Setting a novel in the near future requires two extra decisions. To what extent will this imagined world differ from what’s familiar today? What defines that difference? Although the social, environmental and technological developments or regressions in this fictional landscape are inevitably interlinked, one factor tends to dominate (and perhaps determines the readership to which it most appeals). At least that’s what I’ve been thinking since reading The Unit and Anna back-to-back (as well as recent dabbling in one of the subgenres myself). In the first, a democratic society has agreed (over time) that the lives of economically and socially unproductive citizens can be sacrificed for the common good. In the second, feral children roam a post-apocalyptic world in which adults have been wiped out by a virus and most of the infrastructure by a fire. Tempted? Read on!
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The Unit by Ninni Holnqvist translated by Marlaine Delargy
Dorrit isn’t needed. With no dependents, no long-term cohabiting relationships and a patchy employment record, she’s never been needed. Relishing the freedom to please herself and having ample thinking space for her writing, she was fine with that. Until her fiftieth birthday loomed. Not because she had particular fears about ageing but because at that point she’d be decreed dispensable and obliged to relocate to a community of similarly economically worthless men and women.
With attractive apartments, gourmet meals, beautiful gardens and myriad sporting and cultural opportunities, the Unit seems almost utopian. For those accustomed to a degree of financial and social exclusion, it’s heavenly to find themselves in a welcoming community where they want for nothing. But there’s a catch, and it’s a big one. While Dorrit quickly adjusts to the constant surveillance (even when making love or on the toilet), and enjoys participating in a research project on the impact of intense exercise, it’s hard to face the fact that, although healthy, she’s come here to die. However pleasant the Unit, however compassionate the staff, there’s no denying its primary task is providing donor organs for the more deserving community outside its reinforced glass dome.
A dystopian novel needs not only to create a convincing alternative society, but provide a mirror to our own. Swedish author Ninni Holnqvist poses the ultimate question in her debut novel when Arnold, Dorrit’s psychologist, asks “What’s the meaning of life?” Her country seems to have decided that “life is capital… to be divided fairly among the people in a way that promotes reproduction and growth, welfare and democracy.” (p 103) For life in the Unit to be bearable, both staff and residents need to believe that some lives can be sacrificed for the greater good.
If you have followed my reviews for a while, you’ll know that I wondered about the psychologist. He certainly prioritises his client’s well-being, but he does ask a lot of questions! And of course his practice is constrained by the system, but perhaps ethically that’s not so different from therapy in secure units; under apartheid; for combatants in wartime.
Although I found the ending a little rushed, this is an engaging and thought-provoking novel. Thanks to Oneworld Publications for my review copy.
With attractive apartments, gourmet meals, beautiful gardens and myriad sporting and cultural opportunities, the Unit seems almost utopian. For those accustomed to a degree of financial and social exclusion, it’s heavenly to find themselves in a welcoming community where they want for nothing. But there’s a catch, and it’s a big one. While Dorrit quickly adjusts to the constant surveillance (even when making love or on the toilet), and enjoys participating in a research project on the impact of intense exercise, it’s hard to face the fact that, although healthy, she’s come here to die. However pleasant the Unit, however compassionate the staff, there’s no denying its primary task is providing donor organs for the more deserving community outside its reinforced glass dome.
A dystopian novel needs not only to create a convincing alternative society, but provide a mirror to our own. Swedish author Ninni Holnqvist poses the ultimate question in her debut novel when Arnold, Dorrit’s psychologist, asks “What’s the meaning of life?” Her country seems to have decided that “life is capital… to be divided fairly among the people in a way that promotes reproduction and growth, welfare and democracy.” (p 103) For life in the Unit to be bearable, both staff and residents need to believe that some lives can be sacrificed for the greater good.
If you have followed my reviews for a while, you’ll know that I wondered about the psychologist. He certainly prioritises his client’s well-being, but he does ask a lot of questions! And of course his practice is constrained by the system, but perhaps ethically that’s not so different from therapy in secure units; under apartheid; for combatants in wartime.
Although I found the ending a little rushed, this is an engaging and thought-provoking novel. Thanks to Oneworld Publications for my review copy.
Anna by Niccolò Ammaniti
Anna runs along the motorway, her rucksack bouncing on her back. She’s no need to worry about cars: most of the fuel was swallowed by the fire that raged through Sicily not long after the virus killed all the drivers, and every other grown-up. But packs of feral dogs are a problem, competing with the children for what remains of the food. The gangs of children ruled by half-crazed teenagers peddling redemption are another threat. But, guided by the instructions left by her mother before she too succumbed, Anna is determined to survive. And to protect her younger brother with whatever mix of truth and lies will keep him safe in their crumbling house. At least until she reaches puberty and the virus, that has lain dormant within her, as in every human on the planet, claims her too.
The lavish quotes from broadsheet reviews on the back of my copy (courtesy of UK publishers Canongate) raised my expectations, perhaps unduly. For me, this was a simple story of sibling love and survival, simply told. While I’d have welcomed a greater challenge, Niccolò Ammaniti’s sixth novel to appear in English (there’s no mention of a translator for Anna, although it was published first in Italy) is an easy read.
If you like the sound of Anna, you might also enjoy Gold, Fame, Citrus and Station Eleven. For my reviews of other novels set in the future, see this thread.
The lavish quotes from broadsheet reviews on the back of my copy (courtesy of UK publishers Canongate) raised my expectations, perhaps unduly. For me, this was a simple story of sibling love and survival, simply told. While I’d have welcomed a greater challenge, Niccolò Ammaniti’s sixth novel to appear in English (there’s no mention of a translator for Anna, although it was published first in Italy) is an easy read.
If you like the sound of Anna, you might also enjoy Gold, Fame, Citrus and Station Eleven. For my reviews of other novels set in the future, see this thread.
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