Mare Somniorum

Your average review of “Neuropath” by Scott Bakker will most likely tell you that this book is one of the most disturbing works they’ve read. I’m not going to argue that point. Actually, you can lump me nicely into the group of people who, at times, find the book uncomfortable to read. But, well, I don’t mind that.

Anyway, we meet Thomas Bible, a man who’s trying to move on from a broken marriage with his two kids. His life really hasn’t been going well recently and when his best buddy Neil drops by for an evening of alcohol, well, a drunken haze seems just about what he needs. Somewhere in this haze Neil reveals he’s been working with the NSA the last years, fiddling with peoples brains directly. He also claims he “left”, which probably isn’t going on too well with his old workmates.

From this point onwards, “Neuropath” becomes a thriller both of body and mind. Bodies hunt each other in almost every way you can imagine, and in some ways you hopefully haven’t. At the same time, there is a race of minds. “Who’s done it” is… more interesting than usual, as is the question of “why”. As we delve into Neils work we are taken on a tour of steady obliteration of concepts our selves cling to in their daily life.

This is a painful tour. It’s well written, well paced, well done in every literary sense, which is the only reason you’re going to continue reading it. If “Neuropath” wasn’t paced as a thriller, begging you to flip every page to see where we were going next, I’m not sure it’d be readable at all. If you linger and ponder a paragraph it’s easy to get lost. Now, the very explicit and visceral physical content might be enough to make you slow down and do something else, but as disturbing as some of these passages are, they’re not the “hard” parts to move on from.

As reality is being torn down around you, the broader implications of the novel become clear. The premise becomes quite uncomfortable, and worse even than this is that the answers you get, well, aren’t. Because they can’t be. You take the punch only to realize the punch was all there was, no reason, no motive, no morality to argue with. It’s an uncanny feeling to come to grips with.

Anyway, I’d say I liked the book. I use the word “like” hesitantly, because it’s not comparable to how I like, say, a good meal, but well, we’re not perfect. It’s intriguing, it’s intelligent and it’s very well done.  It’s a compelling read.  “Neuropath” is, without a doubt, a good book. Actually, it’s a great book. That, however, doesn’t mean it’s going to be a very happy read.

Oh, and, I’ve seen arguments made that the physical part of the book is too dark and that it could do with some toning down. You could argue that the story could be told in a different light, different focus could be applied at key moments, different choices of words maybe. But, the point is, the characters play their part. And in the realm of the book, they behave “perfectly” relative to who they are. Does this mean it’s pleasant? No, but welcome to humans, and even more, welcome to humans unchained.