Exhalation | visionary, brilliant, inquiring

Review: 5 stars

‘Exhalation’ was named one of New York Times’ 10 Best Books of 2019, and was also a top recommendation from President Obama, so it naturally was very high on my to-read list for 2020. It is an anthology for 9 short stories, written by Ted Chiang, who is best known for ‘Stories of Your Life and Others’, which was the inspiration for the film ‘Arrival’.

This collection of vignettes was incredibly provocative, original and multi-layered. Every story gave me pause at the end, and left me feeling incomplete - hungry for debate and conversation. The depth of the theses and the seamless blend of humanity and science fiction imbued me with curiosity and wonderment.

The questions Chiang raises are not for the faint of heart:

• What rights and protections do artificial intelligence creations deserve, and should they be given legal representation and free will?

• If simultaneous infinite worlds do exist - does each represent a separate unique permutation of our character, or is our character anchored in something deeper, thereby limiting the possibilities for how our lives are lived, and who we become?

• If technology becomes available to replay every instant of your life from multiple people’s perspectives - how would that influence our relationships and our self perceptions?

‘The Merchant and the Alchemist’s Gate’ was one of my favourites, exploring the limits of free will and how far the past can bend without truly changing. ‘The Lifecycle of Software Objects’ was an incredibly ambitious and successful exploration of truly next-order moral questions surrounding AIs, and how the ebb and flow of digital worlds (i.e., software products) have existentialist impacts on their digital citizens. ‘Omphalos’ was eye-opening in its depiction of a human-centric universe founded on young-earth creationism, and what this universe would rely on to craft is founding story (e.g., humans without navels, trees without age rings). The idea that evolution did not exist, but that there were primordial humans, trees, and animals - mature from the split second of divine creation, felt incredibly modern to explore.

I mentioned to my husband that Exhalation reads like the best episodes of ‘Black Mirror’, written simply, gracefully and bound to be fodder for endless dinner conversations. I enjoyed it immensely, and cannot wait to recommend it to others.

The Great Believers | poignant, empathetic, engrossing

Review: 3 stars

I embarked on a spree of reading National Book Award winners and finalists, given my luck with 'A Little Life' and 'Pachinko', which were both 5-star reads for me. I was excited to have a chance while on vacation in Italy over the summer to read 'The Great Believers' by Rebecca Makkai.

'The Great Believers' is jointly told by Yale Tishman, a gay art curator in 1980s Chicago, and Fiona Marcus, Yale's friend, who travels to Paris in search of her estranged daughter. It is a story about those whom we've lost, and those who are left behind - and the debate over which constitutes the more tragic life lived. The novel anchors around the friendships, betrayals and the inexorable march of death as AIDS claims one life after another. The novel's intensity reflects the pacing of a horror film; the reader is constantly puzzling over which character's actions will drive him to be the next victim of the pandemic. Fiona, who ends up being an end-of-life character to many of the friends over time, remarks at one point that "they were walking every day through streets where there had been a holocaust, a mass murder of neglect and antipathy". I invested heavily in Yale's character, whose sense of morality and nobleness appear to be a salve against the affliction felling his dearest friends. We travel with him as he experiences heartbreak, success and failure, all the while fearing what his eventual diagnosis will be.

Makkai has resurrected many survivor stories from that period, and woven them into a two-part narrative that commemorates those who were lost and never fully grieved over given social stigma of the time. The novel is well researched, respectful and successfully balanced between male and female perspectives.

Overall, I found Yale's plot more compelling and emotionally arresting than Fiona's, and caught myself several times reading rather quickly through Fiona's narratives. That said, this was a solid, sobering read for those interested in contemporary historical and LGBTQ fiction.

A Separation | slow, melancholic, fading

Review: 2 stars

‘A Separation’ was the December pick for the ‘Now Read This’ bookclub, and also a well-highlighted book on a number of end of year lists. It also happened to be on sale at BMVQ for one-third the usual price, so I snapped it up. I had heard very mixed reviews about it, as it is “a slow burn of a novel”, but I was optimistic.

The novel follows an estranged wife of a man, Christopher, who has gone missing in Southern Greece. She narrates through a tone that feels emotionally-detached, spoken by someone viewing herself go through motions and reactions, versus experiencing them firsthand. Out of marital duty, she travels to Greece in search of her husband, all the while questioning whether she is the right person to search or to care.

Upon reaching Greece, she begins to pull back the veil on her husband’s public facade. The novel that he was 'almost finished’ has barely begun, the hotel concierge is yet another bedded mistress, his rented room is a slovenly mess. In the scorching sun of Gerolimenas, the small Greek fishing village where Christopher was last seen, her marriage appears desiccated, the could haves and should haves hollowed out. Upon finding her husband’s whereabouts, her reaction is muted, the shock dull and formless. In fact, our narrator appears to muster more empathy for a feuding couple - Stefano and Maria - than she can for Christopher or his parents. Christophers’s fate may come as a surprise to some, but it felt rather anti-climatic in its delivery.

My principal critique of ‘A Separation’ is the deliberate, slow pacing. It may have been selected to conjure the stifling nothingness of a small Greek village in blazing summer heat, or as a metaphor for how a failing marriage dismantles itself, action by action. However, it wore my patience thin, and I found myself flipping ahead constantly to see when the next major plot milestone would take place. I also found it incredibly difficult to connect with the main characters - each felt so cold and removed from one another, and had few redeeming qualities to elicit deep empathy.

I fully appreciate that many could see ‘A Separation’ as a study in careful observation. I also think Kitamura fundamentally achieved what she set out to create. Unfortunately, the story, and more importantly the style of narration, did not resonate well with me.