Q:
‘May the Spring embrace you,’ ...
‘And embrace you, too,’ (c)
Oh-so-ever quirky (dystopian?) story. Complete with Sisters/Mothers Zygotia and Placentia and Contractia and Vulvolia and Fallopia and Fertizilia, the culture of calorie-hoarding, Nightwalkers, Villains, Wintering, child offsets, siring fees. People hibernate during their winters. It's mostly comfort food that they eat (I wonder how they don't drop dead from clogged arteries? The miracles of going hungry in winter?). Brain-damaged from Winter Sleep people are used as transplants source or are 'farmed'. A guy dies drowned under 'boron slurry' in a nuclear reactor and no one
gives a damn about it. That makes a lot of disgusting ideas they entertain in here about life, law, privacy and ethics. A delight of whimsical insanity.
Mindboggling. Imagine a girl walking into the facility where her alter ego works and aggressively demanding that they let her talk to her alter ego. Turns out, she's a halfer, or rather, a Halfer. Like a dolphin.
Dreamtime talks. Nightwalkers. SkillZero. Transgender surprises. Sleepmaidens. Dreamspace. Active Control Dreaming. Hiberversity.
Oh, and my favviest job interview ever:
Q:
‘Qualifications?’
‘I can read and write to level 4A,’ I said, ‘first aid trained, one hundred yards in 14.2, drive, swim and play the tuba.’ (c)
Q:
‘I need a new Novice with a good memory to train up. Good career path. Exciting too. Lots of challenges. Bit of cash, extra pudding. Medium to high risk of death.’
‘What was the last bit again?’
‘Extra pudding.’
‘And after that?’
‘Coffee and mints?’
‘I meant on your list.’
‘Oh – medium to high risk of death.’
‘I see,’ I said, ‘and how’s your last Novice doing?’
‘She’s doing pretty good.’
‘She’s not, ... she’s currently in an asylum, shouting at the walls.’
‘About what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,... Ants or Lloyd-George or buttons or something.’
‘And the one before that?’...
‘They returned her body but without the head.’(c)
They do some seriously crazy shit:
Q:
My husband, Geoffrey. ...
I didn’t keep him for five years, though – he ate my sister’s Norfolk terrier the following Tuesday and that was it. ...
He was parted out the next Winter. His legs are on a gardener in Stourbridge right now and his eyes are currently looking across the Sound of Mull, which he would have liked. I don’t know about the rest of him … (с)
Their winters come with fun options:
Q: ‘Food, flop, laundry, booze, drowsy, blackjack, cage-fighting or poker?’ (c)
Loved these bits:
Q:
She and I had not exchanged an intelligent word since we first met five hours before, and the reason was readily explained: Mrs Tiffen was dead, and had been for several years. (c)
Q:
Few Summer acts chose to brave the cold – the Winter could be a hard taskmaster. The 1974 Showaddywaddy Welsh tour was a good case in point: the band were first trapped by Hunger-crazed nightwalkers in their Aberystwyth hotel, then lost half their number to an ice storm. Over the next two months their manager was kidnapped and ransomed by ‘Lucky’ Ned Farnesworth, three roadies lost their feet to frostbite, and their bassist was allegedly taken by Wintervolk. Aside from that, the surviving members thought it was one of their most successful tours ever. (c)
Q:
‘Never realised how strongly the silence could drag upon one’s psyche,... and how the solitude can become physically painful.... in some strange way, I love it. Good for achieving a sense of … clarity.’ (c)
Q:
Long-time Winterers were well known for expressing their views in this manner – a dark love of the bleakness, and how conducive the solitude was to deep philosophical thought. More often than not, those that extolled the Winter virtues so fulsomely did so right up until the moment they left an overly apologetic note, stripped themselves naked and walked outside into the sub-zero. It was called ‘The Cold Way Out’. (c)
Q:
Almost all of her was gone; only the skill remained. (c)
Q:
Fat Thursday had been long established as the first day of serious gorging, the time to indulge in the latest faddy get-fat-quick diets and to take a vow of abstinence from the mass-stealing sin of exercise. Yesterday you could run for a bus and no one would turn a hair, tomorrow it would be frowned upon as almost criminally irresponsible. For the two months until Slumberdown, every calorie was sacred; a fight to keep every ounce. Spring only ever welcomed the mass-diligent. (c)
Q:
The Hiberculture of Man, by Morris Desmond (c) Sneaky!
Q:
‘I always really admired you growing up. Always smiling through your unhappiness. A real inspiration.’
‘I wasn’t unhappy.’
‘You looked unhappy.’
‘Looks can be deceptive.’
‘All too true,’ she said, ‘but I meant what I said: inspirational in a sort of tragic way, like you’re the failure in the family, but always looked on the bright side of everything.’
‘You’re very kind,’ I said, long used to Megan’s ways, ‘but it could have been much worse: I could have been born without tact or empathy, and be shallow, self-absorbed and hideously patronising.’ (c)
Q:
What do you think?’
‘I can hardly contain my indifference.’ (c)
Q:
‘Useful until death and beyond, ... as the company likes to promote itself in slogans.’ (c)
Q:
I was then relieved to be called away in order to help deal with Sister Contractia, who was taking her door bouncer duties a little more enthusiastically than anyone thought necessary. (c)
Q:
Another Poolmate named Billy DeFroid had been inducted into the Winter Consul Service three years before, and everyone was full of praise up until the moment he was eaten by nightwalkers who had gone pack in Llandeilo. He’d fared better than most. (c)
Q:
Dreams. No one who was anyone had dreams. (c)
Q:
Besides, dreams are fun and random and at least this way I never get to be a nightwalker, lumbering around the Winter, eating beetles and curtains and people and stuff and then ending my days as a spare parts inventory. (c)
Q:
We should all be a global hibernating village, equal in sleep, equal in dignity. (c)
Q:
‘… of all the Winter Service Industries, the Winter Consul was the most dangerous. Few who joined expected to last out the decade, yet recruitment was never much a problem. You didn’t find the job, they said, it found you. No-one ever who entered the Winter voluntarily wasn’t trying to leave something behind …’ (c)
Q:
Chief Consul Toccata of Sector Twelve was suspected of resorting to Winter cannibalism more enthusiastically than was considered acceptable or, indeed, necessary. (c)
Q:
Brian had been the venerable sister’s twelfth Silver Stork and Gary and Lucy her joint eighteenth. The Sisters of Perpetual Gestation took their pledge seriously. The record was Sister Vulvolia over in Sector fifty-one, with thirty-four. All but nine survived their first Winter and each of them from different sires – but then Sister Vulvolia had a good eye, and took the need for genetic variation seriously. (c)
Q:
Staying awake in the Winter requires considerable pantry, a lot of luck, warm clothes, and several dozen good books. (c)
Q:
They traded in mammoths as beasts of burden, and dabbled in the stock market, with moderate success. They had their own code of conduct based around ice and honour and good manners and afternoon tea, and would happily kill someone if they disagreed with them – but would often write an apologetic note to the next of kin afterwards. ‘Manners,’ they were known to say, ‘cost nothing.’ (c)
Q:
Stay close, do what I say and make as many mistakes as you want – just never the same one twice. (c)
Q:
The enemy aren’t the Villains, womads, scavengers, insomniacs, Ice-Hermits, Megafauna, nightwalkers, hiburnal rodents or flesh-eating cold slime – it’s the Winter. (c)
Q:
‘A good breakfast is key,’ she said, ‘and well-fitting boots, merino socks and a reliable supply of snacks. Adequate naps are always useful, a tube of Après-Froid – and never underestimate the value of agreeable wallpaper.’
‘How so?’
‘You’d be surprised how calming a well-decorated room can be. Soft furnishings in pastel tones can be helpful, too, and a collection of soothing chamber music – but on wax cylinder rather than vinyl or tape. Electricity can be tiresomely unreliable and batteries useless in the cold.’ (c)
Q:
In the military you’re dumped thirty miles away in your underwear in the snow, in civvy street it’s washing up and knitting. Mind you, it’s good for team-building, and you’ll find it improves your ironing.' (c)
Q:
I think it’s a form of hazing. In the military you’re dumped thirty miles away in your underwear in the snow, in civvy street it’s washing up and knitting. Mind you, it’s good for team-building, and you’ll find it improves your ironing. ... Everyone’s ironing can do with improving. (c)
Q:
The mythical Gronk had many peculiarities, not least a strange mix of a love of Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals and obsessive domesticity – most bizarrely manifested in an apparent desire to fold linen. As a diversionary tactic, superstitious sleepers often left a basket of unfolded laundry outside their house over the Winter, just in case. (c)
Q:
Grand Theft Pantry remains the only crime to which lethal force might be legally applied, and even this was controversial. Four years ago someone was killed for stealing a packet of shortbread fingers and there was one helluva stink. (c)
Q:
If nightwalkers were the unintended consequence of Morphenox, the free menial workers and transplantation possibilities were the unintended consequences of the unintended consequence. (c)
Q:
Despite it being two days before Winter officially began, most people had already hunkered down, and anyone who wasn’t yet asleep would be going through their pre-hibernatory nesting rituals. Yoga and Gregorian chants were always popular, with yoyo, tango, humming, bezique and watercolouring going in and out of favour as the vagaries of fashion saw fit. But for most people it was a simple slowing of activity, purposefully avoiding anything exciting. This was a winding down, a relaxing of mind and spirit. (c)
Q:
... snow and ice, bleak and empty, cold and unwelcoming. The Winter. There was a very good reason most of us slept through it. (c)
Q:
…service retired look after service active… (c)
Q:
‘My sincere apologies,… Piss off … with all due respect.’ (c)
Q:
They were mercenaries, Dormeopaths, odd-job men, nannies and bounty hunters all rolled into one. (c)
Q:
‘Actually, the mammoths sort of did it on their own,’ said Foulnap, ‘nose to tail, like some great big shaggy-haired pachydermical charm bracelet.’ (c)
Q:
She’s dead, I don’t like you, you didn’t say please, I can’t be arsed, it’s cold outside – take your pick. (c)
Q:
‘I’m accompanying a … pantomime horse act.’
‘Which end do you play?’
‘I’m the arse. Our equestrian gavotte is to die for.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out for it.’ (c)
Q:
My career ended right here, in the fire valleys north of Merthyr, defending someone who wasn’t able to care that I was trying to save her from a fate that she could never be troubled about. (c)
Q:
Feeding off the shame of the unworthy while folding linen and humming Rodgers and Hammerstein hits had a certain inspiring randomness about it.
(c)
Q:
… inside the house,… the raisins were all picked out of the muesli, Gretl’s The King and I album was stolen and I found all the books on my shelves reordered.”
‘“Alphabetically?” ...
‘“No – by merit.”
‘“Ah”.’
None but the Wintervolk would be so eccentrically daring. (c)
Q:
… he gave me a smile that looked as though it had come from a hastily-read handbook on cultivating personal charm. (c)
Q:
… car that looked as though it was the unfortunate union of a truck and a family saloon (c)
Q:
‘You look as though you’ve recently taken some bad karma.’
‘You could say that.’
‘I simply abhor Weltschmerz. What can I do to cheer you up?’...
‘How are you at erasing poor life-changing decisions in a time-travelly sort of way?’(с)
Q:
‘Lucy, dear, why did curiosity kill the cat?’ …
Oh – er, the context of the saying remains obscure, ma’am, but the idiomatic meaning is quite clear.’
‘Exactly,’ said Goodnight, ‘couldn’t have put it better myself. An idiom. Our work here is unpalatable but necessary for the greater good. In idiomatic terms … Lucy?’
‘You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs?’
‘Close enough.’
‘Isn’t that … proverbial rather than idiomatic?’ I asked.
They both stared at me for a moment.
‘Lost interest and moving on,’ said Goodnight. (c)
Q:
If you’ve not dreamed, you’ve never truly slept. Dreams are the place where you can be yourself; do anything, be anything. The mind set free – Morphenox muffles the mind and smothers the imagination. (c)
Q:
… plate-glass window … certified to withstand torrential rain, gale-borne debris and an enraged mammoth. (c)
Q:
notorious chatterers. Feedback loops, echo chambers, circular reinforcement. All could play a part in escalating the utterly imaginary to the level of reality, sometimes with fatal consequences. (c)
Q:
‘The dream grew, it took them over. It devoured them.’ (c)
Q:
... when it comes to weird stuff, viral dreams hardly make the Sector Twelve top ten.’
‘Where’s Toccata on the list?’
‘Five or six. (c)Q:
I’ve experienced almost every terror in the last four years. A run-in with Lucky Ned’s gang, near-starvation, frostbite, irate debtors, Toccata in a rage, and a massed nightwalker attack.’ (с)
Q:
If you’re in a jam, call Treacle. (с)
Q:
Having a permanently open line on the telephone network helps. Pick up the receiver and just talk. There’s usually someone listening, and if there isn’t, there soon will be. If all else fails, you can always talk to yourself or listen to the static. To be honest, listening to static can be more relaxing than listening to many of the others (c)
Q:
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I thought you were a thin layer of oil paint.’ (c)
Q:
I’ve always been suspicious of game changers... Sometimes the game doesn’t need changing – or no one has a clear idea of which game will be changed, and for what and how much.’ (c)
Q:
‘Don’t make us do anything you might regret,’ said Mrs Nesbit, who was now in the temple and casting a bluish glow onto the stonework, ‘because we can make our dreams into your nightmares.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘you could make that your mission statement and company motto.’ (c)
Q:
His anger management issues actually have their own anger management issues. (c)
Q:
‘Can I ask why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why you’re something you’re not.’
‘We’re all something we’re not,’ he said. ‘Every one of us is stuck between the person we want to be and the person we can be. And there doesn’t have to be a why. All things have to do is feel right.’ (с)
Q:
I spent the rest of the journey thinking about the Farnesworths’ incredulous expressions as they gazed upon Fodder’s naked body, there in the snow and the sun: bold, muscular, athletic, Snowdonian in stature and physically at variance with the gender with which he felt most at home – but with the rare and highly desirable tiger stripes picked out in auburn on his blond winterdown. (c)
Q:
I believe there’s something dreamy and inexplicable in the air, and if Gronk is the best way to describe it, then Gronk it is. (c)
Q:
Twenty-one years and thirty billion euros later there was still one vast and wholly intractable problem: did you just learn about Charlotte Brontë, or did you dream you learned something? The person you just met in the Dreamspace. Did they really say what you thought they said, or was that just an invention? You are invited to have an affair in the Dreamspace. Does that make it adultery? Or even consensual? And if it wasn’t consensual, then what was it? Business deals: legally binding or not? The point is, there would be no easy way of knowing whether what happened in the Dreamspace was real, and what was imagined. Ten per cent? Eighty per cent? None? (c)
Q:
‘Could you dream yourself a principled and confident leading member of the Campaign for Real Sleep?’ I asked. ‘Deep undercover on a dangerous mission with the girl of your dreams?’
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘if that’s your thing. Me, I want to fly. But not like a pilot – like a bird. High on the wing above the hushed nation, chasing the spirit of freedom. Or maybe a saxophonist,’ he added, ‘playing for Holroyd Wilson, there at his last gig, before the Winter took him. Or maybe I could dream myself popular,’ he said, ‘or even respected. Or normal. That would be nice.’ (c)
Q:
You’re a liability and a wild card and trouble seems to follow you like a homesick spaniel. (c)
Q:
It’s just kind of her thing.’
‘I wish she would find some other thing.’(c)
Q:
‘Most Novices we get are either burned-out ex-military with a thousand-yard stare, gung-ho idiots or saddos who might as well have Kill Me Now printed on their forehead. You’re not any of those. But I can’t figure out if you’re a clever person pretending to be thick, a thick person pretending to be clever, or just a chancer stumbling through the Winter without any sort of plan or thought at all.’ (c)
Q:
‘Raising overkill to an art form?’ (c)
Q:
But that was the thing about the Hydra principle: you could be zero to hero and back again in less time than it takes to blink. (c)
Q:
To this day my washing is always mysteriously folded overnight. (c)