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The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica
Fictional Novel, Literary Fiction, Christian & Biblical Literature
401 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 1983
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December 31, 2018
It was... a difficult birth.
John Calvin Batchelor's The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica begins in Stockholm, Sweden—not quite as far away from Antarctica as one can get while still remaining on planet Earth, but almost. Published in 1983, this discursive and oblique novel's near future has already been overtaken by actual events—but while Batchelor's protagonist Grim Fiddle and his companions in adversity journey from one pole to the other, eventually making their way to Scandinavia's antipodes, Grim's narrative stays cold, aloof, resolutely remaining in the inhospitable margins of the world, focused on the particular and never looking head-on at its now-alternative history. We are told about catastrophes that are global in scope, but they occur almost entirely offstage; Grim Fiddle, and we through him, only ever become indirectly aware of what went on in more temperate climes.
I had actually tried to get through The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica once before, back in the early 1990s when I acquired my copy from what was then the "Quality Paperback Book Club" (which no longer exists, although its parent organization, the "Book of the Month" club, still seems to be around). I didn't finish, that time—I must've barely even started, in fact, judging from how little I remembered from Batchelor's second novel upon this belated second attempt.
I recently used the pretext of a long and wintry airplane ride to... well, to trick myself into sticking with Batchelor's book all the way to the end, this time. But although I did finish it—this time—I cannot really say that I enjoyed the experience.
What a cold and bitter note upon which to end my reading for 2018!
And yet... there is much to ponder upon in Grim Fiddle's story. He may not be a wise man—he's much too intemperate, too much of a berserker, for wisdom—but he is an intelligent and observant one, and he has lots of time to reflect upon what he's seen, during the long sea voyages that take him from pole to pole.
You'll need to know your Bible. John Calvin Batchelor graduated from Union Theological Seminary in New York, and his writing both exhibits and demands an intimate familiarity with the Judeo-Christian mythos:
Thomas M. Disch's back-cover blurb comparing this book to Moby-Dick also seems apt—not just in a personal sense (though I have found both Melville's and Batchelor's work to be well-nigh impenetrable, and I do not think I will ever make a third attempt at this novel), but also in the way both authors use long sea voyages as a framework from which to hang numerous other observations and diversions that have little to do with the ostensible plot. An extended disquisition on Utilitarianism, for example (pp. 47-49), featuring Charity Bentham, a Nobel Prize-winning economist and descendant of that philosophy's founder Jeremy Bentham, is only one of Batchelor's more noticeable side trips.
Other observations, less mundane and more profound, are scattered throughout Batchelor's book:
Individually, names like "Grim Fiddle" might pass for chance, but you will notice, as you read The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica, that most of its characters' names are descriptors—signifiers—rather than mere labels. In aggregate they seem much too much on the nose. As contradictory and wandering as Peregrine Ide may be, though, Grim's own account remains remarkably consistent—and consistently true to his given name.
"Israel," too, is both a person and, one suspects, a placeholder intended to represent an entire population:
And some passages even seem to have become, however accidentally, prophetic of our current predicament:
And yet... and yet. Although it's been thoroughly overwritten by subsequent history, this novel remains a terrifyingly plausible cautionary tale about our treasured, complex, fragile society's messy collapse—not in one big bang, but through many individual whimpers. There is no war—no declared war, anyway—just "a bloody shuffle," a phrase which gets repeated many times.
The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica is, perhaps, a better book than I ever was a reader.
If only it weren't so damned cold all the time...
John Calvin Batchelor's The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica begins in Stockholm, Sweden—not quite as far away from Antarctica as one can get while still remaining on planet Earth, but almost. Published in 1983, this discursive and oblique novel's near future has already been overtaken by actual events—but while Batchelor's protagonist Grim Fiddle and his companions in adversity journey from one pole to the other, eventually making their way to Scandinavia's antipodes, Grim's narrative stays cold, aloof, resolutely remaining in the inhospitable margins of the world, focused on the particular and never looking head-on at its now-alternative history. We are told about catastrophes that are global in scope, but they occur almost entirely offstage; Grim Fiddle, and we through him, only ever become indirectly aware of what went on in more temperate climes.
I had actually tried to get through The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica once before, back in the early 1990s when I acquired my copy from what was then the "Quality Paperback Book Club" (which no longer exists, although its parent organization, the "Book of the Month" club, still seems to be around). I didn't finish, that time—I must've barely even started, in fact, judging from how little I remembered from Batchelor's second novel upon this belated second attempt.
I recently used the pretext of a long and wintry airplane ride to... well, to trick myself into sticking with Batchelor's book all the way to the end, this time. But although I did finish it—this time—I cannot really say that I enjoyed the experience.
What a cold and bitter note upon which to end my reading for 2018!
And yet... there is much to ponder upon in Grim Fiddle's story. He may not be a wise man—he's much too intemperate, too much of a berserker, for wisdom—but he is an intelligent and observant one, and he has lots of time to reflect upon what he's seen, during the long sea voyages that take him from pole to pole.
You'll need to know your Bible. John Calvin Batchelor graduated from Union Theological Seminary in New York, and his writing both exhibits and demands an intimate familiarity with the Judeo-Christian mythos:
"My Son, fear Lord God and grow rich in spirit, but have nothing to do with men of rank! They will bring catastrophe without warning! Who knows what ruin such men may cause?"I especially appreciated this particular version of this verse (Proverbs 24:21, from the rather idiosyncratic New English Bible translation that Batchelor credits). The observation gets repeated later as well, and it is only one of many explicitly Biblical references that appear in The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica.
—p.5
Thomas M. Disch's back-cover blurb comparing this book to Moby-Dick also seems apt—not just in a personal sense (though I have found both Melville's and Batchelor's work to be well-nigh impenetrable, and I do not think I will ever make a third attempt at this novel), but also in the way both authors use long sea voyages as a framework from which to hang numerous other observations and diversions that have little to do with the ostensible plot. An extended disquisition on Utilitarianism, for example (pp. 47-49), featuring Charity Bentham, a Nobel Prize-winning economist and descendant of that philosophy's founder Jeremy Bentham, is only one of Batchelor's more noticeable side trips.
"It is what it is when it is,"On the page where we first encounter this fatalistic observation (which I find odious, however amended, as I'm sure I've mentioned before), Grim Fiddle describes his father Peregrine as "contradictory," proceeding to bolster this by ascribing to him several incompatible traits—one paragraph in particular tells us that "He forgave easily," and then, just a few sentences later, asserts that "he could not forget or get over a treachery."
—Peregrine Ide's "pet epigram," p.21
Other observations, less mundane and more profound, are scattered throughout Batchelor's book:
"Saying no doesn't seem a threat," said Lazarus, "but when everyone says no, it can be a death sentence."Or,
—p.113
In every land, for every people, the oldest wounds opened as easily as the fresh ones.
—p.158
Individually, names like "Grim Fiddle" might pass for chance, but you will notice, as you read The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica, that most of its characters' names are descriptors—signifiers—rather than mere labels. In aggregate they seem much too much on the nose. As contradictory and wandering as Peregrine Ide may be, though, Grim's own account remains remarkably consistent—and consistently true to his given name.
"Israel," too, is both a person and, one suspects, a placeholder intended to represent an entire population:
Israel once told me that he thought tragedy was too easy to be deep wisdom, all one had to do was pull up a chair and moan about betrayal, hatred, slaughter, and get the audience to weep at the meaninglessness of murdered innocence. It was comedy, Israel declared, that was the sublime endeavor; for one to get that same audience to laugh in the face of defeat or at their own fears, that was a worthy challenge. Israel told me, "Make laughter, Grim, and you make reason."The rest of this book, though, belies this advice—or, at least, it consistently avoids the wisdom of comedy for the easier meat of tragedy. Grim stays grim, throughout.
—p.134
And some passages even seem to have become, however accidentally, prophetic of our current predicament:
Yet, yet, the continual yearning for universal suffrage, when combined with the fact that the population of the nation became increasingly nonwhite, led the white masters to conclude they were cursed by their own ancestors' accidental, philosophical genius. They wanted to remain more than equal in a country in which they had become a distinct minority. So the white masters, Israel's ruling class, alienated people from the power to assemble and vote. It's easily done—intimidation of a free press, telling people they are powerless to change their fate, confusing the opposition with the circus of party politics. America became a republic in name only. Actually, it was, is, a despotism, the president elected with less than a majority of those that vote, which number was itself always less than a majority of those eligible to vote. The president spoke for himself and his gang, and then eccentrically. (emphasis added—APS). He didn't have a majority mandate and he knew it, so he acted the sly prince, appeals to the godhead, manifest destiny, dreams, the Red aggressor.Grim's talking about Nixon here, but this could easily—more easily, even—apply to a more recent occupant of the White House.
pp. 222-223
How was it possible? Who was responsible? Show him, them, it to me, and I shall make them account. But there is no one to show me, and there is nothing to be shown. I pound at silence.The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica actually skirts the establishment of the People's Republic almost entirely. Grim's focused on his journey—Batchelor might more properly have called his book "The Gestation of the People's Republic..."
—p.327
And yet... and yet. Although it's been thoroughly overwritten by subsequent history, this novel remains a terrifyingly plausible cautionary tale about our treasured, complex, fragile society's messy collapse—not in one big bang, but through many individual whimpers. There is no war—no declared war, anyway—just "a bloody shuffle," a phrase which gets repeated many times.
The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica is, perhaps, a better book than I ever was a reader.
If only it weren't so damned cold all the time...
March 22, 2020
Worthwhile if only for the first 100 pages. I read this book 30 years ago and it changed my worldview. I think about it often still, a world where Westerners become refugees. Unfortunately it changes tone around page 100 and then it devolves into hundreds of pages of just action: run, fight, run, suffer, run, fight. The end seemed pointless. Both the Norse Vinland sagas and Biblical allusions are wasted.
If you enjoy John Irving, you'll like the unorthodox family of this book's narrator: four dads, one of whom conceived the narrator during a chance encounter with a stranger in the back booth of a bar who then has the baby deposited on his doorstep 9 mos later.
If you enjoy John Irving, you'll like the unorthodox family of this book's narrator: four dads, one of whom conceived the narrator during a chance encounter with a stranger in the back booth of a bar who then has the baby deposited on his doorstep 9 mos later.
November 29, 2020
2½. The first 200 pages of this impressively original novel are a force to be reckoned with -- yet at some imperceptible point it seems the author runs out of steam (and the reader with him). The final 100 pages were my enemy. Yet after reading 300 out of 400 of them, how could I give up? I was far too involved with the fucking thing just to quit it. And while time dragged on as my eyes scanned the seemingly never-ending remainder of the book, I had to wonder what went wrong. To the average reader the hefty dose of both psychology and philosophy will burden what is at heart an adventure story. That never was a problem for me, although I certainly wasn't expecting it. The problem is the interminably Byzantine political maneuverings the author seems to relish creating at every turn, and the fact that 400 pages of this shit is just far too much. It's a nice try, dude, but contain your enthusiasm a bit if you want people to actually reach the end of what you've written. I should take my own advice.
September 10, 2018
Timely story about the refugee crisis looming in the later part of the 20th century and now fully with us in 2018. Batchelor, always perceptive and a good story teller builds a haunting unfolding of those we have created through the collapsing structure of the world and eventual discarding of the victims.
June 15, 2018
A very peculiar novel, mislabeled science fiction. Vehement and obscure, but with some narrative pulse.
August 18, 2018
If Batchelor intended Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica to be satire, then I consider it a work of genius. But I don't think he intended it to be satire. So it is not.
It is instead the ultimate paranoid vision of the '60s counterculture movement. Reading Birth actually had me reconsider what the counterculture movement was all about. I decided, at least for the time being, that it was the expression of a belief that history essentially ended with WWII. For those who would believe such a thing, there was really nothing left to accomplish, no great achievements or moments in time worth tackling. And the last frontier, space, has gotten us lost in a tangle of technological mayhem that looks like a whole population staring at tiny screens typing inane comments to each other and generally wasting time, believing all the while that we finally, finally have everything figured out. As if.
Batchelor's protagonist is actually the antagonist, when all is said and done. Grim Fiddle is a maniac for whom destiny is drawn from the past and his imperfect awareness of the world and religion amount to a clarion beacon as sketchy in its coverage as what exactly he ever did to accomplish any of it, except maybe narrative convenience. The book's publishers were absolutely convinced that Birth was the next great cautionary tale, but if so, it was the perils of having no clue what good writing looks like. This is the intellectual claptrap that helped lay the groundwork for our increasingly shoddy culture today.
Birth was published in 1983. I have no idea how long Batchelor spent writing it, but in 1982 the brief but apparently long in the imagination Falklands War took place, and Birth sort of took its legacy in hand, extrapolating a few stray ideas into a future crisis and how Fiddle came to represent it. Much of the results read as if Batchelor assumed, or assumed the counterculture assumed, that western civilization was on the brink of collapse, so that life would start to look a lot like it did in, say, the 19th century, when Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and Herman Melville were writing. Batchelor seems to have fancied writing something along those lines. He also seems positively obsessed with Norse lore, at one point dedicating a small chunk of the later summary sections to a quasi-mythic interpretation of events, a "dream sequence" that's Fiddle, or Batchelor, finally giving in to his wildest indulgences.
Some readers seem to complain about the comparatively brief later sections of the book. I think that's the very least of Birth's problems. Clearly Fiddle at that point is glossing over events he himself did not experience, just as early on he glosses over the circumstances of his birth and young life. More egregious is Fiddle skipping over his apparent grand destiny and operatic downfall, all in an attempt by Batchelor to explain the cupidity of fate. Or something. Or perhaps Fiddle's deranged state of mind. Or perhaps Batchelor's complete inability to write a coherent narrative without talking on and on in commentary on his own story.
The whole thing is a fascinating mess, worth reading until just about the end. But it is not some secret classic, and it is not intentionally clever, and it has nothing to say about the future, even the grim exile crisis of the present day. I have no idea how much Batchelor understood of the world in 1983, much less 2037. Very little, it would seem. This is a silly capsule of small minds, is all.
It is instead the ultimate paranoid vision of the '60s counterculture movement. Reading Birth actually had me reconsider what the counterculture movement was all about. I decided, at least for the time being, that it was the expression of a belief that history essentially ended with WWII. For those who would believe such a thing, there was really nothing left to accomplish, no great achievements or moments in time worth tackling. And the last frontier, space, has gotten us lost in a tangle of technological mayhem that looks like a whole population staring at tiny screens typing inane comments to each other and generally wasting time, believing all the while that we finally, finally have everything figured out. As if.
Batchelor's protagonist is actually the antagonist, when all is said and done. Grim Fiddle is a maniac for whom destiny is drawn from the past and his imperfect awareness of the world and religion amount to a clarion beacon as sketchy in its coverage as what exactly he ever did to accomplish any of it, except maybe narrative convenience. The book's publishers were absolutely convinced that Birth was the next great cautionary tale, but if so, it was the perils of having no clue what good writing looks like. This is the intellectual claptrap that helped lay the groundwork for our increasingly shoddy culture today.
Birth was published in 1983. I have no idea how long Batchelor spent writing it, but in 1982 the brief but apparently long in the imagination Falklands War took place, and Birth sort of took its legacy in hand, extrapolating a few stray ideas into a future crisis and how Fiddle came to represent it. Much of the results read as if Batchelor assumed, or assumed the counterculture assumed, that western civilization was on the brink of collapse, so that life would start to look a lot like it did in, say, the 19th century, when Charles Dickens, Mark Twain and Herman Melville were writing. Batchelor seems to have fancied writing something along those lines. He also seems positively obsessed with Norse lore, at one point dedicating a small chunk of the later summary sections to a quasi-mythic interpretation of events, a "dream sequence" that's Fiddle, or Batchelor, finally giving in to his wildest indulgences.
Some readers seem to complain about the comparatively brief later sections of the book. I think that's the very least of Birth's problems. Clearly Fiddle at that point is glossing over events he himself did not experience, just as early on he glosses over the circumstances of his birth and young life. More egregious is Fiddle skipping over his apparent grand destiny and operatic downfall, all in an attempt by Batchelor to explain the cupidity of fate. Or something. Or perhaps Fiddle's deranged state of mind. Or perhaps Batchelor's complete inability to write a coherent narrative without talking on and on in commentary on his own story.
The whole thing is a fascinating mess, worth reading until just about the end. But it is not some secret classic, and it is not intentionally clever, and it has nothing to say about the future, even the grim exile crisis of the present day. I have no idea how much Batchelor understood of the world in 1983, much less 2037. Very little, it would seem. This is a silly capsule of small minds, is all.
February 4, 2009
The first half of this book is fantastic. When I read it, I thought, "Holy SH*T this is John Irving doing science fiction!" Unfortunately, the piss poor execution of the second half of the book negates any praise I could give to the first half. I would love to talk to the author and ask him what happened. It's almost as though he got an advance based on the first part, didn't meet the terms of the contract, and the publisher decided to publish his outline for the second half. I don't joke -- the last 100 pages or so are actually summaries of various people, places, and organizations with no plot whatsoever. Or maybe the author realized he was in way over his head; that he had set up something that it was beyond his ability as a writer to deliver. I think that's the bottom line of what I hate about this book, it's all set-up and zero payoff.
August 4, 2014
A truly unique book! The plot is hard to describe, but to paraphrase the NYT review, it reads as a mashup of Icelandic sagas, general Norse mythology, Shackleton's diary, the life of Gaius Baltar, Albert Speer's diary, and the whole genre of Malthusian 70s post-apocalyptic literature.
These are all pet obsessions of mine, so why only three stars? It seems that TBPRA is catching a lot of flack on goodreads for its non-dramatized second half (where things are related in a purely memoir form). That's fair enough; diaries and memoirs aren't for everyone, but I have no problem with a compelling one. I think TBPRA has by far the most in common with Speer's, in that both describe the monstrous lives of monstrous men who, stripped of their power, take a full but chillingly dispassionate responsibility for their actions.
The reason I can't rate this above three stars is that while the writing really sparkles in many sections (generally those with the strongest ties to Nordic myths/sagas), there is one chapter at the beginning and several at the end where it collapses into the depths of Niflheim. The offending chapters are basically didactic and poorly reasoned tirades against utilitarianism. I'm hardly a committed utilitarian myself, so I have no dog in this fight, but sadly these parts of the book read like 2nd-tier Ayn Rand. Cut them out, though, and it's great.
These are all pet obsessions of mine, so why only three stars? It seems that TBPRA is catching a lot of flack on goodreads for its non-dramatized second half (where things are related in a purely memoir form). That's fair enough; diaries and memoirs aren't for everyone, but I have no problem with a compelling one. I think TBPRA has by far the most in common with Speer's, in that both describe the monstrous lives of monstrous men who, stripped of their power, take a full but chillingly dispassionate responsibility for their actions.
The reason I can't rate this above three stars is that while the writing really sparkles in many sections (generally those with the strongest ties to Nordic myths/sagas), there is one chapter at the beginning and several at the end where it collapses into the depths of Niflheim. The offending chapters are basically didactic and poorly reasoned tirades against utilitarianism. I'm hardly a committed utilitarian myself, so I have no dog in this fight, but sadly these parts of the book read like 2nd-tier Ayn Rand. Cut them out, though, and it's great.
December 22, 2009
I knew this fellow while at Union Theological Seminary in New York--well enough that, after we learned of a mutual interest in science fiction, he shared with me the draft of his Ambroseleader, a space opera which, if published, was done so, like all his early work, under a pseudonym. It became our custom to hang out daily between classes at the Paraclete, the UTS cafe under the rotunda at 120th and Broadway.
Now, years later, I find his Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica. His name is unforgetable, unmistakable. I buy it, read it.
Much more ambitious than the early science fiction, Birth is described by the Kirkus reviewer as reminiscent of Melville and other literary greats. I found it more like R.A. Lafferty, another science fiction writer much informed by religious and ethical matters.
Now, years later, I find his Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica. His name is unforgetable, unmistakable. I buy it, read it.
Much more ambitious than the early science fiction, Birth is described by the Kirkus reviewer as reminiscent of Melville and other literary greats. I found it more like R.A. Lafferty, another science fiction writer much informed by religious and ethical matters.
November 10, 2017
No johan oli kirja! Täytyy tunnustaa, että oli pakko aina välillä hyppiä yli pahimpien paasausten, mutta sain kuin sainkin kahlattua kirjan loppuun asti vaikka aika raskaslukuinen tämä oli. Periaatteessa tykkään tämmöisistä vanha maailmanjärjestys tuhoutuu -jutuista, jollaiset olivat 'muotia' tuolloin 80-luvun alussa, mutta tämä oli loppua kohti vähän sekava. Lisäksi rupesi kiinnostamaan, mahtoiko Ruotsissa olla kuinka paljon aikoinaan Vietnamin sodan aikaan amerikkalaisia, jotka olivat lähteneet maasta kutsuntoja karkuun.
Löysin netistä aikalaisarvion, ja voin yhtyä tähän lauseeseen: "Batchelorin romaani on merkillinen sekoitus Skandinavian muinaistarustoa, Raamattua ja valtio-opillista pohdiskelua, malttamattomasti poukkoilevan, vihjeitä ja ennakointeja rakastavan minä-kertojan joskus ensi vuosituhannella paperille vuodattama tunnustus ja itsekritiikki."
Löysin netistä aikalaisarvion, ja voin yhtyä tähän lauseeseen: "Batchelorin romaani on merkillinen sekoitus Skandinavian muinaistarustoa, Raamattua ja valtio-opillista pohdiskelua, malttamattomasti poukkoilevan, vihjeitä ja ennakointeja rakastavan minä-kertojan joskus ensi vuosituhannella paperille vuodattama tunnustus ja itsekritiikki."
August 17, 2009
A book of almost epic feel, though about the life of one man, and a book of grand themes & ideas--political, ideological, & religious--presented in the form of a personal confession. It was also a difficult book. I never figured out what to make of the grand ideas, and I even had trouble understanding the setting for the story. It was set in the near future, a time of exile, when hordes of people are forced by political upheaval & disease to become refugees who are rejected wherever they go & finally end up on islands off the coast of Antarctica.
May 12, 2019
Social science-fiction. A Dystopia that looks disturbingly accurate in its foresight.
The pace of the novel is peculiar: at first, few things happen but the narrative is frantic; on the other side, the last two hundred pages have plenty of events that are barely described, but the pages are filled in with the narrator's (who's also the main character) impressions.
My thoughts in more depth (in Catalan):
https://lobloc.net/2019/06/10/el-naci...
The pace of the novel is peculiar: at first, few things happen but the narrative is frantic; on the other side, the last two hundred pages have plenty of events that are barely described, but the pages are filled in with the narrator's (who's also the main character) impressions.
My thoughts in more depth (in Catalan):
https://lobloc.net/2019/06/10/el-naci...
August 25, 2020
I had to abandon this one when it started to feel like a religious parable. It is discursive, but only some of the discourse is interesting. A little Nixonian exegesis goes a long way.
In the end, the book is interesting, but I lost interest. Too long and deliberate for me, perhaps, or maybe just a tone issue.
Batchelor anticipates Europe's confrontation with immigrants from the Levant and Africa decades before the fact, but I felt in the event of the mysterious global collapse that it was the "good" of "European" order that was being eulogized, and I have a real problem with that. I suspect the author is simply a part of our culture that I have difficulty relating to.
He clearly is more erudite and intelligent than I am.
Something which occurs to me about this book is the ambitions of the author. Did he believe millions of people would read this long, scholarly John Irving type novel? I mean, I am not smart, but I would guess the audience for this book is 10000 tops. Most of those people are going to be at least as smart as the author. Wouldn't it make more sense for him to show not tell all this brain food material? I'm sure all those smart people who are the audience for this book have the capacity for inference. All the bloviating Batchelor does seems insulting in that light. You don't need to lecture Ivy League, MBA, and J school graduates and law professors or country club DAR members on deontological ethics and free market economics, surely. Well, no one else is reading this over-fed novel. The art of fiction is folding all that into the story to make a yummy brain burrito.
YMMV. It may be worth a try for you. It isn't as wretched as I make it seem, and he does have a few enlightened points to make about sexuality and love, which is refreshing in context, and was unexpected.
In the end, the book is interesting, but I lost interest. Too long and deliberate for me, perhaps, or maybe just a tone issue.
Batchelor anticipates Europe's confrontation with immigrants from the Levant and Africa decades before the fact, but I felt in the event of the mysterious global collapse that it was the "good" of "European" order that was being eulogized, and I have a real problem with that. I suspect the author is simply a part of our culture that I have difficulty relating to.
He clearly is more erudite and intelligent than I am.
Something which occurs to me about this book is the ambitions of the author. Did he believe millions of people would read this long, scholarly John Irving type novel? I mean, I am not smart, but I would guess the audience for this book is 10000 tops. Most of those people are going to be at least as smart as the author. Wouldn't it make more sense for him to show not tell all this brain food material? I'm sure all those smart people who are the audience for this book have the capacity for inference. All the bloviating Batchelor does seems insulting in that light. You don't need to lecture Ivy League, MBA, and J school graduates and law professors or country club DAR members on deontological ethics and free market economics, surely. Well, no one else is reading this over-fed novel. The art of fiction is folding all that into the story to make a yummy brain burrito.
YMMV. It may be worth a try for you. It isn't as wretched as I make it seem, and he does have a few enlightened points to make about sexuality and love, which is refreshing in context, and was unexpected.
February 17, 2026
This book combines Norse mythology, epic sea adventure, and future global politics into a strange but compelling read. The main part of it is set in a world where governments decide to only serve their elites' best interests and dispel those not native to their country, thereby creating a huge population of permanent refugees. Many take to the seas to find a new home, only to be turned away everywhere they go. Eventually many groups make their way to Antarctica, fighting each other along the way.
Full of wild characters and frenzied battles, the book is impressive in its image of a world returning to the Dark Ages over the course of one man's life. It's hampered by being dense and preachy too.
Full of wild characters and frenzied battles, the book is impressive in its image of a world returning to the Dark Ages over the course of one man's life. It's hampered by being dense and preachy too.
June 6, 2023
Not so much finished as I can't make myself keep reading it. There are lots of characters and the author didn't give me a reason to care about any of them. There are so many words and so little happens and again, there is so little reason to care. It seems that all his good creativity went into the title.
May 18, 2026
So, I read this once before, like mid to late nineties. I don’t remember loving it then, but it was referenced in an introduction to a book I read recently (and loved) so I thought I’d give it another go.
There are some memorable scenes and a great title, but mostly it’s a plodding inscrutable rant.
There are some memorable scenes and a great title, but mostly it’s a plodding inscrutable rant.
March 25, 2010
OK, this is really a 1.5-star book. (Interesting typo: 1.5-tsar book) This is one that I remembered selling when I worked in a used-book warehouse. Awesome job; frequently, i would handle books I'd never heard of that had interesting titles or covers, and I made a list. I still have that list, and sometimes I work on it. Sadly, this one was a disappointment.
It started with promise, but it was so very, very bleak, and the characters seemed inexorably drawn to bad decisions that forced them toward more bad decisions, and yet, I read on, because I really wanted to know what happened. And then, the main character got separated from his dogs.
The best part of this book, so far as I read it, was the dogs. The idea of a pair of sled-type puppies, gifted to a boy by a Jewish exile in...where was it, Sweden?, that he named Iceberg and Goldberg, based on their coloring! So witty, so entertaining, and they were good dogs. I couldn't bear anything bad happening to those dogs, so I stopped reading. I suppose I should go back and finish it, now that I am no longer so emotionally attached to the dogs, but I'm not sure I ever will. Maybe I will need to change the stars.
It started with promise, but it was so very, very bleak, and the characters seemed inexorably drawn to bad decisions that forced them toward more bad decisions, and yet, I read on, because I really wanted to know what happened. And then, the main character got separated from his dogs.
The best part of this book, so far as I read it, was the dogs. The idea of a pair of sled-type puppies, gifted to a boy by a Jewish exile in...where was it, Sweden?, that he named Iceberg and Goldberg, based on their coloring! So witty, so entertaining, and they were good dogs. I couldn't bear anything bad happening to those dogs, so I stopped reading. I suppose I should go back and finish it, now that I am no longer so emotionally attached to the dogs, but I'm not sure I ever will. Maybe I will need to change the stars.
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December 23, 2016John Calvin Bachelor's 1983 Science Fiction novel The Birth of the People's Republic of Antarctica is a strange mishmash of old Norse and English sagas, largely focusing on Beowulf and stories of Thor and Odin, with a world on the brink of destruction and the promise of a new society.
The novel follows Grim Fiddle, a Swede destined to become the ruler of a nation at the southernmost pole of the planet and follows him from conception through to old age. Much of the novel takes place at sea, and Bachelor does an interesting thing for science fiction, in that he sets the majority of the novel away from society or in smaller locales where the inhabitants live in a traditional manner, deftly sidestepping both descriptions of futuristic cities, the causes of the the destruction of global civilization and any chance to see our narrator's world through any lens but his own.
The narrative works quite well as saga, following Grim's journey across the years and the globe, moving ever southward and painting a darker and darker picture of the societies he leaves behind, but with little description of the titular republic until the final fifty pages.
An intriguing read.
The novel follows Grim Fiddle, a Swede destined to become the ruler of a nation at the southernmost pole of the planet and follows him from conception through to old age. Much of the novel takes place at sea, and Bachelor does an interesting thing for science fiction, in that he sets the majority of the novel away from society or in smaller locales where the inhabitants live in a traditional manner, deftly sidestepping both descriptions of futuristic cities, the causes of the the destruction of global civilization and any chance to see our narrator's world through any lens but his own.
The narrative works quite well as saga, following Grim's journey across the years and the globe, moving ever southward and painting a darker and darker picture of the societies he leaves behind, but with little description of the titular republic until the final fifty pages.
An intriguing read.
May 30, 2010
An alternate-modern-history-apocalyptic-pilgrim's progress laced with wit, dark humor, philosophical and political commentary, complex characters, Norse mythology, violence, and Christian morality.
A friend recommended this book to me years ago, and I finally got around to reading it in May/June of 2010. It's a very difficult book to sum up. I did enjoy it, more so in the beginning than at the end. It is very ambitious, but also very uneven. I can't help but think the story would have been much better if told from the perspective of one of the major supporting characters, Lazarus. I think I would have enjoyed the book a lot more if I'd read it in college.
Read it if you're in the mood for something really different.
A friend recommended this book to me years ago, and I finally got around to reading it in May/June of 2010. It's a very difficult book to sum up. I did enjoy it, more so in the beginning than at the end. It is very ambitious, but also very uneven. I can't help but think the story would have been much better if told from the perspective of one of the major supporting characters, Lazarus. I think I would have enjoyed the book a lot more if I'd read it in college.
Read it if you're in the mood for something really different.
March 13, 2013
This book is terrible but it's about Antarctica so I had to give it a try. The premise sounds promising-- a group of political rebels retreats from a dystopia in crisis in order to homestead Antarctica. Unfortunately, the author's own obsessions with convoluted theology and bizarre character back-stories lead him so far astray that a clear plot never emerges. If you'd like to read an excellent book that starts off from a similar point, proceed directly to Kim Stanley Robinson's fabulous sci-fi novel named simply "Antarctica."
July 24, 2010
There aren't many heroes who are called Grim Fiddle, and there are even fewer who deserve to be. The best chapters are the early ones, detailing Grim's birth and childhood amid the collapse of modern civilisation, with much reference to Norse myth and the dour fanatical Lutheranism of his grandfather, after Grim himself the best character in the book. The rest is a fairly straightforward adventure saga of self-preservation, revenge and hubris, never less than entertaining.
January 19, 2009
I read this along time ago and haven't been able to come up with the name in the meantime. I really enjoyed the book.
It had the flavor of Icelandic sagas; an immense journey, flawed heros, the struggle of individualism and civilization.
I read it shortly after reading Smilla's Sense of Snow and the books had a great pairing of tone.
It had the flavor of Icelandic sagas; an immense journey, flawed heros, the struggle of individualism and civilization.
I read it shortly after reading Smilla's Sense of Snow and the books had a great pairing of tone.
June 3, 2008
I liked this book (i love reading stories of survival in cold and unforgiving places for some reason~perhaps it was my Alaskan childhood~which i loved, by the by) but it took me forever to get through, and i seemed to be trudging through a long book~still worth a look...
September 23, 2010
I had to stop reading this. It just got to a point that the long winded sections that meandered through dozens of topics were just too much. I kept wanting to read more, but grew more frustrated with each attempt.
March 28, 2010
A strange tale,
November 22, 2011
A plodding parroting of low-grade Vonnegut and lower-grade Barth. Never have I been so let down by the promise of a back-of-the-book plot summary.
May 25, 2012
I liked the True Story of the Russian Moon Landing much better. That one was fun and entertaining. This one was just gloomy and depressing.
January 9, 2013
pshew... it is finished.
January 15, 2015
loved the narrative that started the book struggled mightily with the reflections that comprised the bulk of it. just not my thing.
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