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It seems the sixth child is the one that breaks the camel's back, in terms of having the time to devote to updating an irregular blog, and, worse still, keeping up with the reading of between 21 and 40 books a year.
So yes, I've been a bit busy, what with the six children (not all mine I hasten to add, but all living under our roof), and also the driving back and forth to get my first-born (but number three in the chronological run of step-siblings) to his school two counties over. And the working from home, where numbers five and six demand a fair bit of attention.
As Micky Flanagan might put it, I’m double busy. Which is why the lag and, to be honest, the slow draining away of enthusiasm for a project ill-conceived at best (the blogging, not the family).
So it goes. But on with the story!
I don’t know if any of you, my imaginary readers, have read Borne, but it’s dead good, and Dead Astronauts both picks up from and pre-dates our globular friend and his titanic ursine battle. Our titular astronauts, their suits last seen buried in a courtyard as a way-marker for scavenger Rachel, have their bizarre backstory filled in (up to a point). It turns out they are, or were, at one point, actual human astronauts — except for Moss, whose own physiognomy and origins are obscurely paleontological — who for some reason or other are battling through countless possible universes attempting to defeat whatever it was that caused the apocalypse which left Borne’s universe firmly post it. Pursued throughout by the enigmatic blue fox, they’ve finally come to the end of their journey.
Or is it?
I’ve just thrown up in my mouth a little bit. Sorry.
You may have inferred that, as with Borne and the Southern Reach Trilogy, the big-screen realisation of which that caused Alex Garland so much consternation, VanderMeer seems to enjoy disturbing the reader, defamiliarising and mutating perceptions (like the concept of linear time) to suit his ultimately opaque goals. One can hazard a decent guess at what those goals might be (I’ll let you do that yourself) and to be honest, it doesn’t take away from the enjoyment of throwing yourself in whole-heartedly and being properly immersed. It’s like riding along in a strangely electrifying river under the surface of which you’re occasionally dragged by terrifying unseen monsters.
I can’t guarantee that everyone will be similarly enthralled, and there are passages where he repeats phrases over and over (although some have sneaky little mutations, like DNA helixes affected very slightly by some genetic on or off switch) and which you might feel justified in skipping over, but the overall effect is deeply weird and thrilling.
One character in the Southern Reach Trilogy provides a neat précis of the whole arc when saying, ”You could know the what of something forever and never discover the why.”* The mystery doesn’t detract from, and rather accentuates, the wonder. And if you needed it, here’s a quote from my brother, from his self-exile in distant Shetland, after I sent him a copy of Borne to read: “I love all this weird shit! Send me more!”
*This always reminds me of the Dylan Thomas quote - “And books that told me everything about the wasp except why.”
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