Human life as we know it is on the brink of extinction, and several communities are tasked to preserve life under the guidance of an unseen authority
If you have grown up with the science fiction books of Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein and Atwood, this book presents a formidable challenge of contexts. The concerns expressed in this beautiful piece of work are clearly derived from the middle of the last century, or earlier. But all of these are expressed in the idioms of the twenty-first century. Add to that an infusion of the very latest bugbears, the increasing use of automation and intelligence to replace human endeavour in all facets of modern society. All in all, this results in Hiromi Kawakami’s interesting and sobering presentation of the dilemmas of a (somewhat? nearly?) human society that begins in the not-very-distant future.
Human life as we know it is on the brink of extinction, and several communities are tasked to preserve life under the guidance of an unseen authority. Children are spawned and nurtured, and then carefully tracked for expression of special capabilities such as seeing into the future, expressing themselves into the minds of other creatures, or somehow being endowed with an urge to travel wide and far from the communities they were born into. Over several episodes and tales, the larger picture emerges. Humankind is largely in survival mode, with little capacity for innovation except where they are born with such attributes. Most humans live humdrum lives with their caretakers. When they eventually form pairs with other humans, the results are similar. And life goes on.
Until when some humans in this drab and monotonous world decide to seek new and fertile ground to expand their consciousness. Here the story takes off into a direction that suggests a growing challenge to the existing order, which never quite materialises. And then the reader wonders where this is all heading.
Up to this point the book is expressed as a chimera of experiences, feelings and unresolved activity at several levels of human life, and introduces several characters who play a role in the next part of the book. The prose is permeated by an underlying unease, a sense that not everything is working to plan. Most of all, it presents an overwhelming tone of futility and deep sorrow. How did this come to pass?
The denouement, when it happens, occurs in the last fifth of this book. Abruptly and with little fanfare, and certainly very awkwardly (in terms of style), an explanation is proffered of the causes for this state of affairs. And as we would expect at this stage, a tiny glow of light is offered through the medium of the characters earlier presented, of hope in a very small way forward for mankind. To say more of what these parts of the book mean would be to give the story away.
Everything we should expect to discuss in a good work of science fiction is present here — cloning, mutations, parthenogenesis, climate change, genetic decline, and more. Yet the stark placidity and simplicity of the writing means that you are rarely ambushed by five-syllable words in the first half of the book. A hat-tip to Asa Yoneda’s translation at this point. Rather abruptly, this chimeric yet peaceful structure gives way to an unsatisfying last fifth where explanations are offered hurriedly, leaving us feeling somewhat unsettled.
Kawakami’s book is reflective in character, and reflexive in intent forcing a mental review of our own hopes for the future. Each tale of the 14 here stimulates thought on the purpose of human life. It is easy to read if you seek an open-ended story. But the weight of this work lies in its deep undercurrent of sadness. That is revealed better in a slow intake of the ideas here, piece by piece, with a lot of green tea on the side.
Under the Eye of the Big Bird
Hiromi Kawakami
Granta
pp. 234; Rs 799
