“The children were playing while [he] climbed to his death; he could hear them squealing as only happy children do. While they thundered about frantically above, [he] took his time, each step methodical and ponderous, as he wound his way around and around the spiral staircase, old boots ringing out on metal treads. The treads, like his father’s boots, showed signs of wear. Paint clung to them in feeble chips, mostly in the corners and undersides, where they were safe. Traffic elsewhere on the staircase sent dust shivering off in small clouds. Holston could feel the vibrations in the railing, which was worn down to the gleaming metal. That always amazed him: how centuries of bare palms and shuffling feet could wear down solid steel. One molecule at a time, he supposed. Each life might wear away a single layer, even as the silo wore away that life…”
- Hugh Howey, Wool: Book One of the Silo Series
It’s kind of amazing how many great books I’ve read because I watch too much television while drinking an appropriate amount of wine. Without exaggeration, I have an entire shelf full of literature inspired by my worst habit. Hugh Howey’s Wool is a case in point.
Beginning as a self-publishing venture all the way back in 2011, Wool obviously had its admirers, and became quite successful. That said, I’d never heard of it – or knew anyone who’d heard of it, or knew anyone who knew anyone who’d heard of it – until it became the television series Silo on Apple TV.
It only took me five minutes of the show, and half a glass of chilled, bottom-shelf pinot, before I decided I needed to check out the source material.
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Wool perfectly fits the definition of high concept. It’s about a bunch of people living in a 144-floor silo that is buried in the earth because the air outside is – or maybe isn’t – toxic. Things have been going fine; then they start going wrong.
That’s the premise, and even though this is a closed universe, with 144 different levels, there’s a lot of places to go, and a very intricate universe to explore.
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It’s tough to talk about the plot without giving away too much, so I’ll stick with the generalities. The silo is a literal hierarchy, with the important and powerful people living near the top, and the workers – such as Mechanical – down at the bottom. Much as in the real world, those who do the hard, practical work are taken for granted on the best of days, while those with soft hands run things with minimal exertional effort.
The silo is governed by a document known as “the Pact” – there are a lot of proper nouns in the silo, or Silo, if you prefer – which provides for a democratically elected mayor, but gives most of the real authority to IT. Making a bunch of computer nerds into shadowy tyrants is just one of Wool’s small bits of genius.
Anyway, maintaining order within the silo is a paramount concern, which makes sense, given that thousands of people are living in cramped conditions with limited resources. One of the big rules of the silo is that you can’t ask to go outside. If you do, your wish is granted, and you are sent to “clean” the outdoor cameras that give people inside a look at the shattered world beyond.
As things progress, we are introduced to a series of characters – a grieving sheriff, an aging mayor, a slimy tech guy, and a plucky mechanic from the down deep – through whom we slowly begin to observe how the silo works. Ultimately, we learn answers to important questions, such as why there are no elevators, and why no one is allowed to talk about the pre-silo past. The meaning behind the odd, one-word title is also made clear.
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Howey utilizes the limited third-person viewpoint in telling his story. At first, he sticks to only a few characters; later, he greatly expands the number, giving us different personalities and perspectives to follow. Generally, the approach is effective. In the early going, the small number of speaking roles lets us concentrate on the setting. Once that is firmly established – the stage set, so to speak – Howey can let the drama begin, adding new players and elements.
This isn’t a psychological study by any means, but the men and women in Wool are – with some exceptions – strongly drawn. At the center of everything is Juliette, an inquisitive and intrepid machinist.
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For the most part, Wool is thoroughly engrossing. The silo is a fully realized and fascinating place, populated by characters whose fates have meaning. On a storytelling level, Howey does a really good job of asking a bunch of intriguing questions, answering some, leaving others for later, and thrusting you forward.
However, there is some inconsistency in pacing and style that is worth noting. When Wool begins, it toggles back and forth in time, with well-telegraphed flashbacks. This technique is later dropped, as Howey begins to follow different character arcs. About two-thirds of the way through the book, the cast list suddenly balloons in order to better show events. The problem with his expansion, though, is that we meet important figures late in the game, and then are asked – or demanded – to care deeply about them as they head into danger, despite not knowing them all that well.
During my usual post-book internet research phase, I learned that Wool was originally published as a series of short stories. This totally explains the somewhat jagged transitions, though it does not change the fact that the whole is not seamless.
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Whenever a book is turned into a movie or show, fans are implicitly asked to take sides as to which is better. Here, the answer is both. Wool is marvelously complimentary to Silo, and vice-versa. The show moves a lot slower and – given that it is primarily visual – relies on twists, turns, and hidden motivations, rather than internal knowledge. The book – because we are actually inside the heads of people – isn’t able to generate the same suspense, but we learn a lot more about motivations.
In short, they round out each other nicely. Both pair well with wine.
***
By this point, it is almost a law that science fiction has to say something important about the real world that we inhabit. Not surprisingly, Wool does exactly that, and not very subtly either. This isn’t a knock, as bluntness can be a virtue. In any event, even though Howey clearly demarcates the heroes and villains, the correct ideology versus the corrupt one, Wool is fascinatingly susceptible to alternative readings. When I finished, I actually talked myself into believing that maybe the scoundrels had a point, at least in the extreme context in which they were making decisions.
The best fiction operates like a silo, on many levels simultaneously. I’m not necessarily making a pitch for Wool’s status as a classic, but it fulfills several needs at once. It is entertaining, it is intellectually stimulating, and it gives you something to argue about with other people who’ve read the same thing differently.