Adam Roberts is an author I love to hate. His writing ticks all my boxes for subject matter and inventiveness, but there's always something, maybe aesthetic, maybe some technical detail, a character, a plot element, that just turns into the proverbial grain of sand in my shoe. And, by the end, it always feels boulder-sized.
New Model Army is, ostensibly, about 'New Model Armies', enabled with the internet and connectivity to exist in a kind of democratic band, an Athenian style city-state on the run with guns, if you will. What it's really about, it seems, is politics, what constitutes a state, humanity, that sort of thing.
If I sound dismissive, it's because I feel like the book itself was dismissive. The ending (Which is what I'm hitting the spoiler tag for) is on the surface a complete and utter disconnect with the story so far, resolving nothing with a kind of muddily presented transcendent AI dialogue I've seen done before elsewhere, and done better elsewhere. It drives me nuts. Artificial intelligence is not going to produce some kind of poetic ur-earth-spirit-demigod which shall engage with us in lofty philosophy and love in a blizzard of transcendence. (Neuromancer's William Gibson is, infamously, said to have avoided technology as much as he could for many years. Appropriate, given the trope of AI-as-spirit he popularized with Wintermute.)
We started the story out, and coursed through its middle, with a soldier seemingly struggling to deal with what he's done and what he's seen, struggling to come to terms with it all.
I feel like there is no obvious thread to draw us from one to the other. Even if we believe the narrator's early claims that this is a story about 'Pantegral', the networked New Model Army that eventually becomes the aforementioned fairy-spirit-AI (this trope drives me insane), it isn't. It's about Tony Block, who constantly seems to have lost the men he loved, who's haunted by the image of a child killed by a key launched into the child's skull in the midst of an explosion, who was part of something bigger than he was -- his New Model Army, Pantegral -- and is seemingly lost from it because of wounds later on.
That's the story, but the ending comes across as wish-fulfilment polemic, that somehow this greater, more integrated form of democracy will slowly evolve across the spheres of civilization -- beginning with the first civic pursuit of war and, perhaps, progressing onwards. Where's Tony in all this? Somehow and somewhat mysteriously subsumed into the fairy-spirit-AI, without really having come to the decision to give up his selfhood in front of our eyes because all this has been held back as long as possible for a near last-minute reveal.
And yet this is a skilled, accomplished book. It is smart, it is slick, there are grammatical errors and typos which might actually have been intentional but it's hard to tell because Adam Roberts likes playing around with language and grammar because he's a dick. (Actually because it's one of his life passions or something I think, but whenever anything I'm reading starts jarring me out of involvement with the story and leaves me staring numbly at a page because the language has shifted beyond all recognition, whoever did that is a dick.)
There are high moments, there are low moments, there are some remarkably beautiful meditations on the nature of what it is to be human, to be male, to be aggressive, of what we value and love and why.
There's something that looks like a fundamental misunderstanding of modern infantry tactics that left me feeling like the opposing armies were the armies of the first half of the twentieth century, and the NMAs were fighting using what were essentially the small arms tactics of the 1980s facilitated by the kinds of radio networks I use every other weekend on Teamspeak and similar VOIP systems for online gaming.
This is a good book. I respect it, and I think it's skilfully done.
But it is so very, very full of sand, and the soles of my feet were worn down to bloody rags by the end of it.