17 - Micromegas

I'm not sure whether it's really possible to feel an affinity with a time before you were alive. People often lament not having been around in the swinging sixties or roaring twenties, but ultimately it's not as if they could truly know what it was like to be alive at that time because, simply put, they weren't.

That being said, I would have to say I feel less affinity with the 18th century than pretty much any other period in history since the Dark Ages. With not much of note occurring in British history compared to the centuries before and after, my basic knowledge of the time is somewhat lacking. And while I am aware that the Age of Enlightenment laid the foundation for the vast majority of Western culture, I've always seen as just that - the foundation. The art and music created at the time, in my humble opinion, just isn't as developed or refined as what came later.

This is also the case for the literature of the time: I have very little knowledge of it, have studied it even less, and the works I have come across didn't make much of an impression. I maintain that Goethe's Faust is the most impenetrable thing I will ever read in any language, and Sterne's The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman is the most impenetrable thing I won't ever read (beyond the agonisingly dense first page).

But as with every rule there is an exception, and it comes in the form of the enfant terrible of the Enlightenment - François-Marie Arouet, better known by his prison nickname (yes, really) Voltaire. In a moment of madness during French A-Level I decided to take on his Candide, ou l'optimisme, and not only managed it but thoroughly enjoyed it. It blew me away how modern the prose was, and the ideas behind it. This coming-of-age tale of disillusionment with the failings of society, of learning that the further one travels, the less one knows, and of the overblown silliness of the romance and adventure novels of the time felt like something from the counter culture movement of the 1960s. It's literally 200 years ahead of its time, and I honestly can't think of any other work in any medium that can make that claim.

And so to Micromegas. I had always thought it was the general belief that science fiction was brought to the mainstream by the likes of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells in the 19th century, but with this wonderfully bizarre little novella Voltaire undercuts the trend by over a century again. And sure, the likes of Gulliver's Travels and Kepler's Somnium may have come even earlier, but as far as I'm concerned this story of giant aliens trekking across the galaxy is the first work to be in line with what we would think of as sci-fi today.

It starts off lightheartedly enough as Voltaire describes the adventures of an alien from Sirius who, by virtue of being hundreds of thousands of feet tall, is able to travel from star to star with ease, gaining all the knowledge the galaxy has to offer as he does so. He eventually reaches our solar system, and alights on Saturn where he meets a scientist who, standing at only 6,000 feet tall, is a dwarf by his standards. After a brief cultural exchange on the differences between their planets, in which the author again lays on the comic hyperbole in spades, the Saturnian's wife (a "pretty, petite brunette" - Voltaire coming across like 1752's Kurt Vonnegut) gets fed up and tells them to go elsewhere.

They arrive at Earth, and this is where the book goes from silly to profound in no time at all. After initially believing the planet to be uninhabited because they can find no forms of life big enough to make an impact on it, they soon come across a ship full of philosophers that has run aground in the Baltic. It is here that Voltaire delivers a stream of brutal social satire that again feels more like it belongs in something by some 60s beat poet. The pointlessness of the distinctions the philosophers draw between their different schools of thought, the futility of wars over lands of no real value in the name of rulers who will never see the lands by soldiers who will never meet their rulers, the belief that Earth is the centre of the universe and the universe was created for it - 250 years on and it seems we still have a lot to learn. And he makes the solution to it all seem so obvious.

Voltaire ends on what is essentially a punchline, and that felt right too. The shortest book I've read this year, and it has produced what I believe is my longest post. I can't recommend it enough.

5/5

And this is what music will sound like 250 years from now.

16 - Wake

I mentioned in a previous post that I once spent a large portion of my free time reading a collection of amateur horror stories gathered together in a mobile app. I imagine that few people who did the same would have avoided being inspired to write a story of their own in that vein, given the general come-and-have-a-go-if-you-think-you're-scary-enough attitude of the internet horror community. And I was no exception as early on in my endeavour the makings of a novel (or possibly a film script) began to come to me.

The setting was minimalist in scope - following a vaguely defined apocalyptic event, a group of survivors gathers in a remote corner of the English countryside and does their best to survive. They soon find themselves being stalked by a mysterious entity but then realise that that is the least of their problems as, in Sartre-esque fashion, their incompatibility as people begins to tear the group apart as they try to escape their predicament. I'm not sure how it would have finished, or indeed how the plot would have progressed, because I have always been better at writing about other people's writing than composing any of my own, and the work remained nothing more than a collection of thoughts. And now it turns out, somewhat creepily, that Elizabeth Knox beat me to it anyway. Having stumbled on Wake by chance in an article where literary critics recommended books they thought no one else would have read, I knew that I had to see how a proper writer would tackle the idea.

There are a few key differences: Knox sets her action in a small town in New Zealand, the supernatural element is given much more significance and, perhaps most importantly, she actually managed to write her story. But otherwise, Wake manages to very effectively put onto paper the concept that I thought would make such a great story.

The novel's opening makes for some of the most hair-raising reading I have ever come across, as a police officer on routine patrol finds herself in the middle of the unfolding action. Knox's writing is absolutely breathless as the town's citizens turn on each other, and the officer, Theresa, does her best to defend herself.

But once this is over with and all but thirteen of the town's residents have killed each other or themselves, Knox really steps up in terms of portraying the tedium of routine that becomes the survivors' reality. And it is here that the characters start to clash - from the brash American William, to the alcoholic Warren and former military man Bub by way of single-minded conservationist Belle and world-weary filmmaker Curtis. While it was initially confusing trying to keep track of such a large central cast, all of the characters are allowed time to settle into their roles, and as we learn more about their backgrounds Knox does not hesitate to dive into the darkest reaches of human nature.

The result is a read that is often uncomfortable and difficult, and that isn't helped by the aforementioned supernatural element which is frustratingly vaguely defined, but not vague enough that it doesn't encroach on the novel's realism. The passage in which Knox reveals the true nature of the apparent dual personality of the Maori girl Sam was certainly the most confusing plot building I have read all year.

But putting these flaws aside, Wake is a compelling and surprisingly emotional book. It is also a very Kiwi one, delving into the nation's past and present issues. And on reading the afterword I learned that the whole thing was inspired by Knox's mother's battle with Motor Neurone Disease, which added another dimension to it all that I hadn't even considered.

4/5

New Zealand is very much on my list of countries to visit, but until I do I shall be forced to assume it's just like this all the time.