Here's an author to watch! George Salis’s debut novel “Sea Above, Sun Below,” is passionate, ambitious, and messy. It is a quintessential first novel in all the fiery yet imperfectly channeled energy that phrase suggests. I was reminded of many novels while reading it, but the one which came to mind most often was David Foster Wallace’s “The Broom of the System,” another novel-in-fragments which promises a future greatness not yet achieved. I’m certainly interested in whatever Salis writes next.
To start with the biggest positive here: George Salis is an expert at imagery. There are sights and descriptions in this novel that resonate with a preternatural intensity. His evocations of organic body horror are absolutely chilling, and his instinct for sensory detail is already - in his first novel! - on the level of many literary masters. I am genuinely fascinated by the strange wonders and terrors of “Sea Above, Sun Below”, and there is imagery here I can’t get out of my head. I could read his descriptions of mythological absurdities forever. I was reminded of Borges and Jeff Vandermeer, but Salis’s writing has a palpable viscerality that outdoes even those masters. His grasp of the five senses and how to trigger them is his biggest strength.
But I’ll be honest, even with this descriptive talent, it was hard for me to get into this book. I loved the aforementioned filigree but I found other stretches of the writing off putting at first, full of heavyhanded summary and awkward prose, stuff that could probably be ironed smooth in a few rounds of proofreading. Occasionally I’d come across sentences which belonged in a first draft, not a finished product, like this one from page 127: “Lars was a manager at McDonald’s and his girlfriend routinely left him for other men, only to retreat into his arms weeks later, and he was too hurt to accept her actions as real, convincing himself that she went on vacations up north with her family, as she was currently doing.” When the book wasn’t doing prose pyrotechnics it often plodded along at a pedestrian pace.
Unfortunately, the dialogue was another barrier to entry: I didn’t find any characters whose voices I could believe. Most of the conversations seemed culled from an overwrought young adult novel, and some of the passages of “male banter” in the first 100 pages or so were entirely unconvincing. The issues with dialogue ended up bleeding into characterizations as a whole; I didn’t “buy” most of these people. I tried to look past the dialogue as much as I could - this is a first novel after all - but there are a number of melodramatic confrontations where the lack of verbal verisimilitude really weighed things down.
The prose and the dialogue improve along the way, and near the end of the novel I was no longer distracted by the technical aspects of the writing. But the flaws of the first half serve to undermine some of the strengths of the second half. “Sea Above, Sun Below” has an essentially formless structure, starting with a group of skydivers and then firing off a series of vignettes exploring strange, magical realist stories in each of their lives. Instead of achieving a diverse tapestry, the novel ends up cluttered with loose ends and seemingly pointless interludes. The first part builds to a pseudo-cliffhanger, a dramatic phone call between Adam and Lars, and then this thread is almost completely abandoned. Characters like Tessa get a few 2 page chapters in the first half of the novel and then completely drop out of the narrative.
So many chapters here follow a minor character through some set of weird or paranormal events and then don’t particularly cohere with anything else in the novel. A few of these chapters work on their own as short stories, others in my opinion should have been judiciously cut. The chapters with young Isaac were my least favorite from the first part. The prose here becomes extremely inconsistent, taking on a baby-talk simplicity which attempts to evoke the mind of a child, yet still occasionally breaking into complex writerly similes and descriptions, which leaves the narration feeling incoherent and muddy, unable to settle on a tone. And with the majority of characters explored in only a single chapter or two, the book feels both too short and too long. Given an extra 300 pages, Salis could expand and fully develop all these multifarious threads. With 100 pages removed he could excise some of these under-developed interludes and focus on the heart of the novel: Adam and Evelyn.
I wish the latter option had been chosen, because there is a core here with Adam and Evelyn that could be the basis for a more solid novel. I was very interested in the story of Adam’s father and mother. The chapter “Flora”, which I read when it was published separately, still stands as a fascinating and haunting tale featuring some of the best of Salis’s imagery. Meanwhile “On Falling into a Vision” is the novel’s absolute peak: a beautifully written, Theroux-esque essay on falling and flight. But the story is so cluttered with so many other undeveloped characters and threads that Adam’s story gets lost and jumbled, which is a shame, because nearly all the best material here involves him, and whenever the story got back around to his character I was re-invested.
The character of Evelyn is interesting in theory but not so much in execution. Her main chapter, “Ecdycis as Forgiveness” represents the book’s most sustained dramatic set piece, but also its most heavy handed and unsubtle. The character of Father Peter here is a sentient strawman stereotype from some Christopher Hitchens diatribe, at one point yelling, “You think [Mother Teresa] healed people? She gave them a cot to die in. That’s all. Suffering, she said, brought them closer to God. Suffering as Jesus had suffered. We’re not here to make things easier for ourselves.” Yeah… his character (and the overall portrayal of religion) seems like a one-sided caricature; Peter is a wife-beating snake in human disguise, complete with peeling skin and egg-swallowing slavishness. I found every passage involving him and Evelyn unbelievable, although the prose of “Ecdycis” represented a step up from part one.
But by the time we reach Part Three, the novel begins to hit its stride. The aforementioned “Flora” is excellent, and some of the abstract poetic chapters here were a pleasure to read. Since there had been little setup, many of the climaxes in the final part didn’t really resonate cathartically for me, but I still appreciated the gorgeous writing Salis uses to evoke them. Indeed, by the end of the novel, the narration had reached a more confident consistency, serving to wipe away some of the preceding flaws.
In the end, what to make of “Sea Above, Sun Below”? I’m not entirely sure. Despite all the flaws listed above, I didn’t dislike the novel at all. In fact, it was written with such excitement that I actually found myself refreshed even by passages I was critical of. The novel served as a reminder that writing with feeling and passion is more important than writing perfectly, that an author who believes in their work will always be interesting to read.
There are plenty of glimpses of greatness here, and just as often as I ran into a passage I thought needed a bit of rewriting, I’d also run into something exceptional: ”The light of day, sliced into segments by the blinds of the windows, began to stain things with color. Beautiful, she thought, how light can reveal the true nature of an object. Perhaps that was the purpose of light, and the purpose of darkness was so you could wish it away, condemn it to a region of shadow and nothing more.”
Although the biblical symbolism was not exactly subtle, the metaphor of “falling” works here in a number of angles, reminding me of Joseph McElroy’s complex diving images in “Cannonball.” By the end of the novel, “falling” means more than it did at the beginning, and Salis’s instinct for structuring narratives around central metaphors and images will, I’m sure, serve him well in his later work.
I’m excited for what Salis writes next. I was surprised to learn he had not read any Alexander Theroux before writing this novel, because his talent for description and linguistic games reminded me of that masterful author, which is a truly enormous compliment. He clearly has a gift, and I’m interested in seeing how that gift is developed in future work. If the final 75 pages or so of this novel are any indication, he has great things on the way.