David Brin
What a ride this book is! It's been a while since I've read any science fiction, and this book proved to be quite the antidote to that unfortunate dearth in my recent reading list. David Brin creates a world propelled by a singularly inventive new technology arising out of current research on and fears about cloning and genetic modification. Kiln People takes place in a future a couple generations past our own, where it has become possible to imprint your personality and, more importantly, your soul, onto a clay figure that will last for 24 hours, able to imprint its memories back to its host as if they themselves had lived that day. Different models are fine-tuned for different experiences, from sexual ivories to deeply analytical ebonies, and the work world is populated by these "dittos" as their owners bask in lives of luxury and excess. Brin's greatest feat in the novel is exploring the natural consequences of this technology and the ways in which it affects everyday life and philosophy. Life becomes at once expendable, through the dittos who only have a day's lifespan anyway, and preciously hoarded, as the loss of an actual body becomes scarier when one has potentially lived through many death scenes. Brin does a fantastic job using this technology to address fundamental questions of humanity and doesn't shy away from exposing our dark side: many dittos are used for sex or for souped-up gladiatorial fights for those addicted to the pleasure of pain. Brin invents an extensive vocabulary to accompany this new technology, and though some of the punnery can become exhausting, much is clever and used to showcase the changes of this world (adding a dit- prefix to one's name instead of Mr. has its own implications). The storyline more-or-less realistically takes us through the most important settings of this world as we see the full gamut of experiences and viewpoints, even opposition to the idea of dittoing and the quest for emancipation of all souls. This future is remarkably thorough.
The story itself centers on a private detective, Albert Morris, who has been chasing an illegal duplicator for quite some time. The story opens with the narration of one of his spy dittos as he attempts to outrace Beta's thugs and get home to share his newly-acquired knowledge with the real Albert. Brin doesn't shy away from a challenge as he uses first-person narration throughout the book, each chapter narrated by Albert or one of the dittos he creates as he embarks on several separate, yet linked, private quests through Tuesday's three dittos. Chapter subheadings help ease the confusion, and for most of the book the separate storylines are juggled well as each Albert learns more pieces of the puzzle. The narration itself is as consistent and divergent as the reader can expect from the separate vessels, all sharing a kind of cynicism but each responding to its circumstances both as the real Albert would and based on their recent experiences. Brin, remarkably, makes the technology believable through his use of this unconventional narration.
While his world-building is impeccable, however, his story is less successful. At first, it is somewhat difficult to juggle the mysteries as they begin to branch off from the central part (though, to Brin's credit, we are firmly planted in his future before the confusing divergence), but just as the reader gets the hang of it and begins to make headway by combining the three discrete narratives, the entire plot takes a turn for the worse. Spiralling out of control, Brin abandons reason and concocts an unbelievably complex god-creating machine, which is never adequately explained for readers, and a conspiracy so many layers deep that the novel's unwinding expostional end cannot unravel it. Brin attempts to have his story transcend its world in these moments, exploring what a soul is, but his background knowledge is too esoteric and the storyline too convoluted for anything to make sense.
This is the fundamental problem of Kiln People: the world created here is intricate and intense, a believable extension of an incredible idea that cuts no corners and explores truths about humanity without becoming pedantic. The plot works for a while because of its many-sided narration and the thrill of finding new aspects of this future that make sense and reveal something else about its population. Brin aims a bit too high at the book's climax, however, and the mystery's traditional ending exposition fails to adequately explain anything, leaving readers scratching their heads. The writing itself also gets a bit tiresome from time to time, with excessive unnecessary punning clouding the brilliance of the good puns and with the annoying winking in-jokes common to near-future novels (commenting, for example, on past generations' experience with something called "smog"). The book is maddeningly frustrating to read at times because its plot takes too many twists and turns, but the central idea of dittoing is so fascinating that I find myself inclined to reccommend it anyway. In the end, the first 350-or so pages of Kiln People make the absence of a satisfying conclusion seem less important as I have been utterly impressed with the world Brin creates herein. If you can handle a convoluted plot line and unnecessarily heavy spiritual gibberish, Kiln People is worth reading for its thorough and enlightening exploration of what we would do with thousands of disposable lives just waiting to be baked.
Grade: B-
The story itself centers on a private detective, Albert Morris, who has been chasing an illegal duplicator for quite some time. The story opens with the narration of one of his spy dittos as he attempts to outrace Beta's thugs and get home to share his newly-acquired knowledge with the real Albert. Brin doesn't shy away from a challenge as he uses first-person narration throughout the book, each chapter narrated by Albert or one of the dittos he creates as he embarks on several separate, yet linked, private quests through Tuesday's three dittos. Chapter subheadings help ease the confusion, and for most of the book the separate storylines are juggled well as each Albert learns more pieces of the puzzle. The narration itself is as consistent and divergent as the reader can expect from the separate vessels, all sharing a kind of cynicism but each responding to its circumstances both as the real Albert would and based on their recent experiences. Brin, remarkably, makes the technology believable through his use of this unconventional narration.
While his world-building is impeccable, however, his story is less successful. At first, it is somewhat difficult to juggle the mysteries as they begin to branch off from the central part (though, to Brin's credit, we are firmly planted in his future before the confusing divergence), but just as the reader gets the hang of it and begins to make headway by combining the three discrete narratives, the entire plot takes a turn for the worse. Spiralling out of control, Brin abandons reason and concocts an unbelievably complex god-creating machine, which is never adequately explained for readers, and a conspiracy so many layers deep that the novel's unwinding expostional end cannot unravel it. Brin attempts to have his story transcend its world in these moments, exploring what a soul is, but his background knowledge is too esoteric and the storyline too convoluted for anything to make sense.
This is the fundamental problem of Kiln People: the world created here is intricate and intense, a believable extension of an incredible idea that cuts no corners and explores truths about humanity without becoming pedantic. The plot works for a while because of its many-sided narration and the thrill of finding new aspects of this future that make sense and reveal something else about its population. Brin aims a bit too high at the book's climax, however, and the mystery's traditional ending exposition fails to adequately explain anything, leaving readers scratching their heads. The writing itself also gets a bit tiresome from time to time, with excessive unnecessary punning clouding the brilliance of the good puns and with the annoying winking in-jokes common to near-future novels (commenting, for example, on past generations' experience with something called "smog"). The book is maddeningly frustrating to read at times because its plot takes too many twists and turns, but the central idea of dittoing is so fascinating that I find myself inclined to reccommend it anyway. In the end, the first 350-or so pages of Kiln People make the absence of a satisfying conclusion seem less important as I have been utterly impressed with the world Brin creates herein. If you can handle a convoluted plot line and unnecessarily heavy spiritual gibberish, Kiln People is worth reading for its thorough and enlightening exploration of what we would do with thousands of disposable lives just waiting to be baked.
Grade: B-
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