Wool started life in 2011 as a self published short story by Hugh Howey about a Sheriff named Holston and the terrible secrets he uncovers in the post-apocalyptic world of the Silo, a self contained civilisation where being sent outside the walls is a death sentence. This story was so well received that it spawned eight other parts, with them being collected into three books that make up the Silo Trilogy. Wool is the first of these, focusing on the impact of Holston's terrible discoveries and decisions, as well as the core mystery of why everyone sent to their death outside voluntarily cleans the sensors that allow those inside to see out. The actions and upheavals that follow on from this will change life in the Silo forever...
Wool was a suggestion from my friend Ashley over on Facebook, and there were a few things going against this book for me. The first was that I'd recently read another of Hugh Howey's novels, Half Way Home, which was not a shining example of genre literature to say the least. The second is that the opening is clumsy. The first part with Holston, and then going forward into part two with Jahns and Marne, is full of sledgehammer exposition and ham-fisted attempts to set up the rest of the book. The first part makes very little attempt to disguise that much of the prose only exists to drop information about the world on our heads, and much of the second part is building up to the introduction of the main character - Where again, whole segments just exist to tell us about her in a level of detail that's unnecessary because we're going to meet her and see all these things for ourselves soon. Honestly, I feel like these first two parts could have been cut in half, with Holston in particular existing as a GRRM style, single chapter prologue and I don't feel like anything would have been lost.
Thank God, then, for Juliette! First of all for actually having a name, because if I had to do one more of these with a nameless, faceless protagonist in a row I was going to scream, but also because once she hits the pages this book becomes an entirely different animal. Juliette seems to bring a focus to the novel, it stops trying to purposely build up it's world and mysteries and just lets them happen organically, with Juliette at the centre investigating and experiencing all of it. She herself is a strong, capable character who has a skillset and attitude that sets her apart from most of the other characters we've met up to that point, but some very clear and human flaws soon become apparent. She nestles into this beautiful little nook between being a capable and independent woman, but not allowing that to be all she is. She's allowed to cry, allowed to feel, allowed to make mistakes and allowed to be human. Once we have her as our guide, the book becomes an real adventure, full of twists and turns and surprisingly varied locations considering the setting. The only downside is that the initial mystery Jules investigates would have been much more powerful if it hadn't already been unravelled by Holston, but then again whole new intrigues arise to replace them that are much more interesting.
Putting aside Juliette, if I were to pick out one main strength of Wool it would be the characters. Every single one feels very human, with their own quirks and agendas and stories going on inside their head. Marnes was the first one I was truly drawn too, the grizzled old deputy who has been older than every Sheriff the silo has had for years because he's happy in his place. The secret love between him and mayor Jahns, something that dominates so much of their lives but is never really spoken until they're too old to do anything about it, is touching and very real. They make each other feel young and alive, and it's very touching to see them interact with each other. Solo is another interesting figure in the book, a perpetual child in the body of a fifty year old man. When we meet him, he is older and in many ways far more experienced in the world than Juliette, but he's coping with a massive tragedy by not really acknowledging that he's grown at all since then, so he's also excitable and prone to being distracted.
We also have Lukas, the star-gazing IT tech who is so much like Juliette yet so different. His obsession with the stars, and hers with the deepest depths of the Silo collecting pretty rocks is an interesting contrast. Then there's the agoraphobic old man Walker, a skilled electrician in a world where electronics are clearly not understood and even Bernard, the main antagonist of the book, has flashes of not being a totally bad guy. You get the impression that he's just been swept along by something greater than himself, and if you squint and tilt your head you can see his point of view. It doesn't stop him being a complete, irrepressible bastard, but it does give him a layer of sympathy that a lesser work would have skimped. It's these quirks and little humanities that really make the book, and on the occasions they interact and spark against each other is when the book really comes to life. I can't overstate how much I love Howey's dialogue in Wool, I just really wish there was more of it. Although one thing to note is that as much as you're going to fall in love with these characters, Howey does not shy away from killing them, no matter how much development he's poured into them. This is going to be one novel where you're constantly cursing his name, for sure.
That's not to say there isn't strength in the narrative as well. The world Howey builds is an interesting one, with it's relatively small scale being an advantage rather than a disadvantage. I love the idea that the perspective on the world is so small, that even a stairway can be regarded as a foreign territory even though Porters can zip up and down those stairways in a matter of days. It gives a very medieval village aspect to the whole thing, nobody leaves their designated areas unless they have too. Thoughts of exploring are impractical, and very much discouraged by those in charge. It's also an ever changing landscape with bits constantly being repaired and remodelled as necessary. The idea of the cleanings is also an incredibly powerful one that underlines everything in this society. It's the cornerstone of their entire justice system, that if you step out of line? You're sent out to clean. It also forms an important part of their social, economic and spiritual make up as well. With vacations planned around a view through freshly cleaned, unspoiled sensor arrays, market stalls booming as people come up from all of the various layers of the Silo to view the outside from the top and as their entire spirituality revolves around the idea that the Silo is the only thing to exist (literally placed on Earth by God himself), anything that relieves the pressure in the Silo is a good thing by the Priests. The world is well put together, well thought out and when Juliet explores some other areas of it really looms in and tightly constricts both her, and the reader.
My only complaint in this regard is the idea of death. At one point Juliette contemplates how cheap life and death are, people summed up entirely in the manilla case folders that she has as sheriff. Yet everything else in the book points to life being sacred and tightly controlled, one person goes out and another is allowed to be born. While it's clear the resources are stressed and nerves are easily frayed, the sanctity of life is something that falls through the cracks a little when it also seems like it could just as easily be regarded as a throwaway commodity from another perspective. Although I do love the deeply entrenched pacifist ideals the Silo seem to have, and the results of what happens when they break down is truly brutal.
One thing that did surprise me is that Wool actually has an ending! A good, solid, end point at that. I was worried that as it was originally a collection of novellas that built up to a bigger story, and even the first book collecting them was nominally part one of a trilogy, that the format wouldn't allow for a solid end point. There was also Half Way Home looming in my mind, with it's relative shambles of a rushed, tacked on ending still sour in my mouth. I was mistaken. Wool's ending is satisfying, and if you wanted to end there without reading the rest of the trilogy you could. If anything I'm worried it wraps up it's plot a little too well, and there will be little left for the sequels to pick over. But a new, impossible challenge does loom - So I suppose we'll see Juliette and friends tackle that. Plus, contrary to what everyone thought, there's a whole world out there...And Wool certainly makes me feel compelled to explore.
A Canticle for Leibowitz is a sci-fi classic that was first published in 1960. Originally written by Walter M. Miller Jr. as a series of three novellas, he recognised certain connecting elements and themes in them and decided to edit them together into one cohesive work. The book focuses on the history of North America after the Flame Deluge, a nuclear war that wiped out civilisation as we know it and mutated a good portion of what was left. In particular it focuses on the Albertian Order of Leibowitz a sect of the Catholic church dedicated to Beatus Leibowitz, a Cold War weapons engineer who after the fallout dedicated his life to preserving the knowledge and history of his former civilisation before it is lost forever. It shows us, over the course of millennia, the lengths they go to preserve this lost knowledge in a world that simply does not care for it, or their ideas on it.
This book fell into my sphere of influence after I was discussing Wool with Richard (yes, he who suggested Ocean at the End of the Lane last month. I told you that you'd be seeing his name again, I just never realised I would be so soon!) and he suggested holding Canticle up against it for comparison. As I read through it, I came to realise that it was a more interesting comparison than I initially realised, but I'll get to that. I'd rather like to judge this book on it's own merits first but admittedly, it's hard to know where to start.
Canticle is a novel that's driven forward by ideas, and squarely focused on the world that it's building. Miller takes great care to examine the impact of nuclear war, and the ideas that would spring up in the minds of those left behind hundreds of years later. The first part is particularly interesting, as it deals directly with the first protagonist, Brother Francis, stumbling into a fallout shelter and finding a tool box and schematics. Both his own, and the reaction of the Abbey, to this find is intriguing. Miller not only paints a very realistic picture of a group of people bickering and examining a past they can never hope to understand, in scenes that I can easily imagine will be repeated hundreds of years after our own civilisations demise and have seen played out by those trying to untangle ancient histories in the past, but also shines these events through the lens of mythology. We see the dreaded Fallout become characterised by demons in the Catholic canon, and Lucifier himself has become synonymous with the bombs that bring them. Meanwhile the Ancients of the previous civilisation (known to us as engineers and scientists of the Cold War era) have become revered as Saints and Beatus', and their technology is highly revered and regarded as dangerous. It gives the impression, in the early stages, of a fantasy novel brushing up against a sci-fi one - Only the science fiction elements are modern day technology that we're familiar with, making the world seem both more realistic and yet, more otherworldly, all at once.
The progressive Catholic church itself is an interesting, and wholly sympathetic, organisation. Strangely so, considering the bad rap the Catholic church usually gets (and arguably, deserves) in many works of fiction. Although they adhere to many practices and rituals that we're familiar with, in the case of the Order of Leibowitz at least, the dogma has also got mixed up with the principles of science and history. Biblical fables have been reworked to become warning parables against the repetition of the tragedy that reduced the world to it's current state and the main goal of the Order of Leibowitz is to preserve what knowledge is left, so that it can be used to spark a new renaissance when the dark times are over. Their clashes with secular scholars in the second part is especially telling, as while we see that the secular scholars are more brilliant and advanced in their theory, they've forgot so much of the world that's past that most of their theory is pure conjecture. There is an especially ironic scene where Thon Taddeo regards a monk for proposing the theory of Evolution, now a religious theory in this new world, much like a child who is grasping at things he can't understand. More often than not these secular men regard the monks as backwards and rigid, but time and time again we see that they are far more flexible and understanding than their counterparts.
The main point of contention, however, lies in the moral contrast of these two groups. I don't think Miller is trying to paint a wholly pro-Catholic narrative, especially as he shows them to be prone to exaggeration, with much of their canonical history obviously being a half remembered and half invented idea of the truth. I think he more wishes to portray the dangers of science, progress and expansion without the morality to ground it. The state and secular scientists we see are brilliant, compassionate and reasonable - They're good people, and he never tries to portray them as anything else. But they're also willing to turn a blind eye, or willingly support, the practices of their rulers that show all the signs of leading back towards the road of mankind's destruction. Personally I don't think this moral guidance needs to be born of a church, but the theological backdrop does lend it more weight, especially when it's proven to be impotent in the face of the figures of the state.
All of this, and the fact that the last part is essentially a world that parallels that of the 1950s-early 1960s in many direct ways, shows the novel to be warning against using the wonderful technologies science has developed for short term gains and questionable ends, as well as a warning not to allow history to repeat itself. Civilisations have rose, fallen, and cannibalised themselves throughout history but if we allow out fall to come about through nuclear arms, our fall and cannibalisation will be greater than ever. It all comes together to create a novel that's bursting with ideas, and themes, and things that I don't think I was able to wholly grasp or come to terms with in just one reading. What I've covered here feels like only the tip of the ice berg, and certainly only a small portion the notes I've made, and doesn't get into the invocation of existing religious figures and how, hundreds if not thousands of years on, characters from the first part of the book have become legends in their own way later down the line. It doesn't touch on the duel vanity and obsession of most of the characters within, and the actions that both of those qualities lead them to take. It's a novel that I'm certain will reward re-reading with new insights into the text you noticed, and whole new layers that perhaps you glossed over before.
That's not to say it doesn't have it's problems. The prose can, by turns, be dense to read and some of the narration can be disjointed at times. The perspective slips and slides into the heads of several different characters at a whim, and sometimes simply breaks away from perspective entirely to recite a biblical fable or piece of history that thematically ties to the current situation of the character. The jump between different parts is also rather jarring, we're suddenly dropped head first into a whole new era, with whole new characters and Miller does nothing to ease us in. Taken as three novellas this isn't really an issue, but as a whole, cohesive story it can slow the pace of the book to a standstill while you try to get to grips with what happened to the world while you were busy turning the page. There is also a great amount of religious jargon that went over my head. I'd say it may as well have been written in another language, but the truth of the matter is that most of it was. It adds to the atmosphere, and when you're dealing so intently with an order of monks is unavoidable, but I still felt my eyes glazing over when trying to content with the larger portions of it.
Considering they're so disparate, it's not as difficult to draw comparison between the two as one might thing. Even though they both deal with a world after the Apocalypse, and from what I can glean from Wool the apocalypse is very similar in nature, the way the novels handle their themes and their presentation is almost at the other end of the scale from each other. Wool is driven by it's characters, whereas Canticle is driven by the world it presents. Wool focuses on the Silo, a claustrophobic metal tower that barely protrudes the surface of the ground it's buried in, whereas Canticle deals with the history of an entire continent over the course of a millennia. Wool is skittish about revealing the true origin of the apocalypse, but if there is one thing the people in Canticle are sure of it's that, having built a religion and legal system around attempting to assure it never happens again. Wool is about the control and regulation of knowledge, supposedly for the protection of the many by the few, in a world that desires it while Canticle is about the preservation of knowledge and ancient culture in a world that has no interest in it.
Without a doubt Canticle is the more cerebral and well crafted of the pair. Two headed mutants aside (which is possible, but still pulls me out a little) it builds a very realistic world with very realistic consequences unfurling as a result of the actions of everyone from the 'Ancients' to the characters we follow throughout the various parts of the book, and as mentioned above is practically dripping in subtext. Wool has it's share of things to say, of course. It's a rumination on class imbalance (one could even argue that Juliette is like a Victorian crusader, an upper-middle class woman fighting for the workers rights), how much we can trust those directly above us and what kind of sacrifices we are prepared to make for our species to survive, and if those sacrifices are justified or beyond the pale. But it's strength lies more in it's exciting narrative and personable characterisation. It may not reward re-reading on an intellectual level like Canticle might, but it's thoroughly exciting and worthwhile in it's own way.
So, to scoring then. For Wool this is an easy call - Despite a very weak start, there's enough to love in the later chapters to make this a very easy four out of five monkeys!
For A Canticle for Leibowitz however, this is more problematic. The flaws that I mentioned above did get in the way of my enjoyment, but by the time I finished the book and let it all sink in - They didn't seem quite so problematic. Each part has it's own draw, and the ending is a thing of absolute wonder. The sudden dramatic urgency of it, coupled with what may have been the delusions of a senseless man or an honest to God miracle had me rapt, and really gave the book a great punch to end on. I also wonder if, in a different mood, on a different day, I could read different things into some of the sections that seemed to drag and take more enjoyment away from them. But ultimately, that would be a different day, a different reading and not the experience I actually had. So taking into account all the times it made my eyes glaze over, and the flagrant overuse of Latin, I think this is another four Monkeyer.
I hope you enjoyed this little deviation from the norm, and please, do let me know how the two book format worked out and if you'd want it to return! Any suggestions for improvements would, of course, also be welcome! As always you can suggest a book for next month by commenting below, or posting the title anywhere I can see it. Next month going to be delving into Howl's Moving Castle, the book that spawned a movie that I've yet to see, but may also give a watch. See you then!
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