(ARC via NetGalley and the publisher.)
All art is political, but is it necessarily relevant?
Observing the reception of Pynchon's Shadow Ticket has been bemusing. Reviews ask, Why doesn't it tell us (whoever "us" is, but apparently liberal US citizens) what to do, how to make sense of and move through the second Trump term? Or perhaps it does provide insights, and thus prove its value?
These are all weird questions to ask of a book. As Lyta Gold writes in the introduction to Dangerous Fictions: "So much went wrong when it was decided that everything had to pay its way". This is nowhere more true than in art, particularly literature.
I don't know if Shadow Ticket does, or does not, have something "of value" to offer the reader with reference to current events. Pynchon has never struck me as an author too concerned with that kind of immediate relevancy.
By contrast, George Packer, in The Emergency, has A LOT to say about the present moment. To do so, he presents what is, on the surface, an extremely-abstracted and -simplified allegory.
There's an Empire that has fallen, a city by the river, and different populations of people moving through the city and its outlying territories. These various populations are called Burghers, Yeomen, and Strangers: that is, urbanites, countryfolk, and refugees. In the wake of the Empire's fall, the Emergency takes hold, and with it, remarkable social changes. In the city, young people and those without status enact Together, which might be best described as a naive horizontalism. Meanwhile, out in the country, young men are developing a sickening, bestial ideology out of misunderstood trash.
Both sets of young people further seek to abandon what being human is (or might mean, or something). In the city, they allow robot versions of themselves, called Better Humans, to be built based in part by probing psychological-market research, while in the country, young men don animal heads and train for brutal physical engagement. (They call themselves, and I am very sorry to have to type this out, "Manimals".)
The range of possibilities for how rebellion and building a new world can happen is disappointingly, if unsurprisingly, narrow. The city's experiment with Together slides into Red-Guards-like paranoid militarism, called Wide Awake, while the Burgers' bestial rule is terrifying from the get-go. (The implication that our world's "woke" is this world's violent sousveillance project is, to put it mildly, deeply disturbing.) That the only way society can change is towards overt violence feels like a failure of Packer's liberal imagination. One could be generous and say that it is a failure instead of the protagonist's liberal imagination. Either way, the lack of any viable alternative is pretty depressing. Not, that is, in terms of proposed social policy (though there is that), but in terms of imaginative, narrative ambition.
The book is set somewhere that could be anywhere in the developed world, in that there are trams and automobiles. The setting in time is even vaguer. Women wear hats in public, but there is no mention of any kind of contemporary mass communication: no radio, no phones, certainly not any TV or internet. There are, however, extremely powerful VR goggles and, later, robots whose technology is highly retro-futuristic, like wax cylinders and coils of copper wires.
I struggle with evaluating the choices in made in this book. The biggest flaws, I think, are the limited range of possibilities for change and the absence of mass communication. Any story remotely interested in mass social change, whether set in the speculative present or, really, any time in the 20th century, needs to wrestle with the influence of mass comm, whether newspapers or radio and TV or the internet. Omitting all such platforms from the world of The Emergency certainly makes an easier story to tell, but also a less insightful one.
I usually bounce off modern allegories, but Packer does a lot of interesting character work that complicates the apparent/surface simplicity. There is real craft in the way details are elaborated and reexamined and it is the book's greatest strength to be willing to deepen the allegorical simplicity. The superficiality of the groups' labels is somewhat developed over the course of the novel into a critique of social classification (and our emotional investment in/identification with it).
On the other hand, I wonder if the whole book was trying too much, too consciously, to be relevant. Packer certainly loves his four-part social schemata; his most recent non-fiction book, Last Best Hope, is structured according to Four Americas which are competing narratives of the past and visions of the future.
In the end, I think, despite moments of insight and striking visual imagery, the allegory structuring this book cannot hold up and, unfortunately, the result is fairly incoherent, if not fairly pat.