Mare Somniorum

“Incandescence” is quite the little trick of a book.  How do you teach relativity to a society that doesn’t seem to pass much beyond our middle ages, if even?  In Egans world, you place them next to a gravity well that’ll make relativity directly effect you.  This is tricky stuff to follow, but the greater trick in “Incandescence” is that it’s so easy to read — on the surface.

You’ll often catch yourself reading a paragraph, and not really notice the subtle physics you’re being confronted with.  Add to this that Egan doesn’t hold many punches (the names of the dimensions, time measurements and other such things) and it’s easy to lose content.  I know I did more than once, requiring rereads of passages.

The main focus of this book has been this half (and it is half the book) that deals with relativity.  But, honestly, the other culture we meet is just as interesting.  Its an Eganesque society only limited by the laws of physics, most notably the speed of light.  The characters we meet and the choices they both do and debate are well done.

It also needs to be said that the way Egan treats the aliens is stellar, they “talk” and only later do you find out what “talking” means from the outside.  Internally they don’t explain how they talk, and why would they?  We don’t see that when Laxness’ characters talk?

“Incandescence” might not blow you away like some of Egans other works, but I think it hits its target quite well.   Its form works well and the writing is quite good for Egan.  Although, it’s hard to evaluate writing.  Could you write a book like this with the vividness of Gaiman or Harrison?  And if you could, would a mortal be capable of reading it?  In the end, we have Egan writing Egans work, and for that we should probably be grateful.

Night swallowed our lands
with ravens flocking in the moonlight.

A long day of battle
has drawn to a close.

The cold heart of man
now yielding to the chill of night.

Silence on every hill
our cries devoured by the darkness.

Victory! We claim.
As rubies formed from frozen blood
glimmer across the fields.

Unmoved and eternal
for this one night.

Picking up this book, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  I’d read Eugenes review and decided that it was something I should, if nothing else, read.  The book is often described as “emotionally draining” and “painful”, yet, it is a beautiful book.  There are a few reasons it has taken me a while to read it, most of these reasons aren’t tied to the book itself, but even outside of that, the book practically begs for patience.  Its painful grip on the human soul begs for the reading to be portioned out in small doses.

It is a testament to the skill of Laxness that one would read this book to begin with.  The content is bleak, harrowing, painful and worse.  On every page you’ll find human life on the brink, or passing the brink itself.  Yet the language, oh the language.  Laxness is a poet of the olden days.  A man who writes lyrically without using language as most people think of it, Laxness molds language to do his bidding.  “Independent People” is astounding.  Everything is rich and vivid, be it death stalking the land or the first rays of light on a summer field in the morning.

One can talk about the story, Bjarturs longing, his fight for independence, his lost love for his bastard daughter.  It’s painful.  It tears you to bits.  There is a sadness in the independence that juxtaposes the heroic efforts taken by Bjartur.  As the book moves you onwards, there is no reprieve, there are no sudden revelations.  The epilogue is daunting and there is a sense of pain and fear for each page, each paragraph, each sentence, and even joy is bittersweet.

“Independent People” is the kind of work one should have read.  It peers into the soul of man and paints a mosaic from what it finds.  And we’re all richer for it, even if we’re left crying.