time relating. Most of that is the fault of the pov-jumping, but also because we get more reactions to what's going on rather than what's going on, so it's hard to put in context.
And let's not talk about genre: Robson might be "new weird", but this pales compared to Mieville's Perdido Street Station. This book is far more fantasy than SF, no matter what kind of jargon given inside about anything at all, because everything is so abstract, including the setting, that you're lost with only words on the page. I'll be honest that I never wanted to quit reading the book, but I wasn't engaged enough to speed through it either. Ultimately, this book had a lot of potential, but it needs something grounding it. Be it a character or a clear plot, it rambles and I'm still scratching my head over all of it.
Oh, and the ending? Left me cold.
Edit: Something I've been able to grasp now that I've slept on it: this book overspent its strangeness budget. What's that? I can't remember the author who penned the phrase, but the concept is that there's only so far you can push the weirdness factor in speculative fiction before you lose your audience. I imagine that every reader has his or her own strangeness budget, and in my case, this was too much. There was no internal logic for me to grasp on to, though certain scenes (particularly Francine's first) are powerful in their own right. The book is subtle to the point of being obscure. I don't like finishing a book and wondering what I was supposed to get out of it. It's something that I may have to read again to really understand and appreciate all the various layers and shades of meaning, but I rarely re-read books anyway, even if I love them. Why re-read something I had such a hard time relating to?
Despite my many issues with this book, I want (certain) people to read it. I want to talk to people who've read it already, and figure out what the hell the whole thing's about. And I think the sexual themes of this piece are very appealing for some, and the issue of love and what it is and what it encompasses is an interesting one. But it's not a book for everyone, and it's a very. tough. read. I don't say that lightly, because I like challenges. I wasn't thrilled with this one.