The best dystopian fiction exploits our anxieties, worry and guilt - about the future and the past. It makes us think about what could have been, and, if handled at the right pitch, fictionalises prophecies of what could be. Dystopians grab your worries and drag you in, and dump you afterwards leaving you wondering what is to become of our society.
Asylum does exactly that.
'Outside my window the world has died.'
These are the opening words of Barry, an inpatient at a quarantine facility. He's got pulmonary nodulosis - a infectious and highly dangerous condition, that means he needs to be separated off from the otherwise healthy population for their safety, and his treatment. He's given up. He's resigned himself to the fact he is locked up, with only fellow patients and healthcare staff around him. When they talk to each other at dinner, it's like listening into a chat among prison cell-mates. Outside the landscape is barren, and Barry has trained himself to forget that there are trees, buildings, humans, jobs out there any more. This is his reality now.
Barry falls from height, badly injuring himself. There is speculation as to whether this was an accident, or a purposeful attempt at his own life. As a result, he is assigned a therapist, Ms Van Vuuren. Their partnership forms the backbone of the rest of the story.
Barry's journals have been discovered in a museum several years into the future, a collective narrative of confusing mixes of memory and dream,physical and mental science. Someone has tried to analyse and make some sense from the books, of Barry's life, his ideas, and his assisting other patients in their hope for freedom.
Barry's mind exists in two worlds - the reality of the quarantine facility, and the dreamscape of his mind. My first thought when reading the book was that the language Marcus uses is beautiful, poet and gut-wrenchingly sad at some points. Barry has nothing. He doesn't have his freedom, or his health. But he has his dreams.
His dreams are filled with people who speak in different languages, of dancing in masks. They are poetic, musical dreams. There is also repeated mention of a white pill; the antidote, the one the promises hope.
What happens throughout the story, I won't tell you any further. You need to read this book yourself to understand the fragile relationship between health and illness, life and death, dreams and reality. But Marcus' narration of Barry is wonderful. There is one section close to the end that has me saying 'you b**tards', and made me remember that humans can be rather cruel, especially in life/death situations. And the ending will leave you in bits.
This isn't an easy read - dystopians, particularly scientific/ psychological ones like this never are. But you will fly through it, you will question everything, and you will attach yourself to Barry like a limpet to find out what is going on in this split world.
A beautiful read that deserves all the praise it has received.