Wednesday, 9 March 2016 04:37 pm
Book Review: The Man Who Spoke Snakish
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deckardcanineAndrus Kivirähk's 2007 novel became quite a hit in his native Estonia, even inspiring a board game (tho I can hardly imagine how that works). After word of mouth generated international interest, it finally got an English translation out last year. I wanted it as soon as I saw the cover in the bookstore, for reasons my friends and family can guess.
The title's translation is accurate enough, but a more accurate description would add "Last" before "Man," even if he's not the only one left until the end. We can tell from the introduction that it's a sad story: First-person narrator Leemet has been terribly alone for a long time, with little to do besides reminisce with an emotional numbness. (Who's he telling, anyway? Would he repeat the whole thing to himself, in that tone?)
The setting is medieval Estonia, ostensibly in our world despite the fantasy premises. In slightly older days, all Estonians lived in the forest at a nearly Stone Age level; there's even a couple of early-style hominids who think humanity took a wrong turn by inventing clothes (one of several gross reasons I wouldn't recommend a screen adaptation). Thanks to the practice of the language of snakes, which allowed them to converse with smarter animals and override the free will of most others, they could live quite comfortably with few possessions. They regularly befriended adders, milked and rode wolves, called deer to be slaughtered, and...had their women seduced by male bears, usually with success (try not to think too hard about it). They could even sport venomous fangs.
Snakish also enabled a great defense against the invading "iron men," a.k.a. knights. Not only could Estonians get horses to rear and ditch enemy riders, but if enough Snakish speakers chanted together, they could summon a snake confusingly dubbed "the Frog of the North," who would fly around routing the invaders. Afterward, they took valuables from the dead and enjoyed a bit more luxury.
By Leemet's birth, few people remain in the forest, most of them old -- far too few to reawaken the Frog of the North, wherever he is. It's not entirely clear why most Estonians have adopted foreign customs and moved to villages; perhaps the trinkets got them intrigued about the outside world. As Leemet discovers by late childhood, former forest dwellers downright idolize knights and monks. To them, it doesn't matter that their new lives are harder and seem less rewarding; they're the ways of the "wise" modern world. With absurd speed, they forget Snakish, their own original names, and many other aspects of the old world. This forms the overarching theme of the book: fading traditions.
Leemet does not understand their mindset at all, and he gets tired of trying. (So do I, given the repetitive dogmatic arguments.) Why work hard for that disgusting bread and porridge and occasionally hunt for meat? (Apparently, medieval Estonia was no place to grow vegetables or fruit.) Sure, early Snakish lessons are long and painful, but they save so much time later. And why buy into the nonsense of Christianity, especially when they should know better than anyone that snakes are good if not superior people?
Yeah, that last detail may offend Christian readers, especially Catholics. But it helps to remember that this is in the Middle Ages -- not the proudest time for the church. Back then they considered the ultimate sinners to be werewolves, tho Leemet has no idea who'd want to become a wolf. They regularly castrated boys for musical purposes. Bishops frequently took boys to bed and, it would seem, didn't even bother to cover up the scandal. In fact, the village boys wish they could have the "honor" of becoming eunuchs and catamites. The peasants also add their own ludicrous superstitions, such as that knights produce only sons who speak German right from the womb.
Mind you, Leemet has no more respect for the few spiritual folk left in the forest. The local "sage" shows more and more signs of dishonesty and/or insanity, and his followers become dangerous. Leemet never entertains the possibility of any gods or sprites, tho he undercuts his materialism by talking of dead people going to the same place.
If Kivirähk means to argue against religion, he does a poor job of it. The religious people I know are not nearly interchangeable airheads engaging in destructive acts without the slightest doubt. Heck, Leemet himself is not immune to the allure of rituals and belief in things he can't prove. Yes, we eventually see that the Frog of the North exists, but Leemet asserted as much before he could have known for sure. He also "knows," without anyone telling him, that the Frog will die when the last Snakish speaker dies. (Might I add that I disagree on calling hedgehogs "stupid" for ignoring snake commands and bites: They're not the ones getting killed or enslaved.)
But Kivirähk may not use Leemet as his serious mouthpiece all the time. In TV Tropes terms, Leemet is a "Jerkass Woobie," alternately evoking our pity and our annoyance. Pretty soon, he can no longer live comfortably in the forest or the village. After too many friends and loved ones (human or otherwise) either die tragically or stop endearing themselves to him, he becomes "Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds," with a homicidal bloodlust so thick that his adder friend Ints can't watch. We get only Leemet's mostly shameless perspective, but I doubt the author would endorse it.
For all the sorrow, disgust, and shallow intellect, I enjoyed the book overall. It goes fast for 442 pages. It paints a different picture. Sometimes it gets pretty funny. And of course, it shows a rare sympathy for snakes.
I haven't decided what to read next. I had set aside William Gibson's Mona Lisa Overdrive, which I got free from a workplace shelf purge; but it may be a bad idea to chase a tragedy with punk, and I haven't read the middle volume of the series. Maybe I'll pick something that promises to be lighter.
The title's translation is accurate enough, but a more accurate description would add "Last" before "Man," even if he's not the only one left until the end. We can tell from the introduction that it's a sad story: First-person narrator Leemet has been terribly alone for a long time, with little to do besides reminisce with an emotional numbness. (Who's he telling, anyway? Would he repeat the whole thing to himself, in that tone?)
The setting is medieval Estonia, ostensibly in our world despite the fantasy premises. In slightly older days, all Estonians lived in the forest at a nearly Stone Age level; there's even a couple of early-style hominids who think humanity took a wrong turn by inventing clothes (one of several gross reasons I wouldn't recommend a screen adaptation). Thanks to the practice of the language of snakes, which allowed them to converse with smarter animals and override the free will of most others, they could live quite comfortably with few possessions. They regularly befriended adders, milked and rode wolves, called deer to be slaughtered, and...had their women seduced by male bears, usually with success (try not to think too hard about it). They could even sport venomous fangs.
Snakish also enabled a great defense against the invading "iron men," a.k.a. knights. Not only could Estonians get horses to rear and ditch enemy riders, but if enough Snakish speakers chanted together, they could summon a snake confusingly dubbed "the Frog of the North," who would fly around routing the invaders. Afterward, they took valuables from the dead and enjoyed a bit more luxury.
By Leemet's birth, few people remain in the forest, most of them old -- far too few to reawaken the Frog of the North, wherever he is. It's not entirely clear why most Estonians have adopted foreign customs and moved to villages; perhaps the trinkets got them intrigued about the outside world. As Leemet discovers by late childhood, former forest dwellers downright idolize knights and monks. To them, it doesn't matter that their new lives are harder and seem less rewarding; they're the ways of the "wise" modern world. With absurd speed, they forget Snakish, their own original names, and many other aspects of the old world. This forms the overarching theme of the book: fading traditions.
Leemet does not understand their mindset at all, and he gets tired of trying. (So do I, given the repetitive dogmatic arguments.) Why work hard for that disgusting bread and porridge and occasionally hunt for meat? (Apparently, medieval Estonia was no place to grow vegetables or fruit.) Sure, early Snakish lessons are long and painful, but they save so much time later. And why buy into the nonsense of Christianity, especially when they should know better than anyone that snakes are good if not superior people?
Yeah, that last detail may offend Christian readers, especially Catholics. But it helps to remember that this is in the Middle Ages -- not the proudest time for the church. Back then they considered the ultimate sinners to be werewolves, tho Leemet has no idea who'd want to become a wolf. They regularly castrated boys for musical purposes. Bishops frequently took boys to bed and, it would seem, didn't even bother to cover up the scandal. In fact, the village boys wish they could have the "honor" of becoming eunuchs and catamites. The peasants also add their own ludicrous superstitions, such as that knights produce only sons who speak German right from the womb.
Mind you, Leemet has no more respect for the few spiritual folk left in the forest. The local "sage" shows more and more signs of dishonesty and/or insanity, and his followers become dangerous. Leemet never entertains the possibility of any gods or sprites, tho he undercuts his materialism by talking of dead people going to the same place.
If Kivirähk means to argue against religion, he does a poor job of it. The religious people I know are not nearly interchangeable airheads engaging in destructive acts without the slightest doubt. Heck, Leemet himself is not immune to the allure of rituals and belief in things he can't prove. Yes, we eventually see that the Frog of the North exists, but Leemet asserted as much before he could have known for sure. He also "knows," without anyone telling him, that the Frog will die when the last Snakish speaker dies. (Might I add that I disagree on calling hedgehogs "stupid" for ignoring snake commands and bites: They're not the ones getting killed or enslaved.)
But Kivirähk may not use Leemet as his serious mouthpiece all the time. In TV Tropes terms, Leemet is a "Jerkass Woobie," alternately evoking our pity and our annoyance. Pretty soon, he can no longer live comfortably in the forest or the village. After too many friends and loved ones (human or otherwise) either die tragically or stop endearing themselves to him, he becomes "Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds," with a homicidal bloodlust so thick that his adder friend Ints can't watch. We get only Leemet's mostly shameless perspective, but I doubt the author would endorse it.
For all the sorrow, disgust, and shallow intellect, I enjoyed the book overall. It goes fast for 442 pages. It paints a different picture. Sometimes it gets pretty funny. And of course, it shows a rare sympathy for snakes.
I haven't decided what to read next. I had set aside William Gibson's Mona Lisa Overdrive, which I got free from a workplace shelf purge; but it may be a bad idea to chase a tragedy with punk, and I haven't read the middle volume of the series. Maybe I'll pick something that promises to be lighter.