The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome

by Serge Brussolo, Edward Gauvin (Translator)

An undisputed French master of the fantastic—as prolific as Stephen King; as original as Philip K. Dick—now in English for the first time

In The Deep Sea Diver’s Syndrome, lucid dreamers called mediums dive into their dreams to retrieve ectoplasms—sticky blobs with curiously soothing properties that are the only form of art in the world. The more elaborate the dream, the better the ectoplasm.

David Sarella is a medium whose dream identity is a professional thief. With his beautiful accomplice Nadia, he breaks into jewelry stores and museums, lifts precious diamonds, and when he wakes, the loot turns into ectoplasms to be sold and displayed.

Only the dives require an extraordinary amount of physical effort, and as David ages, they become more difficult. His dream world—or is it the real world?—grows unstable. Any dive could be his last, forever tearing him away from Nadia and their high-octane, Bond-like adventures.

David decides to go down one final time, in the deepest, most extravagant dive ever attempted. But midway through, he begins to lose control, and the figures in the massive painting he’s trying to steal suddenly come to life…and start shooting.

Genres: Science Fiction, Fantasy, Fiction, Science Fiction Fantasy, France, Speculative Fiction, Thriller

220 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1992

About the author

Serge Brussolo est un écrivain français de science-fiction, de fantastique, de thriller et de roman historique né le 31 mai 1951 à Paris.

Il vécut une dure enfance tourmentée, principalement à cause de la folie de sa mère. Il eut très tôt la vocation de l'écriture et, dès l'âge de douze ans, commença à chercher à se faire publier. Après avoir suivi des études de lettres et de psychologie, il exerce plusieurs petits métiers tout en ne renonçant pas à vivre un jour de sa plume. Les débuts furent difficiles, son style particulier peinait à se voir ouvrir les portes des revues de science-fiction de l'époque. Sa prose correspondait peu aux critères un peu étriqués de la science-fiction française. La première reconnaissance arrive en 1978 lorsqu'il réussit à faire paraître une première nouvelle, Funnyway dans l'anthologie Futurs au présent dirigée par Philippe Curval. Ce texte sera récompensé par le Grand prix de la science-fiction française en 1979.

La collection Présence du futur publie ensuite un premier recueil de nouvelles, Vue en coupe d'une ville malade, œuvre très remarquée du public qui lui vaut également un autre grand prix. Très prolifique, Serge Brussolo enchaîne ensuite la parution d'une série de romans dans la populaire collection "Anticipation" des éditions Fleuve noir à un rythme très soutenu dont Les Semeurs d'abîmes en 1983, récompensé par un prix Apollo. Beaucoup de critiques de l'époque, admirateurs de ses nouvelles au style si personnel et orignal lui reprochèrent de galvauder son talent en entrant dans la collection Anticipation du Fleuve noir, souvent mal considérée. Rétrospectivement, cette accusation semble totalement infondée, premièrement parce que cette partie de son œuvre fût une des plus riches et inventives, ensuite parce qu'il devint rapidement un des auteurs les plus appréciés de la collection et qu'il contribua fortement à faire évoluer celle-ci qui s'ouvrira bientôt à d'autres auteurs originaux comme Daniel Walther ou encore Joël Houssin. Et si, sur le plan de l'écriture, cette série de romans semblent moins audacieuse que ses premières productions, sur le plan de l'imaginaire, on sent l'auteur parfaitement à l'aise au sein de cette collection qui, en plus de lui ouvrir les portes à un large public, lui permet de se débarrasser des contingences « scientifiques » de la science-fiction dite « sérieuse ».

Il faut préciser ici que le terme science-fiction ne convient pas tout à fait à Brussolo. L'intéressé se dit lui-même peu captivé par le genre tel qu'il existe par ailleurs. C'est souvent faute de mieux que nombre de ses romans sont considérés comme tels. Brussolo n'est pas du genre à donner dans le space-opéra, encore moins à réellement chercher à imaginer un futur de l'humanité en tirant des hypothèses sur les futures avancées scientifiques ou technologiques. Ses références sont plutôt à chercher du côté des légendes, mythologies et autres récits merveilleux. Et chez lui, la science-fiction n'est jamais très éloignée du fantastique ou de l'étrange. D'ailleurs, certains de ses romans parus dans la collection Anticipation sont de purs romans fantastiques (Catacombes, Docteur Squelette, La Nuit du venin) et annoncent déjà l'abandon progressif de l'étiquette "science-fiction" par un auteur décidé à ne pas se laisser enfermer dans le moindre carcan.
En 1990, en pleine explosion "Stephen King", il entame une collection fantastique à son nom aux éditions Gérard de Villiers, dix romans paraitront à un rythme très soutenu (un livre tous les deux mois) et exploreront, de manière souvent originales certains vieux thèmes du genre : la lycanthropie, la maison hantée, le vaisseau fantôme... Parmi les plus renommés, citons Les Emmurés ou encore Les Bêtes.

Harcelé par des satanistes et ayant conscience d'avoir fait le tour de ces sujets, Brussolo arrête la collection en 1992

Reviews

[Berengaria · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars

short review for busy readers: the only one of prolific French sci-fi/horror author Serge Brussolo's novels to be translated into English. As always, highly imaginative and with Brussolo's reoccurring motif of "the diver" and the secrets found in the depths. Fantastically written and translated, more on the horror side with the focus on large ideas, not plot. Not as fantastic as the other ones of his I've read, but still quite good.

in detail:
Ectoplasm sculptures with the ability to spread calmness, peace and happiness as well as cure diseases and depression are all the rage. Smaller ones for home display are sold at auctions and larger ones set up in public places for the entire populace to enjoy.

Problem is, the 'artists' who create these sculptures do so under the most dangerous of conditions.

Namely - they dive deeply into dreams so real, ones that cater to their most passionate desires and childhood memories, that the artists get hooked...and physically destroy themselves the longer they dive, calcifying their brains into porcelain.

The ectoplasm is a by-product of the dreams. The grander the dream, the grander the ectoplasm sculpture and the more it's worth.

David is just such an artist. But he's ageing and he is no longer able to bring back anything with market value. They're all too tiny, too weak. And yet, he can't let go of his high action, James Bond lifestyle in the depths, nor the perfect Bond girl, young and supple Nadia, who he wants more than anything.

It seems that Brussolo is using this scenario to comment on how artists are treated by the general public in a capitalistic society. Produce what we want and can sell -- you'll be famous. Age or have difficulties -- we'll dump you...even if you can't dump your art that's killing you slowly as you plumb your subconscious again and again.

Brussolo has a phenomenal gift to create vivid, fantastical landscapes you feel you're walking around in yourself. Ones that you remember years later, even if the characters and plot have become swimmy. The translation is phenomenal as well, with all the descriptions, thoughts and dialogues rendered into natural, flowing English.

It's a joy to read.

This is my third Brussolo and I don't think it's as good as the other two I've read. It certainly doesn't have the plot focus the other two do. But it's Brussolo, which means it may not be perfect, but it's very, very good for what it is.

[Richard Derus · Rating 4 out of 5]

Real Rating: 4.25* of five

#ReadingIsResistance to the dominance of timid, pale storytelling in urban fantasy! At my blog, I review this French urban fantasy, Melville House's latest gift to US English-language readers. It's the first time Serge Brussolo has appeared in English, but let's make sure it's not the last. Use #SciFiFri discover how deep a man's love can go. (Bonus points if you can name the 1970s group that sang that song.)

[Book Riot Community]

Like weird books? STEP RIGHT UP. This is about a lucid dreamer who is a professional jewel thief in his dreams. David is a skilled diver. When he "dives" into his dreams, he brings back treasures that turn into ectoplasm when he wakes. (Yes, that stuff from Ghostbusters.) Ectoplasm is a high form of art in David's world. But on David's last dive, the ectoplasm starts fighting back, and he must figure out how to protect himself and safely wake. See? I told you - weird. Awesome weird.

Tune in to our weekly podcast dedicated to all things new books, All The Books: http://bookriot.com/category/all-the-...

[aPriL does feral sometimes · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am in a complete state of amazed joy at this surprising little book. I read it cold, and I suggest you, gentle reader, do so as well. It is great fun, wise, sad, and satirically spot on in regards to the double-edged pleasures of enjoying the imaginary fantasies created by artists.

Gentle reader, have you ever had a weekend entirely to yourself with no obligations, so maybe after breakfast you settled down on the couch with a new book? Then, when next you lifted your eyes because of a nagging thirst and hunger, you found yourself startled by the darkness outside of your window, and seeking out the clock, you saw it was 4:00 am?????!!!! (or something like.) And then, you jump to your feet, or at least, attempt to jump, since it becomes painfully obvious bones and sinews have become locked into position after so many hours of sitting...

I am familiar with losing myself inside a good book of fiction, and when I was younger and much more book-obsessed, I preferred the world inside of a YA novel to that of my actual reality of schoolmates and classroom. The premise of 'The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome' gave me an immediate feeling of sympathetic understanding.

The "Medium" David Sarella dreams regularly that he is a professional thief. In his dream, his beautiful partner Nadia gives him advice and assistance with burglaries and robberies, but David is the god creator of his dreams. Without his mental strength and imagination, the landscapes and scenes would fade away before he could accomplish his real task - the capturing and bagging up of "ectoplasm". For David, ectoplasm is usually buried inside an imaginary safe, disguised as jewels or gold in his dream. David brings out of his dream the now real and solidified ectoplasm after 'surfacing' into waking reality. He has the help of a special nurse, Marianne, assigned by the government to keep his body healthy while he lays sleeping and creating ectoplasm by dreaming.

No one knows what ectoplasm is, or how those with the talent of diving deep into their dreams do what they do to make ectoplasm. All that is known is those 'artists' with the Syndrome must have ongoing medical care because they are oblivious to reality when they deep dream.

Dreams grips mediums with the strength of an addictive drug. The particular dreams of a medium usually are shaped by the mediums' favorite genre of reading material when they were children. Sarella's favorite novels were heist thrillers. He now LOVES his dream life as a kind of James Bond.

The ectoplasm which the mediums extract out of their dreams are considered fine art, sold to museums and private art collectors. The strange smooth white chunks are alive. They seem to emit an invisible aura for about 300 yards or so which gives people youth and feelings of relaxation and peace. Oddly, the strange auras have no beneficial effect on the medium artists. The act of creating the living "ectoplasm art" debilitates and 'eats' away at mediums physically, but otherwise, it is the living in the dream that is the reward the artists crave.

While the buyers of the 'art' benefit much from the beauty and aura of the ectoplasmic creatures, the ectoplasm varies in the quality of its substance and in the strength of the auras it emits, depending on the 'talent' of the dreamer. More important, the longer the medium dreams, his life appears to be shortened through a wasting away by involuntary and unconscious starvation. Also, perhaps, the ectoplasm is possibly using the flesh of the dreamer to be born. As time goes on, mediums produce poorer quality and smaller amounts of ectoplasm which results in weak and sickly 'art'.

Artists may certainly expend a lot more personal coin producing art than we know! I am enormously grateful.

[Scott · Rating 4 out of 5]

Have you ever felt that one of your dreams is more substantial than your everyday reality?

I have a recurring school examination nightmare so regularly that it feels more memory than dream, so Serge Brussolo's The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome - a tale of dreams and dreamworlds that blur the line between sleep and reality - resonated with me. It helped of course that it's a damned fun novel, a quick and entertaining read with a story that rapidly sucks you into to Brusselo's world.

Protagonist David Sarella is a medium, a person who can descend into his own dreams and bring objects back from them. These objects manifest themselves as living blobs of ectoplasm (AKA - to me anyway - 'ghost snot') that pour forth from the dreamers nose and mouth like strange smoke, forming strange sculptural shapes that are coveted by museums and collectors. Everyone who views these objects sees something slightly different, and the effect of viewing them is entrancing.

These shapes are sold on the art market for huge prices, and their amorphous, alluring nature has made them the only art anyone is interested in - traditional painting, sculpture, etc. are now worthless, seen as completely passe.

For David and other medium-dreamers, entering the dream world is akin to visiting the bottom of the ocean, and the deeper they go, the greater the risks and rewards. Descending into the dream world is no easy thing. To get the best work mediums like David must sleep for days, even weeks, with medical help on hand to keep them alive. Even worse, the dream worlds each dreamer enters are shockingly real, populated with people David cares about, people who seem to suffer when he is away from his dreams for too long.

The more a medium dreams, the more likely he will succumb to the Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome - a desire to spend more and more time in his dreams, until he burns out his ability to dream at all, or dies alone and dehydrated while on a weeks-long dive. David's dream world is one where he is the leader of a heist crew who pull of daring raids on jewellery stores, safes and museums and where he lives a glamorous life of crime and nail-biting police chases. His real life, where his dream sculptures are unappreciated and his daily life is dull, simply can't compare.

Anyway, I don't do the elegance of Brusselo's world justice here, but suffice to say it's a beautifully realized scenario that he uses to tell a very entertaining story, of an almost burned-out man whose line between reality and dreams is becoming very thin. Brusselo tells a damn fine story, and with a knack for deft description and poetic language that makes him a pleasure to read. If The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome is any indication, then he has an interesting style and would be difficult to assign a genre to - this novel is a little magical realist and a little Scifi, but to my mind not conclusively either.

Some reviewers have pointed out the Sarella's life is an allegory for the life of a novelist like Brusselo - he spends his time pulling objects from his imagination to give to the masses, who consume them without appreciating the labour that has gone into them. This didn't occur to me during my read-through, but I love it and it fits the novel well.

Overall, this book gets a strong recommendation from me. I stayed up late with the The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome, and I can see why Brusselo has the reputation he does in the Francophone world, where his work has been wildly successful.


Four acclaimed sculptures made from congealed ghost-snot out of five.

[Liviu · Rating 4 out of 5]

while featuring the inventiveness, darkness, no get out jail card that made the author such a favorite, i am not sure why this (originally published in 1992) novel was chosen for his English language debut as out of 100+ works there are so many better in all his genres (whether pure sf, sf with horror or historical or fantasy or thriller elements, pure thrillers, historical fiction, pure horror etc) and I can think of 20+ I read I would highly recommend and would have chosen instead of this fairly feeble story

still worth checking out, but much better novels by S. Brussolo out there and hopefully more will be translated into English

[Lianne Pheno · Rating 3 out of 5]

http://delivreenlivres.blogspot.fr/20...

Un récit qui part sur une bonne idée, et qui a une ambiance bien particulière, mais qui tombe un peu à plat.

Nous suivons David qui est un médium. Il a la capacité de plonger dans ses rêves et d'en sortir quelques jours après avec un étrange objet qui s’apparente à une œuvre d'art. Plus le rêve est fort, plus l'œuvre en question le sera.
Cette forme d'art, très encadrée, a totalement remplacé les anciennes formes comme la peinture ou la sculpture. C'est compréhensible parce ces œuvres ont la capacité d'influencer les autres personnes, on parle notamment de l'une d'entre elle qui a arrêté une guerre en apaisant les 2 camps.
Mais du tout elle est aussi très contrôlée, on ne voudrait pas que l'une d'entre elles finissent par faire l'effet inverse car on peut aussi plonger dans un cauchemars et imaginez le chaos.
Tout ceci reste théorique dans le livre parce qu'étant artiste lui même David ne subit pas l'effet des rêves et donc reste de son coté totalement de marbre face à eux, il se sent donc un peu mis de coté.

David est un peu au fond du rouleau, toutes ses dernières œuvres n'ont pas passé la quarantaine et ont été détruites car jugée dangereuses ou trop faibles. Il est aussi devenu totalement accro à la plongée car les rêves sont tellement plus plaisant que la réalité, donc quoi qu'il arrive, il plongera encore et toujours, quel qu’en soit le danger ...

En fait j'ai bien apprécié le voyage, c'est totalement bizarre cette façon de plonger qui s'apparente vraiment à une vrai plongée, coté maritime inclus.

[...]la voiture, longue, noire, huileuse, avait quelque chose d’un squale aux aguets. Les phares comme des yeux inquiétants de fixité, les chromes du pare-chocs comme des dents énormes, capables de broyer n’importe quelle proie. David sentait la texture du véhicule changer autour de lui au fur et à mesure que l’image gagnait en matérialité. L’habitacle empestait le poisson, le cuir des sièges se couvrait peu à peu d’écailles. Il y avait une odeur de varech dans l’air, de l’écume moussait dans les caniveaux…

« Une voiture, psalmodia-t-il, seulement une voiture. » Et pour s’en convaincre il se mit à réciter les caractéristiques figurant sur la fiche technique : la consommation en ville et sur route, la vitesse de pointe, les…
Les écailles refluèrent, le coffre perdit son allure de nageoire. Une voiture, une bonne vieille voiture de sport surbaissée, capable de filer au ras du pavé à la vitesse de l’éclair avec la fluidité d’un requin qui passe à l’attaque…
Non ! Ne recommence pas !

C'est vraiment très visuel et ça donne au récit une ambiance très particulière. Une ambiance sombre et limite glauque, renforcé par le fait que le personnage principal est un perdant et donc on est très loin d'un quelconque coté épique ou autre.
En fait on est plus sur un livre qui parle de peurs, de psychose, car on fini par donner a David le choix entre vivre mais sans ses rêves, ou mourir car plus personne ne veut payer d'accompagnant pour veiller à ce qu'il ne meurt pas pendant ses plongées qui peuvent durer une semaine pour un artiste qui ne réussi plus à sortir un seul rêve viable.

De ce coté la je suis satisfaite, c'était ce que j'attendais et je n'ai pas été déçu. Malgré le peu de page du récit l'auteur prend vraiment son temps pour poser les choses, pour nous expliquer en détails tout le mécanisme du rêve et de l'art et la vie de notre personnage principal. Le rythme est assez lent et il ne se passe donc pas grand chose sur toute cette partie en dehors de l'exposition de la situation.

Mais du coup c'est la aussi que le bas blesse. Parce qu'en fait en dehors de ça et du final, il n'y a pas grand chose d'autre. C'est comme si on avait calé une introduction de monde avec une conclusion de roman et qu'on avait zappé tout ce qu'il y a entre les deux.
Non pas que cette fin soit particulièrement mauvaise non plus, mais du coup elle a un peu perdu en intensité par le fait qu'on n'a pas vraiment eu le temps de s'attacher au personnage je trouve.

J'en ressors mitigée, avec un sentiment qu'il manquait quelque chose. Et du coup une fois le livre fermé j'ai trouvé ça un peu bof. Disons que ça aurait pu être tellement mieux si on avait été plus loin.
Après ça ne retire pas le mérite du coté original du monde et de l'ambiance mais voila, ça tombe à plat niveau histoire, seules restent les idées, mais ça se laisser lire tout de même.

14/20

[Charles Dee Mitchell · Rating 4 out of 5]

We begin in media heist.

David Sarella works with a trusted crew. His accomplice Nadia is a gorgeous redhead dressed in black leather. Jorgo may be a bit simple-headed, but he is an excellent driver. They plan to break into an upscale jewelry store in an exclusive shopping district and empty the safe. Their immediate problem is that the sleek, black automobile they have chosen for this escapade is transforming into a shark. The metal frame has become slimy and the fish smell is unbearable. These are “stability issues,” and Nadia’s job is to monitor David, to see that he takes the proper maintenance drugs. The team is operating at a depth of 3300 feet, but they are already rising. David must complete the theft before he is forced to surface.

David is a master thief but a professional dreamer. In Serge Brussolo’s near-future Paris, mediums like David enter their dream worlds, perpetrate their crimes, and bring back their takes to the waking world. David’s dreams are informed by the pulp fiction he’s read since childhood, and the dreaming process is, as for most mediums, experienced as a plunge into ocean depths. He absconds with jewels that on the surface manifest themselves as mounds of ectoplasm, that white sticky stuff nineteenth century mediums supposedly exuded from their mouths, noses, and other orifices during séances.

But David and his fellow dreamers are not fakes. Their ectoplasmic creations, delicate a newborns, get whisked away for quarantine and testing. Once they are stable they go onto the art market, a market they have destroyed and transformed. Museums have sold off their collections of old art to junk dealers and replaced paintings and sculptures with ectolplasmic abstractions, the most accomplished of which sell in auction for millions. Our hero is not in that league. He makes a living as a minor artist whose works end up in museum gift shops. He’s more or less made his peace with that, but he is facing a crisis. Recently he’s come up empty handed after his dives, and some of what he has brought back is too feeble to make it past quarantine. His is the uncertain future of a failed artist.

Readers are left wondering for the first half of the story just what is the deal with this new art form? The descriptions of the objects are vague and not particularly appealing, but we learn that these creations make people feel good. They can make them feel really good. Even David’s tchotchkes lighten the spirits of those who collect them. A major work, like the monumental creations of Soler Mahus, can transform lives. David goes to revisit Soler’s magnum opus in its permanent public installation.

The great dream that had stopped the war had sat enthroned on Bliss Plaza for five years…It’s presence had driven up the apartment prices in the neighborhood, everyone wanting to live close to the work to benefit from its soothing emanations…residents in buildings overlooking Bliss Plaze were totally free of psychosomatic complaints. Better still: incurable diseases had completely vanished in a three hundred yard radius of the oneiric object. The lucky few lived with their windows open, naked most of the time…Those without the means to rent apartments nearby made pilgrimages to Bliss Plaza…a silent, naked crowd sprawled on the steps and grass.

As a practicing dreamer, David also knows the downside of ectoplasmic art. The objects have a shorter shelf life that of the old art. When they begin to decompose they not only stink, they become sticky and toxic. Art disposal is a growth industry, but there is a “finger in the dike” element to its struggle against a growing mountain of fetid art. And then there are the health problems faced by its creators. All that ectoplasm can never be fully expelled, and build up over time causes esophageal and pulmonary issues.

On one level, Brussolo’s novel is a satire on the distinctly Parisian vision of the starving artist in his garret, the failed genius in feverish pursuit of a vision that remains beyond his grasp. Despite his lessening powers and declining health, David cannot forsake his dream world, which is admittedly more vivid than the drab life he lives between dives. He will be willing to risk all for a final plunge to a greater depth than any dreamer has either ever attempted or lived to tell about.

The publishers describe The Deep Sea Diver’s Syndrome as a “visionary neo noir thriller.” There is a trace of marketing legerdemain here. David may be a trapped man in a system that once supported him and that now has little use for him, but Brussolo doesn’t employ the mounting tensions of David’s predicament to build suspense or a sense of panic. He creates an inventive progression of scenes that illustrate aspects of this bizarre world. The novel might better be described as “entertaining and very cerebral science fiction,” which admittedly doesn’t have the ring of ”visionary neo noir thriller.”

The good news for readers who find they like Brussolo’s technique and vision is that in France he has published somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 novels. The bad news is that this is his only work to have made its way into English, and there are no plans in place for future translations.

[Sarah · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a hard book to review. Conceptually, it's super cool, albeit very strange. Like strange, strange. In execution, this book is kind of confusing and has an experimental feel to it. Brussolo has invented a world where mediums exist, and no, not the kind of medium that is psychic. These mediums have the ability to go into a deep trance-like dream for days, during which weird, smoky stuff floats out of their mouths and congeals into an ectoplasm thing upon waking. Let that sink in for a minute.

These ectoplasm things (sculptures? creatures? I'm not really sure what they are) have important value to society. A museum of these things exist where people can go and be surrounded by them. The ectoplasm things can give off certain vibes--a powerful one, for instance, can prevent warfare if placed in the right location.

The main character in this story is one of these mediums. He is contracted by a museum to go into these dream-trances and produce them with the supervision of a psychiatrist to make sure he does not experience adverse health effects while in these trances. He has been having difficulty producing powerful ectoplasmic creations that have a lot of positive impact, and he is afraid he will lose his contract, essentially. It's also worth noting that the more intense his dream-trances are, the more powerful and successful his ectoplasmic creations are. Which in theory means that if he's in danger of losing his contract with the art museum that displays them, he needs to have some intense fucking dreams so he can bring back a really effective, profit-making ectoplasmic creation.

During these dream-trances, he imagines he is going on deep sea diving art heists. Yes, you heard me correctly. He imagines he is going 60,000 feet underwater with his trusty imagined Sexy Sidekick to raid...underwater jewelry stores? Art museums? I'm not even sure why these things are underwater or whatever, but this is his dream, so I'll just take it at face value. The art he brings back from these heists converts into ectoplasm when he is done with his dream-trance. He has also fallen madly in love with his Sexy Sidekick and wants to figure out a way to be with her. If you and I think alike, you're probably thinking, huh? How is this possible? He has imagined her, probably off of some book he's read, so he cannot do this. I'm just relaying the facts; I don't get it either. Basically, this book is about him trying to figure out a way to keep Sexy Sidekick despite the fact that she does not actually exist, as well as to bring back a kickass ectoplasm creation for the museum to display so he does not lose his contract.

The concept of this book, while really complicated and layered, is very cool. I like the general idea of where Brussolo is going, though the story could have been much less layered as well as more clearly explained. Like seriously. I don't know how Brussolo comes up with his inventive ideas, but I have a feeling he could make a killing if he sold what he uses. Maybe more than from his books, and he is very, very popular in France.

The complicated nature of this storyline felt a bit pointless, too. I don't think there was much reason behind this layered approach when it felt like Brussolo's main focus was more on the Sexual Awakening of our main, casually-misogynistic dude via his trusty Sexy Dream-Trance Sidekick. Dude is desperate and doesn't make any effort to hide this fact. I couldn't figure out where the art heist plot ended and the sexually-driven must-get-girl plot began. The two were very deeply intertwined but not in a way that was particularly clear.

All told, I had higher hopes for this book than were presented, but I'd still recommend it. The writing style is fascinating and the translation excellent. If you're down for a weird read, as I usually am, you'll be transfixed by the paranormal concepts Brussolo presents here.

[Ed Erwin · Rating 3 out of 5]

About 10 years ago I started reading SF books in French to help improve my language skills. It is more fun for me to read modern books in SF than to try to read the classics, and the language is much closer to what is currently spoken as well. (Though SF, and especially fantasy, often has many made-up words.)

Along the way I've discovered some really interesting writers, most of whose works have never been translated to English. Serge Brussolo is not one of my favorites, yet his work is consistently interesting and strange. I already had a copy of this in French, but when it came out in English I decided to go for the simple route and read it that way.

Brussolo is a *very* prolific author in multiple genres, so it is puzzling why this book in particular would be the first to get a translation. His works have a dream-like logic, sometimes tending towards nightmares, but also mix in other genres. This is no exception, with half of the story taking place in dreams. The main character is an artist who dives into dreams and brings back 'ectoplasms' which are then sold as art. (Thus even the real-world part of the story has a dream-like logic.) Inside the dream world, the story plays out like a detective story, because the character happens to like detective stories. These sorts of genre shifts are common in Brussolo.

One problem I've had with Brussolo before is that he sometimes seems to just put one new idea after another without much thought to structure or to developing individual ideas further. That is a bit of a problem here, with some interesting ideas left undeveloped, but the overall structure of this book does make sense.

The biggest discovery for me in this work is the translator Edward Gauvin. Without realizing it, I had already read and enjoyed five or six books that he has translated, including Aama, Vol. 1: The Smell of Warm Dust, Last Days of an Immortal, A Game for Swallows: To Die, to Leave, to Return, Best of Enemies: A History of US and Middle East Relations, Part One: 1783-1953, A Life on Paper: Selected Stories. He seems to have similar tastes to me, and his translations are clear, so I'll be looking for more of his translations.

One note on the title: the translation "The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome" is accurate, but I think it would also be accurate to translate it as "Locked-In Syndrome". I found one (but only one) online dictionary that supports my translation, so I guess this is an uncommon phrase. The French word "scaphandrier" is related to "scaphandre" or "diving bell". That immediately brings to mind The Diving Bell and the Butterfly in which the main character's condition is compared to being in a diving bell. The main character in this book also spends some time in a similar locked-in condition, alive and awake in a bed, but unable to move or communicate.

[Maureen · Rating 4 out of 5]

They call this book a neo noir but I think it's more of a dream like fantasy. David is a professional jewel thief in his "dreams". Along with his accomplice Nadia, the pair breaks into museums and high end jewelry stores escaping on motorcycles. This book was an easy read but I found it a bit wanting in the reality department. It is a great read if you like fantasy and noir which I do on occasion. I highly recommend this book.

[Ben · Rating 4 out of 5]

Strange and unusual is the best I can do to describe this novel. But, a good weird it was. Was it truly all a dream? Maybe a living nightmare? I feel like there are multiple angles to approach this story, as well as myriad ways to explore what it truly means. This is one of those little nuggets that land on a college syllabus.

[J. Osborne · Rating 5 out of 5]

My favorite book so far this year.

[Anniken Haga · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5/5 stars

This was an... interesting read.
The book has been hanging out on my shelf for quite some time 'cause I was unsure about it. It was short, but I didn't know what to expect. I saw it on booktube when I was watching it actively, and I wanted to try reading a bit more sci-fi, so I bought it when I stumbled over it in the store.
Since then, I have kind of fallen away from sci-fi again, but I finally got around to giving this book a chance.

As said above, it was an interesting read. It was kind of like a mix of noir, psychological thriller, and science fiction or fantasy.
The story is centered around this young man named David, and he's a dreamer - meaning he brings objects from his dreams and the government sell them. But there is some controversial around the objects.
Many just think of them as calming sculptures, while many of the dreamers think of them as alive, something they have created, given life to.
This also spill over in the general dreamworld, where the dreamers are sure the world is real, and the people living there are real as well, but those standing outside don't think so, and just claim it all to be part of the dreamers imaginations.

I liked that sub-text a lot. It's something we see in everyday life. How some people not having experienced depression say it isn't real, or with my own condition, ME. Many people claim it isn't real, claim it's just in my head. But as a doctor said to me once, even if it is just in my head the pain is real for me.
I like how this book kind of breaks that down to something other people might understand when reading it.

The biggest problem I had with the book, though, was the writing.
There were many big words, and I found the language kind of heavy and poetic, so I at times had to read the same parts again and again to make sure I got it all.

If you like alternate realism, thought, I think this book would be just up your alley.

[Adam McPhee · Rating 4 out of 5]

"If anyone found out, you could be arrested for unlawful dreaming!"

Impeccable dream logic that leads to great moments of catharsis, where you realize what you're reading is totally ridiculous but you don't care because you're having too much fun.

dead dreams were an exceptional source of pollution

Similar in concept to Inception and The Matrix, but it's a lot more fun. Kind of like Heroes Die. My only quibble is that by the end of the first chapter it almost feels as if he's exhausted the possibilities of his dream world, because you imagine it getting solipsistic, stuck inside his own head. I have trouble caring for characters that the narrative doesn't consider 'real'. But the author gets this and the focus temporarily switches to how dreams impact the real world, and by the time we re-enter the thief's dreamworld the solipsism problem has been neatly sidestepped.

Without thinking, he patted his jacket pocket, where he kept a dime bag of realism powder. He could sniff it on the glass-topped desk right here and now, but even though the powder curbed oneiric drift, it also hastened the ascent: a side effect he had to keep in mind. He fingered the bag, hesitating. Too much realism and he could take off right in the middle of the heist. He didn’t relish the prospect. Better to try to push forward through the parasitic drift, keeping his eye on the prize.
His last few dreams had died in quarantine, poisoned by ham-fisted vets who thought they were still working on plow horses and jabbed at dreams as if inoculating hippopotami.
High priest of breakfast, David conducted a ritual at once epicurean and austere, banishing jam, croissants, and even brioche, which for him represented an extremity of depraved sybaritic decadence. For a while he’d tried making his own bread, obeying some strange inner stubbornness to live off the grid, depending as little as possible on others. Fermenting yeast had given him too much trouble, and he’d been forced to give up. At first it had upset him, since he had a hard time finding a bakery with bread that met his standards. People today were fine with any old subpar product, and the bakehouses of yore had become automated factories where an artisan’s barely flour-dusted hand was reduced to pushing buttons. David had wandered from bakery to bakery, sullen, despairing of ever finding the spongy bread that was his one and only fare, when he’d met Madame Antonine.
Only then would the blue depths of dream open, would he feel himself sucked toward the bottom, would he sink like a stone. And David knew the hour had not yet come to step over the ship’s rail. His nerves weren’t crackling, they seemed relaxed, limp, like the strings on an old tennis racket. When he touched things, he didn’t feel that little crackle of static electricity at the ends of his nails that announced his internal battery was ready once more to short-circuit reality itself. He was flaccid, emptied out, condemned to wait, and that drove him crazy. Some divers resorted to drugs to speed up their process, but David didn’t believe in those techniques, which smacked of charlatanry. Besides, chemical substances filtered directly into the world down below, its rivers and streams. Hadn’t Soler Mahus said so? They ran from its faucets and stagnated at the bottoms of soda bottles, poisoning everything. No, he had to make do with waiting. And it was a long wait. Terribly long.
There were concentrated rationality pills, logic tablets, plausibility adjustment drops. And above all, an array of fast-acting tone powders that allowed him to instantly modulate the nuance of a moment: irony powder, comedy powder, distancing powder, which when snorted off the back of your hand immediately attenuated the excessively tragic outline of any situation. Used wisely, these chemical tools enabled He reckoned he had set things straight enough to wake his companions. He grabbed the saucepan and poured the water slowly over the grounds filling the paper filter. He was a bit afraid of seeing Nadia emerge from the sleeping bag with a misshapen, cuboid body, her legs crooked, her breasts square. He’d never dragged them this far down before, to these unfathomable depths, the hunting ground of great dreamers. How would they take the submersion? The smell of coffee spread through the air, supplanting that of gasoline. Nadia stirred, then Jorgo. Their awakenings were always difficult, mechanical, their gestures horrendously approximate. Whenever they came out of sleep, it was like they needed to learn to stand again, to walk, to speak. They were like babies with only a few minutes to learn everything. However brief, these moments were extremely painful for David, who felt each time like he was seeing cardboard dummies or lobotomized simpletons come to life. He decided to let the aroma of the coffee do its work and left to get dressed. His clothes had been tossed in a heap on the suitcase of brushed steel he was never without in the world of the dream. He knelt and undid the clasps. The armored luggage contained quite an assortment of drugs whose vials were lined up like strange ammo on a sheet of black rubber, held in place by leather loops.
“My body,” the young man confessed. “I left it up there, unmonitored. It’s the first time, see? No one knows I’m here, and I can’t figure out how long I’ve been gone. If something happens to it up there—”
Nadia frowned. No one, indeed, knew how time down below compared to time on the surface. The flow of time in the dream world seemed to proceed by fits and starts. Sometimes gestures stretched out endlessly Nadia frowned. No one, indeed, knew how time down below compared to time on the surface. The flow of time in the dream world seemed to proceed by fits and starts. Sometimes gestures stretched out endlessly like in a slow-motion scene, and at other times, it all went by very fast. Actions fled by, sped up, while conversations became an incomprehensible chirping. David wondered if the temporal flux wasn’t governed by purely subjective criteria, the mind condensing painful or boring moments in order to protract pleasant ones instead, dragging them out until they were a kind of amber where you wound up getting trapped. It was just a theory, but he knew an hour of dream didn’t equal an hour of reality; the exchange rate was much more complex.

[Yolanny · Rating 3 out of 5]

⚾

C'était vraiment étrange comme lecture.
L'auteur à pris le parti de ne RIEN expliquer et de nous plonger dans le livre comme si on savait tout.
Du coup on passe son temps à se demander ce qui se passe. Si on loupe le coche, on est foutu.

Ça a fonctionné, on a aussi l'impression que le postulat du livre est normal. Il est complètement acquis dans l'univers. J'ai bien aimé le concept d'ectoplasme onirique, c'était très inspiré.

Cette science fiction est vraiment cool parce qu'elle montre un nouveau concept en mettant en avant ses qualités mais surtout ses faiblesses. Le héros vit vraiment sa condition avec difficulté, pourtant il est, d'une certaine façon important, pour la société.

Les principaux défauts sont ce fameux manque d'info par moment et l'enlisement dans des explications qui décrédibilisent le sujet du livre (nous n'avons pas besoin d'avoir une explication pour tout, sinon on finit par trouver les incohérences).

Une surprise intéressante où il faut attraper le concept comme on frapperait une balle pour ne pas se perdre

[Justin Decloux · Rating 4 out of 5]

The only English translation of a novel by French author Serge Brussolo is him at his most Philip K. Dick-ish - a story about creating art by stealing things from dreams - which is also slowly killing the protagonist. The opening makes it seem like it's going to be a more kooky INCEPTION, but Brussolo is more interested in the depressing reality of the life of an artist at the end of his rope than any kind of pressing plot. Every new page has a baffling new rule that makes perfect sense in a dream.

[Callum Waterhouse · Rating 2 out of 5]

This was a fun, strange little novel. The surreal dream logic of the "heist" sections and the equally strange sci-fi logic of the waking world built on the commodification of dreams were both imaginative and enticing. Unfortunately, the relentless misogyny of the main protagonist and the uncritiqued racism displayed by one of the side characters kept me from truly enjoying this book.

[Tyrannosaurus regina · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's hard to describe this book except to say that is is gorgeous and troubling and evocative and feels utterly original.

[Sean · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was lucky enough to receive an advance reader's copy of The Deep Sea Diver's Syndrome. It's Brussolo's first book translated into English, so I'm hopeful that more will follow. Much like how the character David created a tangible world in his dreams, so Brussolo created such a world in this book. A world in which works of art literally come from the minds of dreamers, with rules and hazards all its own. From the very first page, I was drawn into the world of the story by the author's juicy language, so full of substance. The words he chose made the world of dreams come to life. There's more to this novel than the dream world, however. The world of reality had its own set of laws, wonderfully laid out throughout the story. It's definitely a sci-fi novel, but it has qualities of crime noir as well. And Brussolo does a fantastic job fusing the two, especially in the scope of David's internal conflicts. I also have to commend the translator, Edward Gauvin, who so skillfully brought this novel (originally published in 1992) to a new audience of readers.

[Lawrence · Rating 3 out of 5]

Fantasmagoric with a beautifully surreal dream logic within the dreams, unfortunately Brussolo's style doesn't really add a greater depth or realism to the waking world. He's not very good at fleshing out characters, details, worlds so that the dream world and the real world both have a hazy, unfinished quality.

The book is strikingly imaginative, and the illogic and development of the dream heists us truly transportative and fun. But it's not enough to sustain a book.

You have a birdsnest of good ideas and half-finished ones woven together but not particularly cohesive. Things never feel substantial enough to create a fully actualized novel, with Brussolo never fully committing to more than a plot's sketch. And then this happened.

It's imaginative, but poorly scaffolded and nice as long as you don't jiggle it too much and it collapses like a dream itself.

[Betsey · Rating 3 out of 5]

The ideas, premise, and imagery were truly fantastic. The protagonist was totally flat for me. I have a feeling I’ll be thinking about this book for awhile, but the experience of the book was pretty average. It was like going to a shoe-gazer concert.

[C.F. Villion · Rating 4 out of 5]

I finished it ages ago but had no idea how to review it...

I love weird and strange and this sure had that in spades. At best I can say, read it and judge for yourself. :)

[Jennifer Shaw-Mumford · Rating 2 out of 5]

The concept is better than the story. I liked the first couple chapters describing dreaming and the things pulled out of dreams. It lost me at the characters...uh...let's say, obsession with bread.

[Constance Fastré · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dans un monde très sembable au nôtre, le monde de l'art a été révolutionné par l'arrivée des rêves ectoplasmiques produits par les médiums. David rêve de pouvoir un jour ramener de ses voyages dans le monde onirique des oeuvres d'art gigantesques et suffisamment puissantes pour le rendre riche et célèbre. Mais de ses voyages, il ne ramène que des petits rêves qui n'ont récemment pas survécu assez longtemps pour être vendus. Il doit plonger plus, mais avec chaque voyage grandit le risque que David devienne incapable de différencier le monde réel du monde du rêve où il est tout-puissant.
Un roman intemporel, magique et troublant. Une exploration d'un monde mystérieux que nous connaissons tous, mais qui se trouve malheureusement toujours en dehors de notre atteinte consciente et de notre contrôle. Parce que la question toujours se pose: soi nous pouvions vivre dans nos rêves, le ferions nous? La réalité est elle vraiment plus réelle que le rêve? Même David ne le sait pas...

[Francis · Rating 4 out of 5]

Portrait science-fictionnel de l'art contemporain, plongeant autant dans la psychanalyse que dans le monde onirique en passant par la plongée sous-marine, Le syndrome du scaphandrier est un drôle de roman qui, pourtant, m'a tenu en haleine très longtemps. Par la cohérence de ses propos, mais aussi par ses tournures inattendues qui m'ont fait penser à l'occasion à Inception. C'est un roman dans lequel on se plonge, sans savoir si l'on survivra à la remontée. Une intrigue haletante qui nous relance à la fin de chacun des chapitres. Génial!

[Brian Berrett · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a fun story. If you are familiar with Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time series it will remind you of Tel'aran'rhiod (his dreamworld). It also reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode called A Stop at Willoughby! If you are interested, check it out, it is very similar.

I did enjoy the book. I enjoyed the dreamworld. I found it curious he was like his father living two lives. I enjoyed the attempted theft of the painting named after a department store (his mother was a shoplifter in a department store).

It is a very quick read and very enjoyable.

[Benjamin Kahn · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fascinating read. I really enjoyed it. I liked the contrast between the dream world and reality, the reality that the protagonist doesn't want to accept, and the eventual outcome. Brussolo has created two fascinating worlds - the rich one in the dream, and the bleaker one that is the dreamer's waking life. Very convincing, very ingenious. My one regret: This is the only one of Brussolo's books that has been translated. I hope that there are many more to come.

[Ben Lund · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not what I expected, but enjoyable all the same. A little bit of everything in here. There were some sad parts, some parts when I really disliked the main character, but it's really a dystopian world he's painting. It feels kind of like the end of 1984, minus Big Brother. Sad, and a very abrupt ending, I wanted to know what happened next, but Brussolo was done.

[Claire · Rating 4 out of 5]

Loin de ne se dérouler que dans le rêve, le roman dépeint une société cohérente, avec ses codes et l'évolution de ses moeurs, mais où le héros ne trouve pas sa place, obsédé par ses fantasmes. On savoure ce court roman d'une traite ou presque et on plonge avec lui au coeur de nos rêveries, peut-être pour ne plus en sortir ;)