Wednesday, 24 February 2016 07:14 pm
Book Review: That Hideous Strength
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deckardcanineWhy did I wait almost five years to continue the Space Trilogy? Maybe the second volume felt like too good a stopping point, leaving little more to my literary appetite. Maybe the last title turned me off. At any rate, I probably should have read this sooner.
...Because if you don't remember the previous villains' names, you may get almost halfway thru the book before seeing any connections at all to the previous volumes. I was prepared to accuse C.S. Lewis, of all authors, of lying to his readership: This couldn't be a sequel! Even when the connections did become clear, there was no space travel depicted and only a slight discussion thereof. After I finished, I skimmed the first half for a new perspective.
Instead, the focus shifts to a variously ambitious conspiracy that takes the shape of the National Institute for Co-ordinated Experiments, a.k.a. the N.I.C.E. (I recall Lewis once clarifying the key difference between goodness and kindness.) Gradually amassing power in a university town, the N.I.C.E. exists to implement many radical philosophical ideas that had found footholds among professors by the '40s. For example, they promote rehabilitation over punishment, which sounds good until you understand that they claim carte blanche to keep and torture prisoners as long as they see fit. Their ultimate goal is far more destructive, even if they see it as a way to "save" humanity.
The two most focal characters are Mark and Jane Studdock, a young, irreligious married couple already drifting apart emotionally. Mark craves the approval of scholastic "in" cliques, which explains how he joins the N.I.C.E. despite many warning signs. His job there chiefly entails writing dishonest news articles to sway public opinion. You might compare him to Edmund from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe -- an injudicious tool of the dark side who suffers and comes around. It's not easy to leave a wicked gang.
Jane's prophetic dreams are the first sign of fantasy or science fiction in the book. After she tells a friend, she gets drawn into another secret society, apparently nameless and set up specifically to oppose the N.I.C.E. The director turns out to be familiar to readers of the prior volumes -- and the scion of King Arthur, strangely and importantly enough. Both sides have what I'd call supernatural guidance, akin to angels and demons but without using either term.
Plotwise, this is the most complex and probably most mature entry in the trilogy. It has easily the largest cast, what with all the conspirators on each side. Unfortunately, it reads almost like an Ayn Rand treatise for more than 100 pages, emphasizing caricatures over sf premises. (Once Merlin himself turns up, tho, all pretense of science fiction can be tossed aside.) It doesn't help that I find British colleges a lot duller than Lewis did. I could give him credit for writing what he knew, but that's not always the best advice. One of the blurbs on the back of the book said that readers couldn't put it down, but I took a long time to really engage.
Several of the villains' ideas persist to this day; the starting ideas of Mark and Jane do much more so. Having moved further toward the political right, I can agree with Lewis on some salient points. But he does a poor job making a case for women submitting to their husbands. Heck, what good would have come of Jane agreeing to join Mark at the N.I.C.E.?
I recall how Perelandra's resolution involved a level of violence not nearly seen in Out of the Silent Planet. This time it gets downright Old Testament. Really, Lewis? Sure, the villains have gotten more brutal to boot, but you seem to care nothing for tonal consistency across a series.
That may not be the least satisfying feature of the ending. More than half the "heroes" don't really do anything. One of them even mentions as much and gets a weak rebuttal that left me scratching my head. Why did we even need all those characters? On both sides, they range from moderately interesting to redundant. I suppose I should be glad for the fair number of women, possibly passing the Bechdel Test, but see above: No modern (semi-)feminist would approve the values herein.
Merlin might be the most intriguing character, more by virtue of displacement than of ability. He's the main sign that Lewis's conservatism has its limits: The other heroes find him morally shocking at times. Also interesting is an incidental "tramp," who views the world quite differently from pretty much anyone with money. As for the returning characters...I liked them better before they knew so much.
Oh yeah: We also get some partially uplifted animals. They're not more intelligent -- the main bear doesn't even have a sense of self -- but the forces of good have made them tamer than usual. Kinda cute, if vaguely insulting.
This is the first Lewis book that I consider at least as much miss as hit. I hope I haven't read all his adult works that I'd like.
My next read was published much more recently and translated from Estonian to English only last year: The Man Who Spoke Snakish by Andrus Kivirähk. It's long but going fast.
...Because if you don't remember the previous villains' names, you may get almost halfway thru the book before seeing any connections at all to the previous volumes. I was prepared to accuse C.S. Lewis, of all authors, of lying to his readership: This couldn't be a sequel! Even when the connections did become clear, there was no space travel depicted and only a slight discussion thereof. After I finished, I skimmed the first half for a new perspective.
Instead, the focus shifts to a variously ambitious conspiracy that takes the shape of the National Institute for Co-ordinated Experiments, a.k.a. the N.I.C.E. (I recall Lewis once clarifying the key difference between goodness and kindness.) Gradually amassing power in a university town, the N.I.C.E. exists to implement many radical philosophical ideas that had found footholds among professors by the '40s. For example, they promote rehabilitation over punishment, which sounds good until you understand that they claim carte blanche to keep and torture prisoners as long as they see fit. Their ultimate goal is far more destructive, even if they see it as a way to "save" humanity.
The two most focal characters are Mark and Jane Studdock, a young, irreligious married couple already drifting apart emotionally. Mark craves the approval of scholastic "in" cliques, which explains how he joins the N.I.C.E. despite many warning signs. His job there chiefly entails writing dishonest news articles to sway public opinion. You might compare him to Edmund from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe -- an injudicious tool of the dark side who suffers and comes around. It's not easy to leave a wicked gang.
Jane's prophetic dreams are the first sign of fantasy or science fiction in the book. After she tells a friend, she gets drawn into another secret society, apparently nameless and set up specifically to oppose the N.I.C.E. The director turns out to be familiar to readers of the prior volumes -- and the scion of King Arthur, strangely and importantly enough. Both sides have what I'd call supernatural guidance, akin to angels and demons but without using either term.
Plotwise, this is the most complex and probably most mature entry in the trilogy. It has easily the largest cast, what with all the conspirators on each side. Unfortunately, it reads almost like an Ayn Rand treatise for more than 100 pages, emphasizing caricatures over sf premises. (Once Merlin himself turns up, tho, all pretense of science fiction can be tossed aside.) It doesn't help that I find British colleges a lot duller than Lewis did. I could give him credit for writing what he knew, but that's not always the best advice. One of the blurbs on the back of the book said that readers couldn't put it down, but I took a long time to really engage.
Several of the villains' ideas persist to this day; the starting ideas of Mark and Jane do much more so. Having moved further toward the political right, I can agree with Lewis on some salient points. But he does a poor job making a case for women submitting to their husbands. Heck, what good would have come of Jane agreeing to join Mark at the N.I.C.E.?
I recall how Perelandra's resolution involved a level of violence not nearly seen in Out of the Silent Planet. This time it gets downright Old Testament. Really, Lewis? Sure, the villains have gotten more brutal to boot, but you seem to care nothing for tonal consistency across a series.
That may not be the least satisfying feature of the ending. More than half the "heroes" don't really do anything. One of them even mentions as much and gets a weak rebuttal that left me scratching my head. Why did we even need all those characters? On both sides, they range from moderately interesting to redundant. I suppose I should be glad for the fair number of women, possibly passing the Bechdel Test, but see above: No modern (semi-)feminist would approve the values herein.
Merlin might be the most intriguing character, more by virtue of displacement than of ability. He's the main sign that Lewis's conservatism has its limits: The other heroes find him morally shocking at times. Also interesting is an incidental "tramp," who views the world quite differently from pretty much anyone with money. As for the returning characters...I liked them better before they knew so much.
Oh yeah: We also get some partially uplifted animals. They're not more intelligent -- the main bear doesn't even have a sense of self -- but the forces of good have made them tamer than usual. Kinda cute, if vaguely insulting.
This is the first Lewis book that I consider at least as much miss as hit. I hope I haven't read all his adult works that I'd like.
My next read was published much more recently and translated from Estonian to English only last year: The Man Who Spoke Snakish by Andrus Kivirähk. It's long but going fast.
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no subject
What started out as a men-and-rockets story that owed much to H.G Wells in volume one became a rehabilitation of Milton's Paradise Lost in volume two, and finally an allegory for the eschatological vision of St. John the divine in volume three (so, sorry, no, it's violence is not, as you say "downright Old Testament" but is rather decidedly New Testament). The notion of a battle between Angels and Demons is a constant theme through the trilogy and this is its culmination. Notice that technological horror features strongly in NICE.
I tend to regard THS has his most Christian work, more so than the Chronicles which ultimately views deeds as more laudable than faith, and more than some of his Christian apologia which is decidedly more nuanced. It is, perhaps, closest to Screwtape, which ends on a note of dulce et decorum est pro patria mori when the subject's death in battle places him out of hell's reach.
If you want to read an interesting atheist's rebuttal to the world of the Space Trilogy, I would recommend that you look at Phillip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy, and if you want to see an interesting Jewish rebuttal to Narnia, I would recommend Lev Grossman's "The Magicians" trilogy.
And if it's weird European literature in translation you're after, you can't go wrong with "My Grandmother said to tell you She's Sorry."
no subject
The Screwtape Letters is my favorite Lewis fiction, rivaled only by The Great Divorce. I don't see much of a parallel in THS.
I'm afraid The Golden Compass bored me. I thought The Magicians was OK for a deconstruction, but I didn't see it as Jewish.
no subject
Also, I did not mean to suggest that Screwtape was parallel to THS, but rather that both rely on a certain dualism to work. Wormtail's failed attempt at claiming his patient's soul for hell speaks to the same opposed forces as both THS and The Last Battle. It's just that the events of Screwtape are not apocalyptic in the way that the others are.
The Great Divorce - I am not sure I quite regard it as fiction. It is a more theological work in my eyes, a study of the notion of damnation and the degree to which it is self imposed. I guess I regard it as more a thought experiment in the form of a parable.