Wimpress, Weeks in Naviras (2013)

Chris Wimpress, Weeks in Naviras. Self-published, 2013. Pp. 255. ISBN 978-1-31079-670-8. $2.99.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Ellie Weeks, the main protagonist in Chris Wimpress’ Weeks in Naviras is killed in a terrorist attack. However, shortly afterwards she wakes to find herself in a unique afterlife based on her experiences of Naviras, a quiet Portuguese fishing village which she had fallen in love with many years before. The story is split into two narratives which generally alternate with each chapter. It begins with Ellie’s afterlife experience but then also provides the background of her life and how she came to be killed. The book is well-structured with this evocative trick that keeps you reading, even in the more pedestrian sections of the narrative where you’re not quite sure what the story is driving towards.

Vaidya, The Rise of Siri (2012)

Shlok Vaidya, The Rise of Siri. Self published, 2012. Pp. 115. $2.99.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

The Rise of Siri is a technology-centred dystopia based in the near future. In this self-published novel, China shuts itself off from the rest of the world, essentially withdrawing from international trade and assuming ownership of all assets within its borders; people included. The story focuses wholly on Apple Inc. and how as a company it contends this international development in subsequent months. While the book is set in the speculative future, the main characters are real-life developers, executives and designers. Anyone familiar with Apple as a company might also be aware of Jony Ive, Tim Cook and Scott Forstall—all of whom feature in the novel. In many ways, it almost makes the story a piece of fan-fiction. The characters are given a huge amount of textual respect and are often spoken of in frothily glowing terms.

Lockwood, Life In Our Galaxy (2012)

Christopher R Lockwood, Life In Our Galaxy. Lulu, 2012. Pp. 68. $9.01.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Life In Our Galaxy, written by Christopher R Lockwood and self-published via Lulu.com, is a contemplative and graphical new text that leaves you pondering its contents some time after you have put it down. While it struck me that it attempts to achieve a great number of things—education, activism and the exploration of ethics on both sides of the arguments around abortion—within its simply drawn pages, it nonetheless left me wondering how well these aims were then met.

Plurality (2012)

Plurality, dir. Dennis Liu. Traffik Filmworks, 2012. Starring Jeff Nissani, Samantha Strelitz. 14 minutes.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Plurality, by director Dennis Liu, is a slick futuristic indie-short with high production values and a gripping and fast-paced plot. Set in 2023, New York is an incredibly secure and crime-free city. This is principally thanks to the Bentham Grid, a system where all your personal information is tied to your personal DNA and both are able to be traced via contact with nearly every surface in the city. This advanced biometric system, epitomising the notion of an ‘ultimate social network’ essentially rules out the need for cash or ID as a thumbprint will buy you a coffee, pay your bills and even open your car. While this creates a society that is incredibly secure, it raises various privacy issues that has led to underground movements decrying a ‘Big Brother Bentham’.

Herrera, Blue Tent (2012)

Carla R. Herrera, Blue Tent. Smashwords, 2012. Pp. 21. ISBN 9781476127002. Free.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Blue Tent is a short story by Carla R. Herrera and available via Smashwords. Set in a futuristic dystopian USA where the veneer of democracy has fallen to the point the country is now known as The Corporate States, protagonist Tele is in hiding from the authorities after taking part in a protest. She had no choice but to leave behind her family and live out a low-profile existence in a poverty-ridden camp. Such places are rife with danger but she manages to get by with the protection of an Inprod, a form of customised taser. She lives with hope of one day returning to her family.

Ward, Tube Riders (2012)

Chris Ward, The Tube Riders. Amazon Digital Services, 2012. Pp. 516. ISBN 978-1475116502/ASIN B007LVFSP8. $14.99 print/$3.31 Kindle.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

The Tube Riders, written by Chris Ward and available through Amazon Digital Services, is a gritty dystopian novel set in future Britain, known as Mega Britain. Now a corrupt, deliberately isolated and socially devastated island, the government rules oppressively and the poor scavenge for food under a persistent threat of suspicion by the Department of Civil Affairs—almost like an Orwellian Thought Police outfit.

Nightmare (2012)

Nightmare (2012), dir. Nic Collins; starring Nicholas Wicht, Pete Navis, Alexandra Leopold.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Nightmare, a short sci-fi film directed by Nic Collins, is a monochrome thriller that broods with paranoia and intrigue, even from the first scene. It tells a story of Carl, a man who has sinister and violent dreams that each feature a brutal murder. However, the dream scenarios then quickly then happen in real life and Carl is motivated to kill the killer before the next murder occurs.

Godmachine (2012)

Godmachine. Dir. Richard Cranor, 2012. Starring Robert Leeshock and Von Flores. 22:42 minutes.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Godmachine, a short promotional sci-fi film, is set in a futuristic dystopia of transient computer viruses and menacing global corporations. The protagonist John Lee, a traumatised war veteran, is tasked to destroy a computer virus which grants sentient cognition to androids. Things do not go to plan and the virus infects John through his own technological implants. Grace, an android whose voice is able to channel the big bang, comes to be protected by John and the couple lead to a new world away from the malign Chinamerica corporation.

Hennessy, At the End (2012)

John Hennessy, At the End. John Hennessy, 2012. Pp. 232. ISBN 9781476249599. $0.99.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

John Hennessy’s At The End, available via Smashwords, is an action packed dystopian thriller aimed at young adults. Relentlessly fast-paced from the very beginning, it’s a short novel, which readers will almost find themselves holding their breath as they read. Set in the near future, aliens have invaded planet Earth, then rounded up or killed most of the world’s population. Four teenagers; Maggy, Darrel, Felix and Penelope find themselves in this post-apocalyptic nightmare where survivors are being hunted and killed by the invading alien creatures. The aliens, nicknamed ‘Alions’ by Maggy due to their physical similarity to lions, are intelligent, powerful, determined and ruthless. It ultimately takes all their wits to survive and make their way to safety.

Devenport, Spirits Of Glory (2011)

Emily Devenport, Spirits Of Glory. Self-published, 2011. Pp. 113. ISBN 978-1-4523-3158-4. $0.99.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Spirits of Glory, available through Smashwords, is a beautifully crafted young adult story based in the futuristic/speculative colony world of Jigsaw, where the existence of ghosts and gods is as normal and expected as driving down a highway and taking a toilet break. The protagonist Hawkeye is an astute, intelligent and refreshingly vulnerable character, and this is as much a coming of age tale as it is a curious and well-paced exploration of wider themes such as identity, otherness and disability.

Jeapes, Jeapes Japes (2011)

Ben Jeapes, Jeapes Japes. Wizard’s Tower Press, 2011. ISBN 9781908039057. £4.99.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Jeapes Japes is a diverse collection of short stories from author Ben Jeapes and published via Wizard’s Tower Press. The narratives range from horror and fantasy to deep-space science fiction, and further interweave the author’s humour with canny story-telling and imaginative plot-lines. There are seventeen stories in the collection and the author interleaves each story with a brief afterword which goes some way to provide the story context and background.

The stories contained in the collection generally find the characters tending to merely support the novum of the story, rather than being the centrepiece of the tale. The tales therefore better present ideas rather than uniquely interesting characters, and after each the reader dwells more on the notion presented than the personalities. While in some genres this might not work, Jeapes Japes here instead feels like an impressive patchwork of different ideas, each rich with bubbling creativity and often sharp humour. Another element of the work that stands out is the diversity of genres the author explores. While many stories do overlap, for this review I felt it prudent to group the seventeen titles into four groups: Horror, consideration of Artificial Intelligence, Time Travel and simply ‘Ideas’. While there is such a diverse range here, the stories melt together beautifully as Jeapes’ humour, logic and eye for originality sweep through the collection.

The collection begins with ‘The Data Class’—a story where a sentient artificial intelligence reads, comprehends and decides to act upon the works of Karl Marx. It’s an intelligent, well written and clever narrative that superimposes Marxist theory within a future cyber-world. Such superimposition also works well with ‘Digital Cats Come Out Tonight’—the ‘cats’ are essentially anti-virus programs within an apartment-block computer system. The mice and other creatures are forms of an artificial intelligence virus. The story draws satirical correlation between the real and the digital in an intelligently simplistic and readable way. ‘Memoirs of a Publisher’ explores another means into which intelligent artificial intelligence might involve itself in a human world. It’s a clever and subtle take on discrimination and work ethics, placing such themes in a futuristic cyber-environment. ‘Crush’ is a rather chilling tale of obsession. This time the protagonist of the story is the focus of a high-functioning AI’s obsession. While this online/offline blurring is clearly a common theme in Jeapes’ work it is never as intimate, and subsequently daunting as it is in ‘Crush’. Jealousy, obsession and incarnate rage are all wonderfully snippeted in this brief tale, and it struck me as one which could be easily expanded upon. Finally in this section, ‘Jacqui the Giantkiller’ tells the story of sales person Jacqui who must get around sentient household gatekeepers. A solid sales anecdote about thinking outside the box in order to gain new customers, it’s a clever take on changing marketing models within a world using more and more technology.

Psychologically one might place ‘Crush’ almost as a form of horror, such is her cold pursuit. However the collection has more stand-out horror titles within it. ‘Getting Rid of Teddy’ was my favourite, and one of the collections highlights. It is a story of a supernatural relationship between a boy and his teddy. Using a young child is an oft-used trope in horror but it is certainly effective here. The tale features a particularly chilling finale, and blends family tension, the supernatural and religious intolerance. In ‘The Grey People’ protagonist Malcolm is haunted by creatures only he can see. Attacks affect his memory severely debilitated. In short story form it provides a brief snapshot of Malcolm’s troubles and I felt in many ways it might also provide an alternate narrative of mental illness.

Time travel is another science fiction genre Jeapes delves into on occasion. It also presents, possibly the collections stand-out story, ‘Pages Out of Order’. It is a superb example of how science fiction can be used in the most innocuous of situations, indeed it is not until the end of the story the reader is allowed to understand the reasons for protagonist Tom’s sudden confidence and attitude. It could perhaps be argued that short stories can either provide platforms for specific ideas to be notionally expressed, or a brief exploration of a much bigger novum. ‘Pages Out of Order’ felt like the latter and I would have thoroughly enjoyed a novel of the same idea. ‘Correspondents’ are futuristic human drones sent back in time to record historical events of varying impact. Our protagonist is confronted, in 16thc England, with a rogue correspondent who interferes with the course of history by torturing a Catholic priest, himself a torturer. In just a few pages it produces a wide range of ethical, religious and moral arguments that could easily be expanded. As it is ‘Correspondents’ is a fine short story, but also demonstrates the essence of limited character analysis in many of Jeapes’ collected stories. You grasp the idea—a time-travelling chronicler of events, in addition to the rogue correspondents dilemma in wanting to interrogate an interrogator, but these characters lack the depth you would see in longer works. ‘Winged Chariot’ is a further time travel tale, this time about a man who treats people from a Cornwall village with futuristic medical treatments. It also discusses well-known time quandaries such as time-stream collapse, in addition to the ethics of medical treatments. It is a fascinating story, very well written and a great example of short story writing in that it takes a relatively short snapshot and fills it with rich description.

Medical ethics is arguably a topic also contended in ‘The Robson Strain’, and the way I’d like to shift into the much wider subheading of Ideas. Although ‘The Robson Strain’ is well written it perhaps fails to grab the reader in the way the other stories do. It deals with topics such as animal testing and unethical medical practices and, while it makes the kind of scary predictions you see in much experiment-gone-wrong science fiction, it arguably doesn’t punch hard enough in so few words, seemingly desperate for a longer consideration in fully-fledged novel form. ‘Spoilsport’ raises the notion that pettiness can infuse even the most intelligent of post-humanity, proposed by the sibling rivalry between a brother and sister. The story, despite having a science fiction setting, is more about the relationship between the protagonists rather than an obvious novum. In this case the moralistic takes centre stage as neither character warrants much sympathy. ‘Cathedral No. 3’ is a simple, yet wonderfully described piece which momentarily explores theology, religious piosity and privilege within an intimate post-nuclear setting. The story aptly demonstrates Jeapes ability to spin a situation on its head and integrate alternate discourses which easily expound the tales setting and enter a more contemporary social space.

‘The Fireworker’ is a seething anti-hero narrative regarding a con man that controls magical crystals. Placed robustly in a kind of medieval fantasy setting, the story challenges the reader throughout to sympathise with a thoroughly dislikeable rogue. It’s all deliciously contentious, but I get the impression from his afterword that Jeapes enjoys writing this kind of narrative. ‘Trial by Alien’ is arguably where the author’s humour shines through brightest in this collection. It’s an almost farcical courtroom drama which plays upon differences between humanity and an alien species. This is one of the few short stories which has an older, and more complete, sibling novel, and something I’d be interested in reading myself.

The atmosphere changes suddenly with ‘A Holiday on Lake Moskava’, an alternative history story that proposes that Hitler had received more sympathy from other European states. The story is set modern day, with the protagonist a spy in a relationship with a young Russian aristocrat. While the tale is again well narrated and intriguing, it feels somewhat out of place amongst the quirk-filled humour of the other ‘japes. A much more serious affair, it still bites with sharp writing and far bigger ideas than the few pages it takes up can contain. Finally the collection returns to a recurring thematic: blending serious subject matter with a far lighter twist, in ‘Go with the Flow’, is a story about a sociology-by-number theorist and based upon an interview as to why he dedicated his work to his Gran. A story that moves the reader perhaps more than other stories contained in the collection, it remains a funny and interesting narrative.

The stories leap sporadically from one genre to another, without flow or warning and yet they still somehow all work so well together. A reader gets far more from the ideas and suggestions each story creates, than from the characters themselves which are never really explored to much depth. This augments Jeapes Japes as the classic SF short story writing that gives each tale a striking novum and characters far more incidental to that central idea. Indeed it is not the characters that stay with you when you put the book down, but the rich and exciting ideas that burst from this collective library of short stories.

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Farooqi, The Jinn Darazgosh (2011)

Musharraf Ali Farooqi, The Jinn Darazgosh. Amazon Media, 2011. 3500 words. ASIN B00546MF7G. $1.13 / £0.69.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

First in a series entitled ‘The Scandals of Creation’ published through Amazon Media, The Jinn Darazgosh is a supernatural fable which crafts a tale loosely around the familiar notion that ‘curiosity kills the cat’. The ‘cat’ here is the character Darazgosh, whose curiosity leads to problems in the lives other characters, then ultimately his own. The text itself is a mere 3500 words and is finely reminiscent of traditional folk tales. There is a familiarity with tales such as those of the Brothers Grimm, Aesop and ancient religious texts. They infer a basic morality of some kind, demonstrated elaborately across the narrative. Whether we agree curiosity is a bad thing or not—I certainly do not—the story nevertheless has an incredibly well crafted plot that creates a number of narrative strings which come together by the end of the tale.

Darazgosh is a Jinn, a form of genie common in Arab folklore and Islamic texts, that can apparently exist on a spiritual plane as well as the human one. Darazgosh’s purpose would appear to be that of a messenger. He eavesdrops on angelic conferences, determining what God has planned for mankind, and subsequently advises humans known as ‘augurs’ who in turn advise their people accordingly. Darazgosh overhears one such conversation amongst some angels, yet out of curiosity withholds part of the news regarding the God-determined deaths of two lovers. While the purpose of their deaths never revealed, and the pettiness of God’s whim in the tale is unexplored, Darazgosh’s actions ultimately save the lives of the lovers.

The construction of the plot and its subsequent unravelling is superb. I am unsure whether this is a retelling or translation of a specific Arabic tale or a fully reworked adaptation of a mythical story, but there is a genuine brilliance to the maintenance of such a narrative, and the simplistic yet precise way the story is conveyed. Ancient religious texts are often written in a simple way—the messages were usually directed at the poor and needy of the time, not the scholars and philosophers. Therefore it is a challenge, in the 21st Century to tell a story such as this that yet retains the innocence and simplicity of the genre. The narrative isn’t in any way a challenge to read and feels effortless and comfortable.

However I also feel the need to wrestle with the problems this kind of text presents in a modern context. It might be argued that the suppression and repression of women is sometimes at its most fervent in many ancient texts. The Jinn Darazgosh, written in this archaizing style, is not an exception. While it might be easy to negate writing about the abuse of women as being, sadly, historically accurate, I do not believe it should be glossed over as irrelevant. In the tale an honest, kind and generous young woman is essentially sold into marriage and later raped. While this is isn’t the only form of abuse in the story, it is perhaps the most striking and this is why I wish to discuss it. The delivery of this treatment, in particular the rape, is done so in such a matter-of-fact way it should be shocking to a modern reader. The coincidental and vehemently selfish manner in which the perpetrator rapes the woman in never considered either, appearing to normalise the assault. The rapist here would appear to be, if anything, ultimately rewarded for his behaviour and, if such actions and fates are controlled by God—which the nature of the text might arguably imply—then God is permissive in the abuse, resulting in scant justice in the story’s resolutions.

However the ‘crime’ of the tale isn’t rape but rather curiosity which, in our more enlightened eyes represents a deeply unpleasant logic. Texts such as these are usually given protection or apology, under the guise of being traditional, historic or mythological, but this doesn't mean this is valid defence. Texts should be challenged and kept alive by analysis, interpretation and debate. The theology behind a world where curiosity is worthy of punishment yet rape is shrugged off makes me wonder how advanced our world might be if it had been the other way around. So, vitally, The Jinn Darazgosh provokes great debate.

While I found the treatment of this issue unsatisfactory, this in no way detracts from the skill and the writing of Farooqi—the book is crafted expertly and with an extremely sharp eye for detail and imagination. The construction is complex yet consistently maintains a coherent simplicity that would perhaps appeal significantly to fans of intelligent mythological narratives. The story is part of a series so it might be interesting to follow how the collection unfolds.

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Grimwood, Bloody War (2011)

Terry Grimwood, Bloody War. Eibonvale Press, 2011. Pp. 276. ISBN 978-1-908125-03-3. £8.99/$15.00.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Bloody War is a new novel by Terry Grimwood and published by Eibonvale Press. Set in the not-too-distant future, the book is a dystopic vision of a gritty modern-day London caught in the middle of a brutal war. The aggressors are the unseen and unidentified Enemies of Democracy (EoD), and it would appear London suffers nightly air-raid attacks and is under perpetual threat of invasion.

At the centre of the novel’s bedlam is protagonist Pete Allman. Readers follow his narrative stream-of-consciousness as he wakes up with amnesia, befuddled by the existence of this 18-month old conflict. It is this slightly unbelievable, yet wholly forgivable, narrative tool which permits the reader the same sense of intrigue and discovery as Pete as he attempts to get to grips with his predicament. A significant feature of Pete’s life is his family, and his concern for them amidst the falling bombs and the nostalgic social pluck drives most of his actions and behaviour. It is the focus on the individuals, and the avoidance of wider ideological concepts that differentiate Grimwood’s text from that of Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four. It would seem very much to be from the perspective of Pete the proletariat, rather than Winston Smith’s party affiliate, and this view has a certain vitality and freshness.

Pete is almost stereotypical in his modern ‘Allman’/‘everyman’ status; middle aged, wife, family and stable job. I would suggest the author was at pains to present Pete as almost a nobody, a virtual invisible—much like a Winston Smith. Pete is permitted a few interesting character components which are interesting; he is a reformed bad-boy, very much a biker (a proper one too—not a mid-life crisis suffering one!) and he still wears his hair long. The text is littered here and there with references to the old heavy metal bands of the 1970’s and 80’s and, while I might be wrong, I got the sense the author was indulging himself a little bit with this repeated inclusion! This in no way detracts from the novel; rather it adds depth to Pete’s character. Due to the protagonist’s background and subsequent regrets, I found him a little maudlin at times as it seemed that he had never quite forgiven himself for his prior wrongdoing, and thus while he worries about his family, his personal feelings very much dominate his rhetoric. While this doesn’t entirely endear a reader, it perpetuates his depth and realism—and it is his realism, and realistic reactions to the devastation around him, which helps immerse the reader within the novels pages.

The atmosphere of the novel endeavours to replicate that of a World War 2-era London, and the clichéd phrases “There is a war on!” become post-post ironic. They words sit ill at ease with the reader as now the biting clichés are no longer funny. It contributes to the absurdity of the predicament Pete finds himself in. Perhaps the idea that London is being bombed in the 21st Century veers on both the sublime and the ridiculous. But this is the point, war is ridiculous and the novel makes this assertion with endearing aplomb. The reader is drawn to challenge: is the author really trying to pull this off?—that is, the transition between modern-day peacetime, resplendent with nuclear deterrents and special relationships to one where the United Kingdom is under constant attack and with little voice of contention? The almost unfathomable nature of this position is however matched by Pete’s own genuine bewilderment at the situation, and subsequent lack of answers. There are a number of times I wished Pete would grab someone by the lapels and ask what was happening but he never does this with conviction, instead the story is unravelled over the pages of the novel rather that the brisk conversation a reader might demand in the same situation. While this might frustrate someone demanding immediate answers it also allows the picture to be painted fully by the end of the novel. This captivates the reader in the dystopian society Pete also exists in and it is this tangibility which negates the virtual impossibility of the situation.

The novel roars along at a blistering pace and there are plenty of cliff-hangers. I read the book in two sittings but many readers will require only one. It is very difficult to elaborate on the plot at too great a depth without releasing spoilers, but the novel is packed with twists and turns and these continue until the final page. I must admit I worked out one major twist quite early on in the novel but the audacity of the author to follow this through should be applauded. Some of the ideas are both ridiculous and conspiratorial, but the author delivers them so well this doesn’t seem to matter. The narrative is engrossing and the plot devastating. I would not necessarily call the writer a ‘wordsmith’ as such—the prose is basic but very well written. He is however, in my opinion an incredible storyteller and crafter of intrigue with a vivid imagination and the ability to keep readers on the very tip of their chairs.

I think it would be unfair to wholly compare Bloody War with its, in my mind ‘big brother’, Nineteen Eighty-Four. It lacks the intrinsic political ideology and linguistic expertise abundant in Orwell’s novel. I think however, this is what makes this novel a humbler experience, it isn’t trying to be altogether original yet it puts a modern twist on something many readers will already be familiar with. While this in no way lets the story down, it does perhaps limit it as the political ramifications are never completely explored. Part of me didn’t think the novel lacked anything specific in this regard—after all, it would appear the author was keen to present an individual’s tale rather than a grand political narrative. However I might argue that the individual focus restricts the discourse around the events the novel visualises, there are no new themes to come from the text, instead it’s simply a different take, albeit a very rewarding take, on the conventional tomes of dystopian texts.

Both refreshing and disturbing, Bloody War is a speculative gem; an honest, well written ‘What If?’ novel. It proposes an old fashioned war coming to modern-times London and describes deliciously the societal vacuums and issues this creates. The character of Pete Allman is a good vehicle for moving the plot forward as he grows impatient quickly and his temper bristles the novel along at quite a pace. The book is highly enjoyable, and while it doesn’t fully engage with the dystopian social politics it presents an engaging individual war-narrative with an increasingly tumultuous plotline. As much as Pete is a virtual Orwellian proletariat, I’d very much like to read a Grimwoodian Winston Smith.

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Trevillian, A-Men / A-Men Return (2010-11)

John Trevillian, The A-Men. Matador, 2010. Pp. 410. ISBN 978-1848763432. £18.99 / $24.95
and The A-Men Return. Matador, 2011. Pp. 400. ISBN 978-1848766198. £18.99 / $24.95.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

The A-Men and The A-Men Return are the first two parts of an anti-utopian trilogy, written by John Trevillian and published by Matador. The final part of the trilogy, Forever A-Men, is not yet released. The first two parts of this stunning, visceral dystopia concern a hellish world set in a dark future where the mega-corporations have all but vacated a devastated Earth for neighbouring moons. The narrative is divided into numerous character perspectives and the reader is led through the alternating streams-of-consciousness of the principal A-Men members.

‘The A-Men’ are essentially one of many gangs within the troubled Dead City, who randomly come together under the leadership of amnesiac Jack, also known as The Nowhereman. While it could be argued that the novel is wrapped around the actions of Jack, we also glimpse the world-views of: ‘Sister Midnight’, a tough-yet-kind religious zealot; ‘Pure’, a beautiful street-smart junkie who becomes obsessed with Jack; ‘D’Alessandro’, a slightly unhinged scientist inventor; 23rdxenturyboy, a young comic-obsessed urchin and ‘Dingo The Wonder dog’ his genetically spliced dogman. The author cleverly blends these individual perspectives, and the chapters give a vibrant, continuative narrative to follow. The danger of this kind of text, similar for example in the way David Mitchell writes Cloud Atlas, is the possibility of overlap, where a character’s language spills over into other stories. This thankfully doesn’t happen in the A-Men novels, instead the stories are intelligently crafted apart.

As mentioned, the central focus of both books is Jack. The novels essentially tell of Jack’s induced amnesia and his journey to unravel the whys, the whos, the wherefores of his existence. His sections of the book dominate, which proves challenging at times because there is very little to like about the man. Jack comes across as an angry narcissistic hedonist who shows little or no compassion to his fellow characters, except for those he wants to have sex with. His behaviour is continually without any kind of moral code, and it strikes this reader as remarkable that his fellow A-Men feel inclined to do anything for him. This threatens the text at times, as it is difficult to understand where character motivations come from and the narratives struggle at times to justify character behaviours. However, the story is told at such a pace, this doesn’t detract enough to derail the novels.

Most startling about the novel is the sheer volume of swearing. I am in no way offended by bad language, and the inventive use of four-letter-words would probably impress the likes of Richard Curtis. This said, the overt use of certain word, in certain contexts, makes Jack especially appear highly misogynistic and perpetually angry towards the women in the novel. The language entwines the accounts of violence and sex throughout the books to the point where they occasionally blur. Sometimes this really works, sometimes it doesn’t. Lines like “Pull out my D&K (gun). Feels good in my hand. Feels like a dick when it’s hard. My metal cock. Ready for fucking” sound more like a line from an immature pubescent rap artist than a literary protagonist. Fortunately, this only occurs occasionally as Trevillian writes to a very high standard. The linguistics employed in the novel are innovative, refreshing and funny, the humour snakes through the book and I laughed out loud a number of times. The vocabulary is delicious throughout, and during the times where the novel slows, this keeps the narrative alive. There is a distinct William Gibson feel to the language. While in my opinion the story itself isn’t quite as good as, say, Neuromancer, the language is superior. At around 400 hundred pages each, there is a thoroughly entertaining story running throughout The A-Men and The A-Men Return, but there were times I felt it was diluted by the volume of the books. I must stress however that, even if the books have been padded, they remain incredibly entertaining.

Besides Jack, the characters themselves sometimes lack development and, as I have mentioned, a reader might sometimes wonder what their motivations are. Survival would be one, perhaps that the other options available to them render Jack the most viable, but it becomes difficult to distinguish for the reader. There are some quite elaborate yet indulgent passages that add little to the story. At great risk, Jack emancipates Sister Midnight from a religious commune and has sex with her, only to dump her completely, in addition to the other A-Men, when the pneumatic Pure comes along a few pages later. The A-men as a gang seem to impress quite a reputation upon other gangs within Dead City, and I couldn’t quite fathom how this reputation was manifest. There is kind of legendary reverence about them, and I would argue it isn’t really justified. Jack and Sister Midnight are the principal fighting antagonists for the A-Men and seem to have earned the group’s reputation more though luck than endeavour. This does not impinge upon the story one jot, but for a while I found this to be a curious assumption on behalf of the other gangs that served the A-Men well.

There is great depth in both novels; themes include family, religion, identity, fairy tales, sex, drugs, computer games and virtual reality. I would suggest that Jack’s misogyny sometimes becomes a little overbearing upon the narrative, and the continual referral to Sister Midnight as ‘black’ is a peculiar and disconcerting. This is unlike most dystopias I have read and there is little focus on the collapsing society, rather it concerns itself more with the journey of the protagonist Jack. If Jack was a little more likeable, for me the books would be even more engaging. But, as a reader might struggle to endear themselves to Jack’s narcissism, they must rely on the soaring language used in the novel for pure engagement. The language is utterly uncompromising and, while it occasionally slips horribly, Trevillian’s use of words is both fantastic and mesmerising in equal measure. I eagerly look forward to the conclusion of the trilogy.

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Eskridge, Solitaire (2010)

Kelley Eskridge, Solitaire: a novel. Small Beer Press, 2011. Pp. 352. ISBN 9781931520102. $16.00.

Reviewed by Paul Wilks

Originally released in 2002, Kelley Eskridge’s debut novel Solitaire is now being republished in paperback by Small Beer Press. Set in the near future where the role of global corporations is reminiscent of the all pervasive organisations portrayed in Japanese Manga comics; Solitaire is tangibly similar in feel to the likes of Scarlett Thomas’s Popco or the satire of Max Barry’s Jennifer Government. Solitaire’s protagonist Jackal Segura is employed by such a company named ‘Ko’. The story tells of Jackal’s fall from favour as a high-flying executive, her explorations of self, identity and relationships in addition to her eventual emancipation from psychological problems. Although slow to start, the novel is an ultimately rewarding, innovative and refreshing read.

Solitaire is principally an exploration of identity and self-purpose but also has a bildungsroman element as Jackal develops a psychological maturity as the story progresses. The novel is essentially split into three parts and it might be suggested that each part has its own unique identity. During the first part the reader is introduced to the protagonist, an executive project manager and designated ‘Hope’ by Ko society at her birth. As ‘Hope’, Jackal represents a future ambassador for her organisation on the global stage. The reader is also introduced to her petulant and competitive Mother, in addition to her friends or ‘web’, most notably her partner Snow. Although I think the reader is expected to sympathise with Jackal in this section, there are moments when she comes across as being spoilt and constantly in the state of feeling sorry for herself. Jackal certainly feels the pressure surrounding her as ‘Hope’ and she has to modify her already shaky self-perception when she discovers that her status is fraudulent. However, her continuing issues with identity and self esteem, which in many ways appear to be perpetuated by Snow’s coddling, seem unnecessary and I found myself wishing Jackal would discover some inner gumption of her own.

For dystopia readers this section of the book also lacks in societal detail. One aspect I enjoy about speculative fiction is understanding a little about the society the protagonists exist in. Unfortunately there is scant exploration of this in Solitaire. However, despite the griping Jackal—with whom it is difficult to find sympathy—and a seeming lack of direction in this first part of the book, the redeeming features are twofold. Snow is an incredibly intriguing character, and not only because she is an indefatigable well of psychological support for Jackal. Snow’s character and background is neglected somewhat through the novel, but even early in Solitaire she garners real traction in the reader’s interest and you are left keen to know more about her biography. Secondly, the equality within the society is refreshing. It appears that in Ko society men and women share prominent roles and the same-sex relationship of Jackal and Snow is normative and not exploited for narrative effect. The questions concerning sexual equality and sexuality are not discussed and this invisibility is genuinely innovative and refreshing.

Momentum in both the story and Jackal’s character launch in parts two and three. Imprisoned in a virtual confinement, Jackal must spend eight years alone—albeit merely ten months in real-world incarceration. During this period the narration permits Jackal to explore her psyche and confront her identity and esteem issues. While these issues seemed negligible in the first part of the novel, this exploration gives Jackal much needed grit and resolve. Subsequently her character develops important flavour for the reader and genuine interest and sympathy for her begins here. Jackal’s imprisonment eventually leads to new discoveries about her sense of self in addition to the work of her (now former) employer Ko. This further thickens the plot, and by the end of the second part, the novel hits a plateau of intrigue that makes it difficult to put down.

Part three sees Jackal released from her virtual prison and her attempts to rebuild her life. The determination she developed during confinement is put to good use here and her journey towards making new friends and resolving her identity issues is realised in this part. An interesting note on this part of the book is the author’s use of food in the narration. Jackal, and those around her seem to be eating constantly. As a narrative tool this draws the reader in with the virtual tastes and smells of the characters environment. This helps the reader immerse themselves into the story further and continue to sympathise with Jackal.

The character of Snow also appears in part three and has reconciliation with Jackal. While the passages that explore the relationship between Jackal and Snow are tender and emotive, I thought more could have been explored here—it just didn’t seem enough. Again Snow is the conduit of empathy and sympathy; both in the narrative in the way she interacts with Jackal, but also in the way the character of Snow affects the reader. There would appear to be a varied amount of unwritten history regarding Snow and this neglect, at times, left me feeling a little in the dark and wanting to know more. While Snow’s character is primary to this feeling, other characters also have a hidden narrative that could have been explored further.

None of this however should detract from what is a fascinating and intriguing novel. While there remain a few loose ends, and the biographies of some characters are left unsatisfied, the novel bubbles with action and smart dialogue. Jackal’s internal conflict finds gravitas after an initially weak start and her self-discovery and personal resolutions make interesting analysis. Solitaire is not what you might expect from a typical speculative fiction novel—there is little consideration of the social structure in which Jackal belongs. However, there are strong, well explored themes here, most notably identity, notions of self and love. The three-part construction of the novel is, in many ways, innovative and, although it might be said these sections do not blend as well as they could, there is a freshness about this approach. There is rumour that this novel is to be made into a film and treatment of Jackal’s psychological journey will be interesting to observe in this medium. The story is not perfect but any novel that becomes un-put-down-able, even momentarily, and creates genuinely interesting and beguiling characters as Solitaire does, becomes an essential read, if perhaps not an essential library addition.

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Rand, Anthem (1936)

Ayn Rand, Anthem. Cassell & Co, 1936. Pp. 105. (various editions)

A feminist review by Paul Wilks

Anthem is a dystopian novella by Ayn Rand first published in 1938. It is set in a devolved and semi-primitive future society, beneath an oppressive ruling body known as the ‘World Council’. The protagonist is a male named Equality 7-2521 and the novel tells of his life and subsequent disenfranchisement with society. The novella itself is essentially an early exploration of Rand’s own philosophical ideas regarding individualism and subsequent criticism of the opposing ‘collectivism’. These ideas would be realised in greater depth by Rand’s later novels; namely The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged, but Anthem demonstrates a brief critique that relates to her country of birth, a socialist Soviet Russia.