The Jack Vance Reader | ||||||||
edited by Terry Dowling and Jonathan Strahan | ||||||||
Subterranean Press, 482 pages | ||||||||
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A review by Dustin Kenall
But the tales collected herein -- Emphyrio, The Languages of Pao, and The Domains of Koryphon -- are
not so accessible. Involute, slow, at times laboriously factitious, they are interesting explorations of "ideas
in action," but paper-thin characters, stilted dialogue, and flat plots deprive the stories of much emotional
resonance. They are not failures, but neither are they classics destined to be read and re-read in another 50
years. Accordingly, while the studied aficionado can appreciate them, the general reader may not even finish
the anthology. More disturbing, she may not bother returning to any of Vance's worlds.
Emphyrio, the first selection, is a study in the power of myth and individualism in a dystopian
society. One part "Harrison Bergeron," one part Anthem, the story traces the life of Ghyl Tarvoke, the son of a
woodworker living in a feudalistic society where stasis is considered progress, conformity excellence. That
society is divided into three classes: an aristocracy of rentiers who live in eyries above the city, their only
interaction with commoners is the tax they take for public infrastructure built centuries ago; a mass of
semi-professionals and artisans working within a highly regulated guild system and receiving fixed municipal
welfare allowances; and "noncuperatives: non-recipients of welfare benefits, reputedly all Chaoticists,
anarchists, thieves, swindlers, whore-mongers." As he should in such a story, Ghyl chafes at this procrustean
culture. He discovers the legend of Emphyrio, a mythical hero with liberational tendencies. In a fit of
capricious enthusiasm, he submits Emphyrio's name for the mayoral ballot, in the hope of inspiring the populace
to reassert its privileges under the forgotten Charter. Amiante, his father, is supportive: "Freedom,
privileges, options, must constantly be exercised, even at the risk of inconvenience. Otherwise they fall
into desuetude and become unfashionable, unorthodox -- finally irregulationary."
Political discussions of this sort punctuate the narrative and are not uninteresting. In the middle of a
piratical adventure, Ghyl and a group of friends take the time to debate the parameters of their original
compact with the sobriety of political philosophers theorizing over the state of nature, a scene Vance plays
well, however self-consciously. But, as Silverberg writes in his introduction, the tale is a fable. And
the most engaging fables are those with peripatetic plots that move from one idea to the next at a fairly
rapid pace. Without the emotional pull of realism developed with three-dimensional characters, evolving
relationships, and textured and alert dialogue, fables need some sort of constant self-awareness and
theatricality to keep the reader's interest.
The Languages of Pao gets closer to achieving this sustained narrative canter. If Emphyrio is
an examination of how static societies are undermined from within, Pao is a study in how external pressures
galvanize social change. On the world of Pao, it is the metastructure of language rather than the political
superstructure which internalizes submission. When, unable to overcome its innate apathy, a population of
billions is overrun by a few thousand off-world mercenaries, the Paonese regent seeks, like the Meiji government
of Japan, to modernize. For advice, he turns to the Breakness wizards, technocratic leaders of a patriarchal
society of hypercompetitive social engineers. The polar opposite of the Paonese, Breakness dominie Lord Palafox
devises a plan to spur competition and individualism in the Pao population by spawning specialized subcultures
with new languages. His model, though, is the chain of being not the cooperative or public
commonwealth. "Trust," sneers Lord Palafox, "What is that? The interdependence of the hive; a mutual
parasitism of the weak and incomplete . . . . The Paonese concepts of 'trust,' 'loyalty,' 'good faith' are
not a part of my mental equipment. We dominie of Breakness Institute are individuals, each his own personal
citadel. We expect no sentimental services derived from clan loyalty or group dependence; nor do we render
any. You would do well to remember this."
The plot traces this transformation through the eyes of an exiled Paonese prince, Beran, living in Breakness
and, due to his linguistic fluidity, neither of one world nor the other. If Emphyrio is a send up of the
sclerotic social democratic polities of Western Europe, Pao certainly doesn't pull any punches for American-style
cutthroat capitalism. Once again, though, there aren't really any human relationships for the reader to hold
onto, just a succession of events of varying interest.
The final novel, The Domains of Koryphon, is in some ways the weirdest and (perhaps for that reason)
the most enjoyable of the three. A frontier Western with murder mystery elements and political overtones,
Koryphon begins with Schaine Madduc's return home after 5 years of self-impose exile to her father's landed
estate, Morningswake. The estate controls vast tracks of land ceded to Madduc's anscestors by nomadic
natives ("Uldras") overrun by offworld freebooters ("Outkers"). This crowded planet also includes the erjin,
a semi-intelligent race trained for urban slavery, and the morphotes, obscure creatures reduced to a
zoological attraction -- "CAUTION! Morphotes are dangerous and cunning! Consider none of their proffers;
accept none of their gifts! Morphotes come to the fence with a single purpose in mind: to mutilate, insult,
or frighten those Gaeans who come to view them. TAKE WARNING! Morphotes have injured many persons; they may
kill YOU. NEVERTHELESS, WANTON MOLESTATION OF THE MORPHOTES IS ABSOLUTELY FORBIDDEN."
Schaine's father's vehicle is found ambushed in the desert, his lifeless body within. Schaine, her brother
Kelse, their guard Gerd Jemasze, and assorted political activists including a quondam childhood friend now
a "Redemptionist" demanding the return of tribal lands and a potential love interest/advocate of the Society
for Emancipation of Erjins ("SEE") collectively navigate the wildernesses of Vance's narrative, investigating
the elder Madduc's demise at one point, resolving political grievances at another. Apparently, even fantasy
worlds have their Red State/Blue State culture wars: "Urban folk," declares Kelse, "dealing as they do in
ideas and abstractions, become conditioned to unreality. Then, wherever the fabric of civilization breaks,
these people are as helpless as fish out of water." To which a Redemptionist replies, "Imagine yourself
an Uldra: disenfranchised and subject to alien law. What would you do?" Vance keeps a brisk pace and
interweaves the two plots well. More importantly, the resolution is surprisingly thoughtful while comically arch.
Indeed, the three novels are well selected vis-a-vis each other. Each dramatizes a socio-political problem,
envisions a solution, and works out their contradictions and limitations. Emphyrio's revolution mirrors the
capitalists' strike of Atlas Shrugged, with alien oppressors substituted for government parasites. John C.
Wright offers an homage to Emphyrio in his The Golden Transcendence Trilogy, but
his must be counted the superior philosophical fable. Pao attempts to strike a balance between the yin and
yang of stability and change, community and individualism. And Koryphon wrestles with modern post-colonial
issues of dispossession and group rights, firmly settling on the side of pragmatism. These are all places
worth visiting someday. Just don't make them the first stop on your Jack Vance itinerary.
Dustin Kenall is a lawyer working and blogging in DC. Accordingly, if at any given moment he's not reading or writing, it's probably because he's unconscious. His blog, readslikealawyer.blogspot.com, is always wide awake, though. |
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