Well, well, Vin, how shocking that you'd choose to duck out, so not like a guy like you. He's lost everything, he's throwing the dregs away with both ungrateful hands, and now he's found an out. We're always a step away from the action due to the nature of our trip down the rabbit hole with disintegrating Vin. Instead it's a well-built and deeply affecting interior novel, an exploration of Vin in all his multivarious selves, and in that sense a very French sort of récit. Now, the story itself: It's not a rollicking sci-fi thriller, as the publisher's comparisons to Philip K. NOTABLY included here is the cruel tease of introducing the fascinating scientification of the art of cliodynamics, utterly dropped.which means not explicitly tied into the story. Several pieces of the puzzle of Vin's multiveral travels and lives weren't given enough shape to assume real meaning in the story. Not necessarily even all that thoroughly, although I'd like that better as a reader, just tied in to the subtle and complex framework of this inner-space novel. If someone comes onto the stage I want them to be somehow explained and/or justified.
That's my issue here: Major missed opportunity again. I didn't like the major missed opportunity I saw in it, and complained a bit about in my review. Author Toutonghi wrote Join, which I gave a good solid review in 2016. See that weird device that can't be explained in any framework I possess? Notice the craptastic life I've got? Tally-ho! Let's see what happens.Īnd here is where I got that half-star thump. What are these crèches in the sub-basement hideaway? There are three.why? Can Vin, who recklessly and quite necessarily climbs into one, rely on coming home from wherever it is he's about to go? Hell, who cares, what the guy's leaving behind just ain't that great so off we go! I'd do precisely the same thing. Vin keeps going, ignoring his only friend and the remnants of his family, not heaving his less and less clean body into sunshine or showers, until he finds what he most wants: Escape. He's searching for the one-name owner, convinced she's invisibly there somewhere although not likely to be either safe or, in fact, necessarily even alive. Vin's obsessive nature, in fact the Asperger's he seems never to have had diagnosed, leads him to disassemble the interior of this beautiful piece of architecture. My lip-curling snark at the expense of Vin's generational cohort comes with being old and poor, so YMMV as always. I like the latter just as much as the former. No long paean to place, this, rather a grounded in particularity poem. Author Toutonghi, a lifelong Seattleite, made me feel the city was a character in short, deft strokes. Her house is an amazeballs mansion on Queen Anne Hill, the beating heart of Seattle's too-rich too-young $10-coffee-drinking yuppies (as my generation sneeringly called them). What's a tech bro to do when he fails to make his wad of cash from creating a new, wild Thing That'll Change The World? Vin decides to house-sit for fabulously rich but vanished Nerdean. Of course, the story's existence means that there is no way he will. The story of Vin, a tech startup failure, is predicated on the principle that he will know what machinery is when he sees it. That's the basic building block of the entire imaginarium that Author Toutonghi creates. “The machines of the mind are more difficult to recognize than machines of iron and steam.” The problem is that the Spoiler Stasi will come drag me away, never to be seen or heard from again. I want to tell you everything about the story because I can't imagine you'll pass up the book if I do.
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