There are
many modes and styles of storytelling.
Classic, minimalist, expository, stream of consciousness, mosaic,
meta-fiction—and on and on go the ways in which an author can transpose their
imaginings into fiction. But
poetry? Have you ever read science
fiction in metered form?
Time to waste,
so I escape the city
At one of those
seedy establishments
They call ‘Glow
Shows’ because they fill the girls
So full of Pro’ it
nearly burns their veins.
Prometheus,
resident wonder-drug;
Pro’, Promo’,
’Theus, liquid-fucking-light;
Prohibited by city
law and shot
By yours truly,
Virgil Yorke, hero cop (1)
So run the
first lines of Oliver Langmead’s Dark
Star (2015, Unsung Stories). And what follows is a story that lives up to
every ounce of vividness contained in those few words—a proper story, just in measured
form.
The effect
replete, when Detective Yorke is called to the late night scene of a murder,
the emptiness between the lines makes what imagery that is in the lines—the
corpse’s neon veins—twice as powerful.
The city of Vox perpetually dark, the young woman’s body glows in the
back alley, begging Yorke—and the reader—to learn what has transpired. But just as his investigation begins, an even
bigger crime calls Yorke away. Vox
dependent on the power generated by three dying stars, one has been stolen. So, into the cold, dark night Yorke goes,
battling his own addictions every step of the way, the metered verse stripping
his story down to its evocative essentials.
The
beautiful cover image precisely relaying the imprint of the story, Dark Star is an intensely visual
experience. Akin to the aesthetic of the
Sin City films, Yorke’s path through
his own haunted life as well as the depths of Vox’s ghettos and aristocracy
lifts off the page in a swirl of neon, broken streetlights, dark alleys, and
cigarette smoke. The rhythm and flow of
language pitch perfect for the classic minimalism of hardboiled noir, the story
virtually pops into the reader’s field of vision, after-images burning like
tracers through the night.
Thus, the
reader wary of reading science fiction in poetic form needn’t worry. Dark
Star, while requiring a slight shift in gears compared to standard
third-person omniscient narration, is highly readable—more rhythm than rhyme. Erasing the thought ‘Oh no, not more cyberpunk noir…”, the brisk pace, perfect balance
of story elements, and simple but tight plotting
make for a highly engaging, unique read through the use of language. Anybody can partake, but it will hit the
sweetest spot for the reader keen on lexical flow.
For those
interested, Dark Star makes room for
rumination on the classics. Aside from
the epic poetry form, the fact the main character is Virgil, his partner Dante,
the setting dystopian, and the investigation curtailing the absence of light in
their dark world, all pave the way to open discussion beyond the text. Difficult to go deeper without spoiling the
ending, suffice to say Langmead seems interested in critiquing, if not
inverting, the Divine Comedy. The final scene, as well as the chapter
endings, pointing in a different direction than Aquinas, I’d hazard a guess
that the Aenid won out. Regardless, all is a poetic vision of hell
that one must read to make up their own mind about Langmead’s angle.
Kudos go
to Unsung Stories for being willing to publish this extremely unique… book.
(‘Novel’ seems it should go at the end of that sentence, but just doesn’t quite
do the content justice). When so much of publishing these days is interested in
producing the equivalent of pop music, it’s truly pleasurable to have such small
publishers willing to present alternative material for the reader of
speculative fiction interested in more.
Truly
fresh and original (at least I have never read such a science fiction story
before), Dark Star is an engaging,
visual story that forces the reader into a slightly different vein of reading
experience—one they will undoubtedly emerge from with neon glowing in their
eyes. Perfectly paced and structured yet
in a form virtually unknown to the genre, Dark
Star is detective noir for the 21st century.
Oh my. Definitely need to read this one too.
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