WTF did I just read? And what in the name of all that's literary did the reviews read? Because as far as I can tell, none of the reviews actually read this book, or, if they did, they read a completely different book, one with a coherent and interesting plotline, and not this hot mess of an attempt at Dystopia.
Here's the thing - and I've made the same case repeatedly with several other works - about dystopian fiction; stop using dystopian fiction as your one-pass ticket into genre, mainstream authors. Just. Please. Stop. You don't like us, sci-fi nerds, you disdain our genre and the incredible amounts of work done in it, you want to be literary, and, as a result, you write godawful, ridiculous, unreadable sci-fi, which somehow gets praised as amazing by the entirety of the media world.
Which, again, I am not sure has even read the book at all. Let me give you an example: half the reviews I've seen talk about the 'defiant protagonist' of the future dystopia. Well, she's not. She's a clueless impulsive idiot who can memorize but not deduce, ask questions out of naivete but not, apparently, actual intelligence. She becomes class valedictorian because she literally "forgets" to keep her grades down, and then writes an anti-dystopian valedictorian address because she fails to pay attention to all the warning signs everybody else is desperately trying to telegraph at her. And that's the point! That's literally the point of the book's premise! If you somehow managed to construe defiance out of this hunted rabbit little girl, you were obviously reading 1984 and using the dust jacket of this book for a cover by accident.
The worldbuilding for the book begins in a somewhat trivial, but at least relevant, kind of totalitarian Handmaid's Tale-esque Reconstructed New American Stated, or NAS, because everything needs an acronym, which meanders confusedly between plutocracy, technocracy, and Christian dictatorship without any overt religious symbolism. Okay. Inconsistent, banal and done to death, plus so many acronyms you could scream, but interesting and fun in a quick read kind of way. Then everything disintegrates into little slivers of sobbing sci-fi when the protagonist (narrator? empty slate? whatever) is punished for her crimes by being sent into the past, to 1959.
But, like, why?
Why do they use time travel as a method of punishment? How is life in the past supposed to reeducate or indoctrinate the EI (Exiled Individual, FYI). We see zero evidence of reeducation aside from one single possibly-implanted, possibly-hallucinated fake memory. How does such an obviously resource-heavy and risky method even work? Why aren't the horrible mean plutocrats just tossing the Exiles into a prison camp in Afghanistan? There are hints that some of the exiled persons return, rehabilitated, but we see no follow-up on this potentially really interesting plotline, either to confirm or deny it. The only reason I can think of to use that specific plot device is that Oates wants to move away as fast as she possible can from the uncomfortable sci-fi territory and into the "realistic" setting of the late fifties' humdrum university campus. And that is a horrible, horrible reason to structure plot.
The rest of the book is spent in sheep-like bewilderment in 1959. Oates tries to tackle themes of forgetting and Free Will, but does so rather badly. She meanders between hatred for anti-scientific attitudes, distdain for Creationists and the religious environment - to the point where the people speaking sound like parodies, not like any religious people I've met - and relativism that wants science to die and never bother her again. She's trying really hard to eat the cake, and then have it too. Her meditations about the problems of Skinnerian behaviorism, and the validity of the inner world - with a wink and a nudge to the Cognitive Revolution - disregard the fact that no Cognitive Scientist would ever speak of a 'soul'or delineate a definitive free will and emotional state that is independent of the brain, or free from materialism. Cognitive psychology is a positivist science, you know.
Her attempt at philosophical discourse and portrayal of intellectual independence find outlets in the weirdest way possible; for instance, the protagonist chooses to impress her Heathcliff-like love interest with a discoursive essay about the effect of SAkinner on 20th century psychology, by writing a skeptical essay in the voice of a rat in a maze. The guy gives her a C - as punishment, Oates says, for daring to be different, but, frankly, if I were her professor, I'd give her a D, for obnoxiousness. Wonderful essay, write it in your next creative writing workshop; while you're in the psychology class, please answer the damn questions on the subject of psychology.
Oates' approach to the past and the future is characterized by this maudlin condescension that picks and chooses the things she wants to be an intellectual snob about. Positivist science? Out. Paper books? Very much in. The protagonist talks at length about the difference between these weird "paper" books that don't turn off as soon as power is out (because apparently the NAS banned the concept of a "battery"), and talks of how one can become emotionally attached to the paper versions. Well, you know what? I can get attached to the e-book versions, too, because I get emotionally attached to the content of a book, and not to the paper fibers it's made out of. Take that, author.
I didn't even get into the creepy, repetitive, massively problematic love story aspect of this book. I didn't even get into the what the hell ending of it. I do want to get into the actual writing, which people might call "stripped down" or evocative, but which, for me, evoked zero things, and managed to reiterate the same idea time after time in an almost childish language.
My biggest pet peeve of the book, though? The quotation marks. Holy hell, the quotation marks. Everything is inserted into these annoying, unnecessary quotation marks. The protagonist is referred to as "Mary Ellen" even by people who have no reason to think she is called anything else, terms such as "nuclear holocaust" are inserted in quotes even which people are yelling about them, even the most ordinary things are for some reason in quotes. The protagonist says, for example, (paraphrased) I am in the past now, what did my "Grade Point Average" matter? Come on! It's called a Grade Point Average! That's its name! Could you disdain it without quotations?
For example there's this gem:
... Wolfman laughed. “You’re a sensible girl, ‘Mary Ellen.’ Of course, you’re right. Our parents would not have been born, consequently we wouldn’t have been born, in the ‘future,’ if there’d been a ‘holocaust’ in this past. So yes, you are absolutely correct.”
Or this:
...To punish ‘free thinkers’ for subversion they sentence us to ‘the Good Place’—Wainscotia. One of those idyllic American campuses in the Heartland where no research or creative work comes to anything. No matter how much effort is poured into it, how much ‘talent’ and ‘perseverance.’ Perfectly intelligent scientists originally from decent East Coast universities here take disastrous turns, wind up in dead-ends—and won’t realize it until they’re embalmed and can’t leave. No one is ‘original’ here—no one is ‘significant.’ A promising young astrophysicist from Cal Tech gave up his Ph.D. project in ‘string theory’ to pursue ‘extra-terrestrial life’—that’s it for him, until he retires.
Even here, where the terms are obviously meant to be sarcastic, there's just such an overabundance of them that they lose the sarcasm effect, and just become irritation, and the whole "book" is "like this", filled with "qutes" and sometimes, even " 'quotes' within quotes". Honestly, I barely managed to read the ending through the endless quotes.
I am all for dystopias, but when an author comes in with, essentially, no understanding of sci-fi as a broad genre and the things it did, and how to structure a proper story with elements of speculative nature in it, we just get this; boring, repetitive, absurdly haughty and just plain bad.