I have just finished two novels, reading both at almost the same time. This is because one of them was left behind on my last trip back and forth between houses. And I was in the mood for a novel, trying to ease into the summer holiday. There on the bookshelf in the living room of house two were a couple of books lying on their sides, which is my little reminder to myself - the books' way of saying " I am unread." Waiting for when I have time. (One definition of luxury, for me, is having books waiting for me to read. This is such a pleasure, knowing I have books waiting, because, for so long, I could not afford such a thing. I devoured books faster than I could buy them.)
I digress. I have now finished
The Chemistry of Tears, and also
A Scientific Romance. Both are well-written, and both deal with the themes of suffering for love, and being alone in an alien environment on a quest, and how machines play a central role in this quest.
Peter Carey's heroine has lost her love, and in trying to come to terms with his unexpected death, she reads the journals of a man from the past, who has gone on a journey to find someone to build him a wondrous mechanical duck, which he hopes will miraculously cure his young son. The duck he desires is, however, is transformed into a swan, a marvellously intricate mechanical creature, which has been found in pieces in our modern age, and which is to be restored by the museum our protagonist works for. She steals the journals, which have been discovered along with the swan, and reads them, and slowly her heart is mended as the swan comes "alive" again as part of a museum exhibit.
Ronald Wright's protagonist is a man who is given the gift of a time machine on the eve of the millenium. He has lost the love of his life, a woman with whom he betrayed his best friend - a love triangle, which ended badly, and he wants to make amends. He travels five hundred years into the future, to find his world destroyed, replaced by one where nature has regained control, and all machines have long fallen into disuse, although occasionally used as primitive artwork by the survivors, most who go by the surname of Macbeth, and all of whom are all black. Lambert is a lonely man, whether in his own time, or when he searches for human existence in the future. In the end, he manages to get back to his machine, and, makes an attempt to return to a time where he can relive the best time of his life, and also stop the love triangle from happening.
Wright's novel was written some time ago, while Carey's is more recent. Of the two, I was more impressed with Wright's, as it was a novel with "meat" in it. It was richly detailed and sometimes strangely humorous, though darkly melancholy, and even though the ending is left, well, in the air, so to speak, with Lambert unsure of whether he will succeed or die in his attempt, the part of the story that has been told is sufficient. With Carey's book, I found the protagonist to be a little too cold, too analytical, too admiring of the body and youth of her young assistant, who appears to be a little crazy, although we cannot tell why. It is as though Carey inserted himself into the character, but remained too masculine. Nevertheless, both novels were very good reads, revealing how what we are as human beings and animals means we can never be replicated by machines.
I can't help but think of the term steampunk. Both of these novels use Victorian settings in their stories - the creator and creation of the time machine, and the creation of the mechanical swan.
This drawing is quite simplistic compared to the one described in the novel.
(photography by Rebeca Saray)
Maybe this is what Tania expected.
(
Imagine writing a blog on a computer as ornate as this one. Hmmm...
Remember the fairy tale about the nightingale? And the moral was that the pretty tinkly mechanical bird could not possibly compare to the real bird, drab in colour but with the most beautiful voice. Don't be tricked, the message seemed to be. Let nature alone, and beauty would always exist. Machines can only be poor imitations.
(illlustration by Jiri Trnka)
Driving through the mountains on a rainy day feels much different than on a sunny one. The mountains seem more solid, somehow, each leaning in with its stony wet face, inviting you to lay your cheek against it. Lush green plants gently wave their aromatic leaves, enticing you into this mountainside world. A mountain bathed in mists is beautiful.
