Rad Reading
This is a comparative review of ‘Ivory’, and ‘Anathem’.
But that would be a pretty lackluster review. In fact, if that’s all I had (or could) say about the experience I probably wouldn’t be the kind of person who would have read either of these books-one obscure and one obscenely long. And if that’s what you wanted out of a review, you probably wouldn’t be reading either book as well.
‘Ivory: A Legend of Past and Future’ is a work of speculative fiction by Mike Resnick. It was nice and shiny new at the library, and as an added bonus it has an elephant and a spaceship sharing space on the front cover. So I picked it up. It’s a quite enjoyable work of fiction as well.
The basic premise is that some enormous tusks with, depending on your point of view, an enormous impact on the universe are wandering lost and are the representations of an uncanny intellect-the oversized elephant who used to wear them. I appreciate the mystery, nay mystique, crafted in this book. Primarily this is accomplished by binary stories generated concurrently. One is in the past-told by the elephant. And, one is in the nearer past utilizing a variety of presentations, thieves, diplomats, wandering Maasai, etc. Because you only get windows into each of these occurrences you’re prevented from glimpsing the big picture.
And, it’s this device that creates the tension in the book. The conflict, the plot if you will. Because-there’s one other component of the book that I haven’t mentioned. There’s also a constant, linear, narration by the book’s main character. And it’s here where the book ultimately fails.
I just watched ‘I’m not there’ (supposedly a biographical film about Bob Dillon), and there’s plenty of parallels to be drawn between these two experiences. But, I’ll vastly exceed your attention span in doing so-so consider that extra-credit if you do the homework. Suffice it to say that while I didn’t like the movie, it didn’t confront me with a lackluster and ignorant narrator the way ‘Ivory’ did. Because, in ‘I’m not there’ you’re left to draw your own conclusions as you piece together the alternate perspectives and narratives.
It’s a great device. And it creates the same amount of mystery in both works, but in ‘Ivory’ you’re spoon-fed the connections between the stories. And what’s worse, it’s done by a clueless boring workaholic supposed savant. Worst of all-it’s not his (the character’s) fault. Mike is forcing this unfortunate creation into a box by the need to not reveal to you the ULTIMATE purpose to obtaining these ivory tusks until the very end of the book.
This means that you can expect multiple exclamations from said main character along the lines of “I don’t understand”. And even greater witticisms from his antagonist - who is stringing him along in the hopes that his obscene intellect (remember, the main character can’t remember to change his shirt) will locate the all important tusks for him. These statements form probably 30 consecutive pages of “I don’t know, and the things I do know I cannot reveal to you because you will think I’m crazy”. Guess what-I believed that guy, and nearly put the book down in my frustration. Hey, if he’s a crazy jerk, why would I want to spend more time with him?
‘Ivory’ boils down to a moderately enjoyable (and necessarily short) romp that’s fairly noticeably spoiled by ham-handed and cobbled pacing. It often excites but ultimately fails to delight. And, unfortunately, it certainly doesn’t treat you with the intelligence you deserve. That’s the part that disconcerted me the most-because there are some 8 pages of back-matter telling you exhaustively about the author’s many exploits. For instance, Mr. Resnick has won more awards than Arthur C. Clarke and Asimov combined. It’s a braggadocio that I would be embarrassed to find in myself and somehow suspect it will keep me from coming back for second helpings. So, when I claimed that ‘Ivory’ was obscure, what more evidence do I need than gratuitous overcompensation by the author himself? And finally, fiction is supposed to be that twisted mirror through which you can view another universe not entirely unlike this one-but here Mike Resnick has merely studied the safaris of yester-year and simply re-created one…in space.
‘Anathem’ is a work of speculative fiction by Neal Stephenson. The comments that follow are based on my experience of most of the book. I actually began comparing them while only a hundred pages or so into the 800+ monstrosity that is Anathem. It’s hard not to compare the two books you’ve most recently read.
‘Anathem’ is holding my interest well, and at this point I believe I’m on page 776. I know this because a lot of books put me to sleep at bed-time but this is one of those books that you shouldn’t read between the covers because you just might be up all night reading it. The basic premise for this book is that there are scholarly monastic orders that live in buildings that are essentially clocks. Their contact with the outside world is limited and mitigated by their vows. Some allow contact for 10 days every year, while other groups have this period every 10, 100, or 1000 years.
There’s fantastic fun to be had keeping up with Stephenson’s liberal use of rhetoric, as you’ll observe the Fraas and Suurs (male and female monks) debate “theorics” while peeling potatoes for the evening meal. In fact, the reader is amply re-assured that their time is well spent with this book simply by the incredible attention to detail. Fraa is the term for a male monk, but is clearly derived from the German “frauline”, or woman, just as Suur, the term for a female monk, is derived from the male epithet “Sir”. Stephenson doesn’t simply take the easy route to play these verbiage games, but has created his own lexicon to breath life into the world of Arbre.
After wallowing in the unimaginative hubris of Resnick, I was worried I might be about to encounter more of the same in Anathem. Many books feature that queer chapter transition - the fake quote. I first encountered this in Frank Herbert’s ‘Dune’, and I’ve generally liked it less and less since. Not only do Neal Stephenson’s section breaks unanimously feature a fake quote, but they’re all from the same source-“the Dictionary”. The Dictionary. Let me say that again if you missed it. THE. What does it say about you as an author that you propose one single literary source that contains the only correct way to think about every symbol we, in the real world, call words?
Thankfully, none of those fears materialized. Unlike most fake quotes, these ARE decipherable, relevant, and generally helpful to the story. This etymological slant provided by Stephenson greatly benefits by the fact that he may make you struggle 10 pages or 100 to get the “definition” to a term, but you’ll almost always get one. And that makes interacting with the world, and the tension created by your less than perfect understanding of its doings, all the more palatable.
I came into the anticlimax of the book (a point at which the book has already worked up to some very satisfying action and characterization and has now devolved into a chronicle of dinner-table conversations) only to realize it comes at the same time as the implausibility of the conceit of multiple worlds comes about. I would say this is the only unfortunate part of the book. If the story arc wasn’t hitting its low-point at the same time as you realize things couldn’t happen this way ACCORDING TO STEPHENSON’S OWN EXPLANATION, it would be a definite improvement. Supposedly the mechanism for parallel universes (created by quantum divergence, i.e. spin up or spin down) creates non-compatible matter. This is not fully developed, which is odd, because given the cerebral nature of both the book and the characters IN the book, everything else is. However, it is posited that alien beings can’t metabolically interact with our food.
For such a brilliant man, it’s an odd oversight to not understand that metabolism includes breathing. Basically, metabolism is the act of catalytically breaking down carbon bonds and generating energy; sugar + oxygen = CO2 + H2O + energy would be a very simplistic model. Of course, plants do essentially the same thing in reverse. At any rate, the supreme turning point of the story is realized by some smart monks who see that they cannot digest alien food. This enables them to identify the alien-who looks just like us. Questions. How is that alien breathing if its C6H12O6 (sugar) analogue doesn’t interact with ours on a quantum level? In other words, when Stephenson invokes quantum mechanism as the difference between the human and alien non-compatibility why doesn’t he realize that this extends to all particles, and probably even physical interaction (like a hug)? I mean, there’s a REASON that “metabolism” is known to biologists as cellular respiration. And yet, the alien is standing there breathing-hungry since they can’t eat OUR food, but breathing, speaking, and thinking. That nearly broke the book for me. And as I said, it comes at the same point when you’re tempted to start rolling your eyes and twirling your finger for him to hurry up and get to the point. Did he miss something? Or, is he just trying to slip something disingenuous in there when you’re most likely to be dozing?
At any rate, to the extent that realization rained on my parade it’s a miniscule amount - some 10-15 minutes, in an experience that I’m already weeks into. With more still to go.
Stephenson’s work transports me to somewhere I’d want to go. And, at the risk of sounding like a total geek, somewhere I’d be comfortable at. Resnick’s book makes me ashamed of the mundanity of my-and our-experience. Stephenson on the other hand writes with the breath of Angels. I find myself riveted by the twists and turns, by his portrayal of things as simple as weeding a garden and as outlandish as riding a rocket into space. On the face of it (no pun intended), you certainly wouldn’t believe how entertaining a bunch of brainiacs living in a clock would be.
Some might say that this is a book that rewards your patience. A book of this length is almost begging to be described in such a way. If you’re that goal oriented in your reading, however, I’d recommend you skip this book. Because, that’s a TV watchers comment. Other’s might say, “it takes a while to get going,” because there’s no action for 200 pages.
This book isn’t aimed at folks with that mindset. At the very least it won’t deliver its full potential to that crowd. Because in all honesty, this book opens with a sucker punch and you may not get your feet back under you for 100 pages. Be glad there’s not an action packed opener on top of all the other things that Stephenson is throwing at you. It’s going to take your full concentration to grapple with the concepts in this book. And above all, take your time to enjoy the work. When you’re done with it you’ll be wishing there were more than just 934 pages.
But that would be a pretty lackluster review. In fact, if that’s all I had (or could) say about the experience I probably wouldn’t be the kind of person who would have read either of these books-one obscure and one obscenely long. And if that’s what you wanted out of a review, you probably wouldn’t be reading either book as well.
‘Ivory: A Legend of Past and Future’ is a work of speculative fiction by Mike Resnick. It was nice and shiny new at the library, and as an added bonus it has an elephant and a spaceship sharing space on the front cover. So I picked it up. It’s a quite enjoyable work of fiction as well.
The basic premise is that some enormous tusks with, depending on your point of view, an enormous impact on the universe are wandering lost and are the representations of an uncanny intellect-the oversized elephant who used to wear them. I appreciate the mystery, nay mystique, crafted in this book. Primarily this is accomplished by binary stories generated concurrently. One is in the past-told by the elephant. And, one is in the nearer past utilizing a variety of presentations, thieves, diplomats, wandering Maasai, etc. Because you only get windows into each of these occurrences you’re prevented from glimpsing the big picture.
And, it’s this device that creates the tension in the book. The conflict, the plot if you will. Because-there’s one other component of the book that I haven’t mentioned. There’s also a constant, linear, narration by the book’s main character. And it’s here where the book ultimately fails.
I just watched ‘I’m not there’ (supposedly a biographical film about Bob Dillon), and there’s plenty of parallels to be drawn between these two experiences. But, I’ll vastly exceed your attention span in doing so-so consider that extra-credit if you do the homework. Suffice it to say that while I didn’t like the movie, it didn’t confront me with a lackluster and ignorant narrator the way ‘Ivory’ did. Because, in ‘I’m not there’ you’re left to draw your own conclusions as you piece together the alternate perspectives and narratives.
It’s a great device. And it creates the same amount of mystery in both works, but in ‘Ivory’ you’re spoon-fed the connections between the stories. And what’s worse, it’s done by a clueless boring workaholic supposed savant. Worst of all-it’s not his (the character’s) fault. Mike is forcing this unfortunate creation into a box by the need to not reveal to you the ULTIMATE purpose to obtaining these ivory tusks until the very end of the book.
This means that you can expect multiple exclamations from said main character along the lines of “I don’t understand”. And even greater witticisms from his antagonist - who is stringing him along in the hopes that his obscene intellect (remember, the main character can’t remember to change his shirt) will locate the all important tusks for him. These statements form probably 30 consecutive pages of “I don’t know, and the things I do know I cannot reveal to you because you will think I’m crazy”. Guess what-I believed that guy, and nearly put the book down in my frustration. Hey, if he’s a crazy jerk, why would I want to spend more time with him?
‘Ivory’ boils down to a moderately enjoyable (and necessarily short) romp that’s fairly noticeably spoiled by ham-handed and cobbled pacing. It often excites but ultimately fails to delight. And, unfortunately, it certainly doesn’t treat you with the intelligence you deserve. That’s the part that disconcerted me the most-because there are some 8 pages of back-matter telling you exhaustively about the author’s many exploits. For instance, Mr. Resnick has won more awards than Arthur C. Clarke and Asimov combined. It’s a braggadocio that I would be embarrassed to find in myself and somehow suspect it will keep me from coming back for second helpings. So, when I claimed that ‘Ivory’ was obscure, what more evidence do I need than gratuitous overcompensation by the author himself? And finally, fiction is supposed to be that twisted mirror through which you can view another universe not entirely unlike this one-but here Mike Resnick has merely studied the safaris of yester-year and simply re-created one…in space.
‘Anathem’ is a work of speculative fiction by Neal Stephenson. The comments that follow are based on my experience of most of the book. I actually began comparing them while only a hundred pages or so into the 800+ monstrosity that is Anathem. It’s hard not to compare the two books you’ve most recently read.
‘Anathem’ is holding my interest well, and at this point I believe I’m on page 776. I know this because a lot of books put me to sleep at bed-time but this is one of those books that you shouldn’t read between the covers because you just might be up all night reading it. The basic premise for this book is that there are scholarly monastic orders that live in buildings that are essentially clocks. Their contact with the outside world is limited and mitigated by their vows. Some allow contact for 10 days every year, while other groups have this period every 10, 100, or 1000 years.
There’s fantastic fun to be had keeping up with Stephenson’s liberal use of rhetoric, as you’ll observe the Fraas and Suurs (male and female monks) debate “theorics” while peeling potatoes for the evening meal. In fact, the reader is amply re-assured that their time is well spent with this book simply by the incredible attention to detail. Fraa is the term for a male monk, but is clearly derived from the German “frauline”, or woman, just as Suur, the term for a female monk, is derived from the male epithet “Sir”. Stephenson doesn’t simply take the easy route to play these verbiage games, but has created his own lexicon to breath life into the world of Arbre.
After wallowing in the unimaginative hubris of Resnick, I was worried I might be about to encounter more of the same in Anathem. Many books feature that queer chapter transition - the fake quote. I first encountered this in Frank Herbert’s ‘Dune’, and I’ve generally liked it less and less since. Not only do Neal Stephenson’s section breaks unanimously feature a fake quote, but they’re all from the same source-“the Dictionary”. The Dictionary. Let me say that again if you missed it. THE. What does it say about you as an author that you propose one single literary source that contains the only correct way to think about every symbol we, in the real world, call words?
Thankfully, none of those fears materialized. Unlike most fake quotes, these ARE decipherable, relevant, and generally helpful to the story. This etymological slant provided by Stephenson greatly benefits by the fact that he may make you struggle 10 pages or 100 to get the “definition” to a term, but you’ll almost always get one. And that makes interacting with the world, and the tension created by your less than perfect understanding of its doings, all the more palatable.
I came into the anticlimax of the book (a point at which the book has already worked up to some very satisfying action and characterization and has now devolved into a chronicle of dinner-table conversations) only to realize it comes at the same time as the implausibility of the conceit of multiple worlds comes about. I would say this is the only unfortunate part of the book. If the story arc wasn’t hitting its low-point at the same time as you realize things couldn’t happen this way ACCORDING TO STEPHENSON’S OWN EXPLANATION, it would be a definite improvement. Supposedly the mechanism for parallel universes (created by quantum divergence, i.e. spin up or spin down) creates non-compatible matter. This is not fully developed, which is odd, because given the cerebral nature of both the book and the characters IN the book, everything else is. However, it is posited that alien beings can’t metabolically interact with our food.
For such a brilliant man, it’s an odd oversight to not understand that metabolism includes breathing. Basically, metabolism is the act of catalytically breaking down carbon bonds and generating energy; sugar + oxygen = CO2 + H2O + energy would be a very simplistic model. Of course, plants do essentially the same thing in reverse. At any rate, the supreme turning point of the story is realized by some smart monks who see that they cannot digest alien food. This enables them to identify the alien-who looks just like us. Questions. How is that alien breathing if its C6H12O6 (sugar) analogue doesn’t interact with ours on a quantum level? In other words, when Stephenson invokes quantum mechanism as the difference between the human and alien non-compatibility why doesn’t he realize that this extends to all particles, and probably even physical interaction (like a hug)? I mean, there’s a REASON that “metabolism” is known to biologists as cellular respiration. And yet, the alien is standing there breathing-hungry since they can’t eat OUR food, but breathing, speaking, and thinking. That nearly broke the book for me. And as I said, it comes at the same point when you’re tempted to start rolling your eyes and twirling your finger for him to hurry up and get to the point. Did he miss something? Or, is he just trying to slip something disingenuous in there when you’re most likely to be dozing?
At any rate, to the extent that realization rained on my parade it’s a miniscule amount - some 10-15 minutes, in an experience that I’m already weeks into. With more still to go.
Stephenson’s work transports me to somewhere I’d want to go. And, at the risk of sounding like a total geek, somewhere I’d be comfortable at. Resnick’s book makes me ashamed of the mundanity of my-and our-experience. Stephenson on the other hand writes with the breath of Angels. I find myself riveted by the twists and turns, by his portrayal of things as simple as weeding a garden and as outlandish as riding a rocket into space. On the face of it (no pun intended), you certainly wouldn’t believe how entertaining a bunch of brainiacs living in a clock would be.
Some might say that this is a book that rewards your patience. A book of this length is almost begging to be described in such a way. If you’re that goal oriented in your reading, however, I’d recommend you skip this book. Because, that’s a TV watchers comment. Other’s might say, “it takes a while to get going,” because there’s no action for 200 pages.
This book isn’t aimed at folks with that mindset. At the very least it won’t deliver its full potential to that crowd. Because in all honesty, this book opens with a sucker punch and you may not get your feet back under you for 100 pages. Be glad there’s not an action packed opener on top of all the other things that Stephenson is throwing at you. It’s going to take your full concentration to grapple with the concepts in this book. And above all, take your time to enjoy the work. When you’re done with it you’ll be wishing there were more than just 934 pages.