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SOMEWHERE NOT HERE
Simon Akam
New Statesman
April 20, 2009
Journey Into Space
Toby Litt
Toby Litt's latest work of fiction seems initially to be an attempt to
prove that a single clever idea is a sufficient structural framework
for a novel. The narrative takes place on a giant spaceship,
launched on an interplanetary journey some time before page one by
a humankind in search of a new home. Equipped with the most advanced
propulsion technology available, the Armenia has a top speed still a
mere twentieth of the speed of light - a cripplingly slow gait when
faced with the vast expanses of interstellar space.
When Litt takes the helm, the ship is still less than halfway to
the promising planet of its destination, and only one of the first
generation of travellers remains alive: Mrs Woods, an ancient crone
whose space cabin smells mysteriously of almonds. The remainder of
the crew's characters have been born in space and are doomed to die
there, for the Armenia will not make landfall until long after their
lifespans are over.
As structural conceits go, the great ship hurtling painfully slowly
through the heavens is a strong one, if not desperately original. The
Armenia grants Litt an incubator to deal with big questions that
might be harder to grapple with in a less confined space, notably
the role of human governance and the inevitability of evil. Yet,
initially, he focuses solely on August and Celeste, a pair of teenage
born-on-boarders equipped with both rare beauty and a hatred for their
claustrophobic existence. Their favourite pastime is "describing",
conjuring up poignant word-pictures of things they have never
experienced in their on-board lives, in particular earth weather.
These "wordstorms", as Litt cunningly coins them, are a potent device
- they indicate the pair's deep yearnings for a reality more visceral
than their own, at the same time acting as a wry piece of metafictional
one-upmanship. That August and Celeste can experience the sensualities
of wind and rain through verbal description only, and yet can also
be utterly entranced by those same words, both mirrors and supports
Litt's own activity as a writer.
Nonetheless the describings do drag on, even when the wordstorm is
singular - a whispered, conspiratorial "sleet" - or spiced with sex,
as when the youngsters take an illicit shower together to simulate the
feel of rain. Here and elsewhere, Litt has a tendency to overindulge
his conceptual imagination when a willingness to curb it earlier
might have created a tighter result. This failing is most pronounced
later on, when August and Celeste make love in a long passage fraught
with metaphors of planetary destruction that falls well short of its
Miltonian allusions.
Still, the reason Journey Into Space succeeds is that its author
has such a plethora of good ideas to work with that he can get away
with overextending a few. Just as the initial scenario on board the
Armenia begins to pale, distant Planet Earth is destroyed, turning
the ship into an efficient test-bed for another raft of experiments
in social thought. The crew, as the last men, adopt the role of the
first, dismantling the hierarchy of captain and "astrogation officer"
in favour of an absolute monarch, and deifying an old lady despite
her best efforts to dissuade them. Litt's imagination clearly has
galactic dimensions, and by plundering these resources he keeps his
book driving forward, even when his spaceship turns around and heads
for the wreckage of home.
Of course, in so doing, he disproves the initial idea Journey Into
Space seems keen to advance, that a single plot conceit is scaffolding
enough for a book-length fiction. Still, although Litt dismantles his
apparent thesis and maintains momentum by constantly buttressing his
plot container with new material, he does so suavely enough to suggest
that his novel would not have been more successful as a short story.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress
Simon Akam
New Statesman
April 20, 2009
Journey Into Space
Toby Litt
Toby Litt's latest work of fiction seems initially to be an attempt to
prove that a single clever idea is a sufficient structural framework
for a novel. The narrative takes place on a giant spaceship,
launched on an interplanetary journey some time before page one by
a humankind in search of a new home. Equipped with the most advanced
propulsion technology available, the Armenia has a top speed still a
mere twentieth of the speed of light - a cripplingly slow gait when
faced with the vast expanses of interstellar space.
When Litt takes the helm, the ship is still less than halfway to
the promising planet of its destination, and only one of the first
generation of travellers remains alive: Mrs Woods, an ancient crone
whose space cabin smells mysteriously of almonds. The remainder of
the crew's characters have been born in space and are doomed to die
there, for the Armenia will not make landfall until long after their
lifespans are over.
As structural conceits go, the great ship hurtling painfully slowly
through the heavens is a strong one, if not desperately original. The
Armenia grants Litt an incubator to deal with big questions that
might be harder to grapple with in a less confined space, notably
the role of human governance and the inevitability of evil. Yet,
initially, he focuses solely on August and Celeste, a pair of teenage
born-on-boarders equipped with both rare beauty and a hatred for their
claustrophobic existence. Their favourite pastime is "describing",
conjuring up poignant word-pictures of things they have never
experienced in their on-board lives, in particular earth weather.
These "wordstorms", as Litt cunningly coins them, are a potent device
- they indicate the pair's deep yearnings for a reality more visceral
than their own, at the same time acting as a wry piece of metafictional
one-upmanship. That August and Celeste can experience the sensualities
of wind and rain through verbal description only, and yet can also
be utterly entranced by those same words, both mirrors and supports
Litt's own activity as a writer.
Nonetheless the describings do drag on, even when the wordstorm is
singular - a whispered, conspiratorial "sleet" - or spiced with sex,
as when the youngsters take an illicit shower together to simulate the
feel of rain. Here and elsewhere, Litt has a tendency to overindulge
his conceptual imagination when a willingness to curb it earlier
might have created a tighter result. This failing is most pronounced
later on, when August and Celeste make love in a long passage fraught
with metaphors of planetary destruction that falls well short of its
Miltonian allusions.
Still, the reason Journey Into Space succeeds is that its author
has such a plethora of good ideas to work with that he can get away
with overextending a few. Just as the initial scenario on board the
Armenia begins to pale, distant Planet Earth is destroyed, turning
the ship into an efficient test-bed for another raft of experiments
in social thought. The crew, as the last men, adopt the role of the
first, dismantling the hierarchy of captain and "astrogation officer"
in favour of an absolute monarch, and deifying an old lady despite
her best efforts to dissuade them. Litt's imagination clearly has
galactic dimensions, and by plundering these resources he keeps his
book driving forward, even when his spaceship turns around and heads
for the wreckage of home.
Of course, in so doing, he disproves the initial idea Journey Into
Space seems keen to advance, that a single plot conceit is scaffolding
enough for a book-length fiction. Still, although Litt dismantles his
apparent thesis and maintains momentum by constantly buttressing his
plot container with new material, he does so suavely enough to suggest
that his novel would not have been more successful as a short story.
From: Emil Lazarian | Ararat NewsPress