A novel of ideas in the truest sense, though given the way the term is usually applied, maybe clearer to call this a novel of ideaspace. Why is humanity so prone to getting stuck on the same terrible ideas over and over again? Might it represent a particular vulnerability once we finally encounter a wider world? Because yes, it's a first contact story too, though equally atypical as one of those. And obviously, being by Rian Hughes, it's told in design as much as anything, an ongoing challenge to anyone who still trots out lazy saws about style and substance. Having read Hughes' second novel, The Black Locomotive*, first, I was a little disappointed when the narrative switched to a different POV character while keeping the same typeface, but don't worry, Hughes has plenty of tricks up his sleeve, in that and many other departments. I want to give examples, but really, they're all spoilers, and even by spoiler standards, ones that don't work half so well described as experienced (on which note, a warning - it's much easier here than with most prose to spoil yourself simply by flicking ahead to see how much of a chapter is left). It's an art object as much as a novel, and crucially, it works as both. I used to have a lecturer, John Lennard, who talked about the importance not just of a book's alphanumeric code, the raw string of characters that makes it up, but of the lexical code, everything else from the cover onwards. I really hope Hughes is on his radar.
Obviously, it's not perfect; is any thousand-page novel? Both of my favourite short stories are four pages long, and even leaving verse aside, I sometimes wonder if going longer than that is always a gamble of sacrificing immaculacy for immersiveness and hoping the exchange was worth it. The locations are here in detail but I don't think the year was ever specified; still, cross-referencing the population of Earth, the apps mentioned in passing, and the venues open around the protagonists' Hoxton start-up, I concluded it had to be c2010, and between the sheer heft, the painstaking detail of the approach, and Hughes' day job, no wonder if it took a while. Except then we get a mention of the James Webb Telescope, not yet operational when this was first released, so I just had to throw my hands up and conclude that even before the events described here this was an alternate timeline, one where a secret-ish base on the dark side of the Moon somehow ties in to the same branch point as overpopulation being less desperately runaway and also 333 remaining open. But anyway, though much of it feels incredibly prescient (even in the four years since it came out) about everything from contagion fears to AI to culture wars, repeatedly coming back to the statement that the way to kill a bad idea is with a better one feels increasingly over-optimistic, not to mention at odds with much of the book's own story. On top of which, I'm not convinced the sections done in tweets felt convincingly Twitteresque, and there's a stretch around page 800 where I worried that it was going to sag into a technothriller.
But these wobbles are the exception; mostly the scale of it is justified by the sheer quantity of stuff here, everything from the uncountable histories of other worlds to the simple notion that pressing 'Return' is an anticlimactic way to kick things off, and so one should be able to buy big red USB joysticks simply to add the necessary semiotic weight to major projects. More than just the heft of the bastard reminded me of Neal Stephenson, at the same time as the sheer cosmic scope suggested an heir to Olaf Stapledon. All in all, a remarkable book, if not a terribly portable one.
*Lightly trailed a couple of times here, but I don't see how it could be the same world; maybe they're alternate apocalypses for the same baseline setting, which feels very apt for a 2020s novelist.