Saturday, 10 July 2021 05:05 pm
Book Review: The Violent Century
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deckardcanineJudging from Netflix, capepunk is all the rage. It makes sense that all the superhero fare should lead to something deconstructive about it. Rather than take a chance on another ugly-looking TV series, I decided to try this 2013 Lavie Tidhar novel, which has been described, among similar ways, as "like Watchmen on crack."
Like WM, it's set in an alternate version of the 20th century, starting in the '30s and extending to the present. Unlike in WM, all the central figures have honest-to-goodness superpowers, thanks to German scientist Dr. Vomacht creating a one-time global ripple that affects some genetics. Oddly enough, history changes less herein; apparently, when all sides in a war have supers, the advantages cancel each other out. And we never hear of anyone using their powers for heroism outside of war. Various real-life famous people turn up, largely in the same roles except for comic creators like Stan Lee, who instead serve as researchers.
Nobody actually says "super" in the whole book. The mutants are called either "the changed," "Beyond-Men," or -- most frequently, even amid hostility to Germany -- "Übermenschen." That ought to tell you something about the general attitude.
As far as I can tell, every mutant gets two basic powers, one of which is immunity to aging. As a result, those who don't get killed can expect to participate in more than just the European Theater of World War II. We see them in Vietnam and '79 Afghanistan as well, tho the focus is primarily on WWII. To their minds, everything after is a footnote.
Our main guy is Henry Fogg, who already had that name before gaining the power to manipulate fog, so he didn't bother adopting a pseudonym. A Londoner, no less. I expect such contrivances from comedies, but despite the aforementioned Lee cameo, TVC doesn't even offer comic relief. At least, it doesn't feel that way in context.
Anyway, Fogg's power is not as lame as it sounds: Not only can he see others when they can't see him, but he can form a solid giant golem. Not that he has many occasions to do so. Unlike American counterparts (who don't get a very sympathetic portrayal), the Brits don't put on much of a show; their leaders prefer stealth missions. Thus, there aren't as many action scenes as you might expect from the genre and title, which might be just as well. Still, Fogg isn't as aloof as the Old Man wants, especially when it comes to Vomacht's daughter, Sommertag, with the relatively strange power to bring herself and others into an idyllic summer scene.
The deuteragonist is Oblivion, who can make things disintegrate and vanish by touching them. Since that's no way to make friends, he feels greatly indebted to the bureau that hired him. It soon becomes clear that he's gay, which matters insofar as he has unrequited feelings for Fogg, fomenting conflict.
A note on the Old Man: He's a mystery. His real name is buried deep, and we don't know what he can do besides stay the same age. He is good at intimidating others and sometimes gives the impression of mind reading, but a skilled normal man can do that.
What stands out most is not the story itself but the writing style. For starters, Tidhar, who has lived in many nations, must have learned punctuation in South Africa, because quotations don't get quotation marks except when the speaker is reading aloud. If their words begin the paragraph, they get a dash. Beyond that, unless there's an explicit attribution, you have to use your judgment of whether a sentence was spoken.
Narration is always in the present tense, despite countless flashbacks. Each chapter is denoted with the year (or "The Present") and location, but sometimes a consecutive chapter on the same page will take place a second later. I suppose the point is to convey a dramatic pause, but it seems like a waste of ink.
Only about half the narrated sentences use orthodox grammar. The rest are either incomplete or run-on. At first it reminded me of Rorschach's often telegraphic delivery in WM, but Tidhar doesn't skimp on articles.
The most mysterious aspect -- and most ornery, since the book never explains and hasn't been discussed widely enough for me to find an answer -- is the occasional use of the first person plural. "We" are unobserved observers but not simply the readership. "We" know some things the readers didn't yet, and "we" tell the readers things "we" won't know until later. Some things "we" never know. There is a hint to "our" origin, but "we" refuse to tell "our" story. My best guess is that a group of mutants effectively turned into ghosts with nothing better to do than follow Fogg and Oblivion around and somehow report their findings.
And then there's the one chapter that uses "you" in reference to Werner von Braun. I can't fathom what Tidhar thought he was doing. Random, stream-of-consciousness shock value a la Neil Gaiman?
For all these difficulties, I did get through the book pretty fast. Either I picked up on the unique rhythm of it, or I stopped caring enough to linger on the words. Ultimately, just one plot point left me wondering why the alleged heroes made their decision, and it wasn't like the rest of the plot hinged on that.
While I don't exactly recommend TVC unless you want to help along my understanding, I realize it could have been much worse. It could have done less to stir my mind and more to stir my stomach. It hasn't put me off capepunk altogether. And it ends on a rather positive note, all things considered.
To cleanse my palate, I picked up the immediate sequel to a more youth-oriented novel I enjoyed. It's Catherynne M. Valente's The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There. Best to have waited less than a year so my memory isn't too bad.
Like WM, it's set in an alternate version of the 20th century, starting in the '30s and extending to the present. Unlike in WM, all the central figures have honest-to-goodness superpowers, thanks to German scientist Dr. Vomacht creating a one-time global ripple that affects some genetics. Oddly enough, history changes less herein; apparently, when all sides in a war have supers, the advantages cancel each other out. And we never hear of anyone using their powers for heroism outside of war. Various real-life famous people turn up, largely in the same roles except for comic creators like Stan Lee, who instead serve as researchers.
Nobody actually says "super" in the whole book. The mutants are called either "the changed," "Beyond-Men," or -- most frequently, even amid hostility to Germany -- "Übermenschen." That ought to tell you something about the general attitude.
As far as I can tell, every mutant gets two basic powers, one of which is immunity to aging. As a result, those who don't get killed can expect to participate in more than just the European Theater of World War II. We see them in Vietnam and '79 Afghanistan as well, tho the focus is primarily on WWII. To their minds, everything after is a footnote.
Our main guy is Henry Fogg, who already had that name before gaining the power to manipulate fog, so he didn't bother adopting a pseudonym. A Londoner, no less. I expect such contrivances from comedies, but despite the aforementioned Lee cameo, TVC doesn't even offer comic relief. At least, it doesn't feel that way in context.
Anyway, Fogg's power is not as lame as it sounds: Not only can he see others when they can't see him, but he can form a solid giant golem. Not that he has many occasions to do so. Unlike American counterparts (who don't get a very sympathetic portrayal), the Brits don't put on much of a show; their leaders prefer stealth missions. Thus, there aren't as many action scenes as you might expect from the genre and title, which might be just as well. Still, Fogg isn't as aloof as the Old Man wants, especially when it comes to Vomacht's daughter, Sommertag, with the relatively strange power to bring herself and others into an idyllic summer scene.
The deuteragonist is Oblivion, who can make things disintegrate and vanish by touching them. Since that's no way to make friends, he feels greatly indebted to the bureau that hired him. It soon becomes clear that he's gay, which matters insofar as he has unrequited feelings for Fogg, fomenting conflict.
A note on the Old Man: He's a mystery. His real name is buried deep, and we don't know what he can do besides stay the same age. He is good at intimidating others and sometimes gives the impression of mind reading, but a skilled normal man can do that.
What stands out most is not the story itself but the writing style. For starters, Tidhar, who has lived in many nations, must have learned punctuation in South Africa, because quotations don't get quotation marks except when the speaker is reading aloud. If their words begin the paragraph, they get a dash. Beyond that, unless there's an explicit attribution, you have to use your judgment of whether a sentence was spoken.
Narration is always in the present tense, despite countless flashbacks. Each chapter is denoted with the year (or "The Present") and location, but sometimes a consecutive chapter on the same page will take place a second later. I suppose the point is to convey a dramatic pause, but it seems like a waste of ink.
Only about half the narrated sentences use orthodox grammar. The rest are either incomplete or run-on. At first it reminded me of Rorschach's often telegraphic delivery in WM, but Tidhar doesn't skimp on articles.
The most mysterious aspect -- and most ornery, since the book never explains and hasn't been discussed widely enough for me to find an answer -- is the occasional use of the first person plural. "We" are unobserved observers but not simply the readership. "We" know some things the readers didn't yet, and "we" tell the readers things "we" won't know until later. Some things "we" never know. There is a hint to "our" origin, but "we" refuse to tell "our" story. My best guess is that a group of mutants effectively turned into ghosts with nothing better to do than follow Fogg and Oblivion around and somehow report their findings.
And then there's the one chapter that uses "you" in reference to Werner von Braun. I can't fathom what Tidhar thought he was doing. Random, stream-of-consciousness shock value a la Neil Gaiman?
For all these difficulties, I did get through the book pretty fast. Either I picked up on the unique rhythm of it, or I stopped caring enough to linger on the words. Ultimately, just one plot point left me wondering why the alleged heroes made their decision, and it wasn't like the rest of the plot hinged on that.
While I don't exactly recommend TVC unless you want to help along my understanding, I realize it could have been much worse. It could have done less to stir my mind and more to stir my stomach. It hasn't put me off capepunk altogether. And it ends on a rather positive note, all things considered.
To cleanse my palate, I picked up the immediate sequel to a more youth-oriented novel I enjoyed. It's Catherynne M. Valente's The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There. Best to have waited less than a year so my memory isn't too bad.