Ling Ling Huang’s disturbing, intricate novel follows the formation of an intense, increasingly-toxic bond between two women. Huang’s setting is America, as she puts it, five minutes into the future. Economic and social hierarchies are rigidly demarcated through giant buffers physically severing links between different communities – reminiscent of America’s notorious, urban, public housing projects, they’re also a manifestation of online divides directed and sustained by algorithms. Huang’s narrator is Enka a “fringe” kid, a socially-marginal undesirable. An unexpected scholarship to a prestigious art school allows Enka to mingle with students from the, previously unreachable, upmarket “enclaves.” Enka becomes fixated on classmate Mathilde who’s a charismatic, art star in the making, someone with the economic and, crucially, cultural capital Enka so desperately wants. Huang’s story moves between Enka’s past and present, charting Enka’s and Mathilde’s experiences in the years after they first meet, gradually building towards a devastating conclusion.
Enka’s an unreliable but compelling narrator, driven by envy and deep-seated insecurities intensified by failed attempts to triumph in the cut-throat artworld. Tech artist Enka’s hopes of success were dashed by the launch of a generative AI programme. Overnight, anyone and everyone could churn out the sort of art Enka spent years trying to perfect. Meanwhile Mathilde’s dedication to performance and transient art forms made her highly-personal work resistant to digital substitution. As Mathilde’s fame increases, Enka takes an alternative route to fortune by marrying into the all-pervasive, Dahl tech dynasty – Huang’s depiction of the sinister Dahl Corps with tentacles spreading into every part of society is especially timely given coverage of the recent activities of Silicon Valley billionaires. But Enka’s newfound riches don’t stop her from obsessing over Mathilde’s successes and growing celebrity status. Huang uses these elements of Enka and Mathilde’s story to raise issues about art, its nature and purpose, its interactions with technology and with capitalism – the institutions that harness art for profit, the ultra-rich patrons who collect art, and artists, as a means of positioning themselves as especially discriminating, socially distinctive.
Huang criss-crosses genre boundaries literary fiction, deliberate Elena Ferrante echoes, rubbing up against speculative, SF and flashes of gothic horror. Aspects of the Dahl’s family estate resemble Dracula’s castle – vampirism in myriad forms is a central theme. Scenes featuring Mathilde’s trauma-driven art inject bursts of body horror -- highlighting a clash between enduring concepts of the tortured artist and a wellness industry centred on erasing so-called ‘emotional scars’. A clash which raises concerns about the potential fallout from the erasure of painful memories: its impact on an individual’s sense of self, their creative impulses. Huang’s complex novel’s laced with unresolved, often significant, questions but there are so many they threaten to overwhelm the narrative. Alongside meditations on technology and techno-determinism, Huang touches on the menacing reach of corporations; appalling social inequalities; and the role of the artist. Artistic creation is mirrored by considerations of motherhood and mothering from controlling behaviours to all-consuming grief over the loss of a child to cloning and genetic experimentation around conception.
There’s also an ongoing exploration of religious themes which I'm still puzzling over. Notions of confession, absolution and possible redemption are introduced via Mathilde’s lapsed Catholicism then underlined by Enka’s confused attempts to atone for actions that resulted in Mathilde’s terrifying downfall – presumably drawing on Huang’s former Christian faith and her own struggles to forgive a close friend’s affair with Huang’s then-boyfriend. Huang’s title invokes the idea of the immaculate conception. Unlike other women all inescapably tainted by Eve’s fall, the Virgin Mary was considered uniquely free from original sin, making her a suitable vessel for the son of God. Mary’s fate is paralleled by a bizarre plot development whereby the decidedly less-than-innocent Enka becomes a willing vessel for Mathilde’s mind, striving to channel Mathilde’s creative abilities.
In many ways this is quite a messy piece, its multiple strands never quite coalesce – and the world-building’s definitely underdone. There’s also a major tonal shift between the early and later sections that some readers will find off-putting – slow and introspective gives way to a more frenzied, faster pace. But, even though this is nowhere near as disciplined and focused as Huang’s debut, I still found it surprisingly gripping, inventive, entertainingly unpredictable. I loved the coverage of art and Huang’s willingness to take risks and tackle challenging subjects.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Canelo for an ARC
Rating: 3/3.5