Distending a biomechanical metaphorical extension of Deleuze/Guattari's desiring machines and leveraging his expertise on Baudrillard, Shipley explores the idea of self as an epiparasite grafted onto flesh, and of virtual worlds grafted in barely distinguishable layers onto other virtual worlds, the reader left throughout wondering which narrative thread is the most real, and more worryingly, whether that even matters.
In the world of Dreams of Amputation, flesh is a secondary consideration at best: a disposable substrate on which this parasitic machine of self sustains and expresses itself. The concept is well explored, and the Socratic exchange between Nolan and the Sage near the middle of the novel is pretty much exactly what I hoped this book had to offer in terms of expounding on a horrifying prospective future where consciousness and flesh decouple, and the consequences of that schism.
The juggle of voices and the vignettes of ultraviolence reminded me most of Burroughs's Naked Lunch, but the disorientation induced by Shipley's clusterfuck phrasings doesn't help it escape from its over-reliance on cyberpunk cliches that dominate a lot of the conventionally narrative aspects of the novel, and this failure to escape those cliches was one of the central disappointments in my reading of Dreams of Amputation.
There are sharp tensions between the novel's desire to expound on its philosophical underpinnings, to shock and disorient, and to be, well, a novel, and I don't think Dreams of Amputation succeeds at balancing the tension of this complex scaffolding. Sometimes, when Shipley gets descriptive, the styles really gel. The environment is littered with disposed and rotting corpses, thoughtscapes are composed of body parts and pathologies; the world of Dreams of Amputation is a charnel house and a festering sewer interconnected with burnt wires. But when Shipley gets to the straight fictional and narrative passages, the voice is lacking any style.
I think I understand why Shipley decided to use the archetype of detective for his central protagonist Nolan. Detectives have a central role in a lot of philosophically-minded literary fiction. I'm thinking particularly of Eco's Name of the Rose and Bolano's Woes of the True Policeman/2666. However, Shipley doesn't do enough to distinguish Nolan, and so what we have is a character that is at best a lens into the world, and barely a thoughtful member of it, and at worse a technonoir cliche that isn't successfully twisted on its head like so many other things in this novel.
Another cliche that Dreams of Amputation fails to escape from—this time in domain of transgressive literature—is a staggeringly lopsided misogynistic streak in depictions of violence. Some of the shining examples of ultraviolence in this novel, like the anecdote about the paramilitary squad that plays an brilliantly wretched prank against a father and son—are going to stick with me for their blackly hilarious execution and their functional successes at world-building and conceptual communication. But often, this was not the case, and frequently, it seems that women were being tortured and violated almost out of convenience. Call me an equal opportunity pervert, but I want more severed penises, and this is the second such transgressive novel I've read in recent memory (and publication) where non-cis-het-male perspectives are practically nonexistent; and when you've read enough violence-for-its-own-sake, it ceases to shock and only starts to bore and disappoint when the bias is this apparent, especially with no substance to back it up.
In the end, this is an impressive undertaking for all its weaknesses, but Dreams of Amputation is something I can only recommend with a litany of caveats. I'll definitely be reading Gary Shipley in the future, whether in the domain of fiction or philosophical inquiry. At least now I know what I'm up against.