Oryx & Crake
Margaret Atwood
McCelelland & Stewart Ltd.
374 pp.

Margaret Atwood’s latest novel, Oryx & Crake, is a dystopian story of how bioengineering brings about the eventual downfall of society. Yes, it’s been done, but not lately, and not in such a way that the society of today can relate so well. I don’t think that’s a good thing (for society, not the book).

So what do we know about this particular dystopia: Well, the ice caps have melted, for one, and the coastal cities around the world are underwater (no sign of Kevin Costner, though, thank Christ). Society’s elite live in Compounds, protected by the privatized security group CorpSeCorps, while the middle- and lower-class occupy the "pleeblands" (i.e. crime-infested cities and urban sprawls). Although it’s never expressed explicitly, corporations seem to have taken over the reins previously held by the government. Bioengineering is the name of the game, and everyone is playing.

O&C is the story of Snowman – Snowman being the name adopted by the protagonist, Jimmy, after the final deluge that puts him where we find him at the beginning of the book: sitting in a tree wearing only a dirty bedsheet and watch that doesn’t work.

Jimmy grew up in a Compound; his mother and father worked for OrganInc Farms, a company that specializes in the creation of enhanced and cross-species animals. Pigoons, for example, are bioengineered pigs that are capable of growing various organs inside their bodies that can be harvested for human use. Other bio-animals have similarly clever names, such as wolvogs, snats, and rakunks.

I won’t go too deeply into the plot, because the book is worth the read, and in this case especially the fun lies in the gradual unfolding of the story – both Snowman’s present-day return to the Paradice dome, and Jimmy’s past as he grows up in various Compounds, meets Crake, and so on.

Oryx is the proverbial monkeywrench thrown into the works of both Jimmy and Crake’s personal and working lives. To a lesser degree, O&C is about a lover’s triangle: Crake loves his work, Jimmy loves Oryx, and Oryx loves … well, everything. But it’s kept strictly on the backburner, and the role it plays in the overall story is quite thankfully a small one.

Oryx, who Jimmy and Crake first view on a kiddie-porn website, is very much a glass-half-full kind of woman – almost annoyingly so, according to Jimmy. Despite her deplorable childhood, Oryx brims with gooey goodness about how she really didn’t mind her upbringing. Prone to thoughtful (?) bits of wisdom like "All sex is real" and eating with her hands (because she doesn’t like the taste of metal cutlery in her mouth), Oryx is definitely the character ardent Atwood fans will find themselves relating to.

The end of the book is abrupt. There are answers, yes. More than you’d get in some dystopian fiction, not as much as you’d get in others. The fates of Snowman, Oryx, and Crake are open to some conjecture, which I suppose is what Atwood planned, but I didn’t find the openendedness as annoying as I’ve found it in other books where it seemed the author just didn’t know what else to say. The book ends where it has to end.

Like A Handmaid’s Tale, O&C comes prepackaged with Atwood’s now-ubiquitous forewarning about her work being labeled "science fiction" (according to her it’s not, because it doesn’t contain "intergalactic space travel, no teleportation, no Martians"). But don’t let that dissuade you. I’m not sure if Atwood is trying to segregate her readership or if she’s terrified of her book ended up in the wrong section at Indigo, but it doesn’t change the fact that Oryx & Crake is an entertainment read. The imagery is vivid and effective; the characters are well-drawn; and there’s pl

enty of blatant metaphoric imagery to keep English students happy until the time when all the stuff in the book actually starts coming true.

Ian

Finally got around to reading my first W. Somerset Maugham novel. I own The Moon and Six Pence and Of Human Bondage, and decided to start with the latter, since I’ve heard so much about it. And now, having finished it, I can say that it’s one of my favorite novels of all time. One of the so-called "literary classics" that proves to be both thought-provoking and a good, entertaining read.

I was particularly amused by the idea put forth by the protagonist, Philip, who at one point in the novel studies art with the hope of being a successful painter. After attending classes for two years, Philip, getting low on funds, approaches one of the artists-in-residence and asks flat out if there is any point in continuing his work, if he has what it takes to be a professional artist. The instructor, Foinet, responds:

"There is nothing so degrading as the constant anxiety about one’s means of livelihood. I have nothing but contempt for the people who despise money. They are hypocrites or fools. Money is like a sixth sense without which you cannot make a complete use of the other five. Without an adequate income half the possibilities of life are shut off. The only thing to be careful about is that you do not pay more than a shilling for the shilling you earn. You will hear people say that poverty is the best spur to the artist. They have never felt the iron of it in their flesh. They do not know how mean it makes you. It exposes you to endless humiliation, it cuts your wings, it eats into your soul like a cancer. It is not wealth one asks for, but just enough to preserve one’s dignity, to work unhampered, to be generous, frank, and independent. I pity with all my heart the artist, whether he writes or paints, who is entirely dependent for subsistence upon his art."

Philip takes his advice and applies himself instead to a career in medicine. His new attitude toward the creative arts and those who pursue them is thus described:

It seemed to Philip, brooding over these matters, that in the true painters, writers, musicians, there was a power which drove them to such complete absorption in their work as to make it inevitable for them to subordinate life to art. Succumbing to an influence they never realized, they were merely dupes of the instinct that possess them, and life slipped through their fingers unlived.

After finishing the book, I wondered if Maugham shared his protagonist’s views (only because Maugham himself describes the book as an "autobiographical novel"). The suggestion that for artists trying to succeed at their respective crafts (i.e. make a living), believing in one’s self is not enough. That even poor writers, bad actors, and musicians who couldn’t carry a tune to save their lives may believe in themselves and work hard but will ultimately fail because they simply don’t possess the talent to succeed.

I found a Maugham quote that may shed some light on his views re: story vs. theme, entertainment vs. literary worth:

"I have never pretended to be anything but a story teller. It has amused me to tell stories and I have told a great many. It is a misfortune for me that the telling of a story just for the sake of the story is not an activity that is in favor with the intelligentsia. I endeavor to bear my misfortunes with fortitude." (from Creatures of Circumstance, 1947)

On a side note, I noticed that at two points in the novel, a female character is referred to as an "ill-tempered slut." I’m not sure if this has any higher, lit’ry meaning (that certain writers/artists/musicians are societal sluts, perhaps…), but I thought it might be noteworthy. At the very least, I’m sure Maugham took some heat for it back in 1915 when the book was first published.

And finally, I was emailed a like to another

article in the debacle post–National Book Awards. It’s called The Populist Manifesto. Enjoy.

Ian