A little while back, Matthew Hughes offered a free copy of his forthcoming novel Template to online reviewers via his web site. I wasn’t able to read it fast enough to get in on James Nicoll’s review-a-thon, but I finished it a few days ago.
Template is set in the same basic world as Majestrum, a human civilization many millennia in the future, where Old Earth is ruled by an Archonate, and the high aristocrats have worked so hard to refine their perception of rank and status that they have difficulty even noticing the presence of ordinary citizens.
The new book doesn’t start off on Old Earth, though, but rather begins on Thrais, a sort of libertoonian utopia, where all human interactions are explicitly treated as economic transactions. The book tells the story of Conn Labro, an indentured house player at a gaming emporium on Thrais, who finds himself the recipient of a strange bequest from a regular customer, and sets off to find who he is, where he comes from, and most importantly where he belongs in the universe.
I see from my Official Online Reviewer Membership Kit that I am obliged to call this book “Vancian,” after the works of Jack Vance. Happily, it’s an apt comparison, both in terms of the setting and the style. The incredibly-distant-future setting and the decadent aristocracy both closely echo the Dying Earth stories, but it’s really the discursive style that reminds me of the little Vance that I’ve read:
“He means no offense,” she said. “He is of Thrais, where life is understood to be founded entirely upon economic transactions. The Thraisian concept of society is indistinguishable from a marketplace.” She turned to Conn. “That is so, is it not?”
“I am of Thrais,” Conn said. “And of course life is a matter of economics. What else would it be?”
The Divorgian woman smiled indulgently. “There are other models,” she said. “As students of the Bodoglio Academy, my brother and I study the range of concepts underlying the disparate human civilizations along The Spray. We have just spent a few days confirming Raul Hoysin’s research on the Thraisian polity. Are you familiar with his works?”
“I am not,” said Conn.
“No matter. A fish does not need to know about water in order to swim in it,” she said. “Although when the fish leaves the sea, an understanding of air does become advisable.”
There was something about her tone that irked Conn. He wondered if he were being belittled. Yet when he inspected her features he saw only disinterest.
“I am not a fish and I have never cared for argument by metaphor,” said Conn. “To argue that one thing is similar to another is to focus exclusively on the similarity at the expense of the dissimilarities. The former may be trivial and the latter profound.”
Jenore Mordene put her hand on Conn’s arm. “She meant no offense,” she said.
“I am not offended,” he said though even as he said it he wondered if it were true. But no, he could not be offended if he chose not to take offense and now he deliberately made that choice. Evidently, offworlders could build their lives around strange concepts. If he was to function amongst them, he must endeavor at least to be aware of the illusory landmarks that were plain to them though invisible to him. “Please say on,” he told the Divorgian. “You mentioned other ‘models?'”
She assumed a momentary air of introspection then said, “There are many different ways of being a human being among other like minded human beings. Societies begin with people banding together in common efforts to solve the most basic problems of life: food, shelter, security. When those needs become routinely provided for, a new priority emerges. Once their bellies are regularly full, their bodies warm and dry, and their lives, limbs and liberties unthreatened, human beings discover a need for a sense of consequence to their existence. The inevitable question arises: what is the meaning of all this doing and saying and being? Equally inevitable is that the answer takes the form of an idea around which they structure their individual and collective lives.”
Now Moat Wallader entered the conversation. “My sister and I are preparing a monograph that argues that every society is fundamentally organized around one or another of the cardinal sins.”
Conn’s was not the only puzzled face among the listeners. “I mean,” said the Divorgian, “that every culture, whatever ideals it professes, is in practice built around one of the seven mortal iniquities identified in ancient times: pride, envy, and so on.”
There’s a kind of amused detachment to most of the narration, which suits Conn’s clinical sort of approach to human interactions very well.
The other adjective that I keep wanting to apply to the book is “picaresque,” but that’s really not right. There’s some similar term that is eluding me at the moment that more properly applies to this story. Conn sets off into the larger universe, makes his way through a series of seemingly unrelated episodes which are mildly satirical of various cultural aspects, and eventually learns where he fits in the world. He’s a little too upright to really count as picaresque, though there are a few class-war moments that almost get it there.
The plot is somewhat leisurely, taking a sort of sightseeing tour around the world of the Archonate and spending a fair bit of time setting up Conn’s personal growth. It never feels padded or pointless, though, and even seemingly disconnected events become important in the end. There are some aspects of the ending that are a little too neat, but not enough to be unsatisfying.
Hughes says on his web site that he thinks this is the best thing he’s written. As it’s only the second of his books that I’ve read, I can’t really say, but it’s very good. It’s also a stand-alone book, not tied into any of the other books, and would serve as a fine introduction to the universe of the Archonate, if you’re so inclined.
Bildungsroman?