The Islanders (The Dream Archipelago, Book 3)

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Hmm, Priest is never anything but oblique in the way he deals with sf tropes. Fugue for a Darkening Island is an invasion story, but not in the way that sf usually approaches invasion; The Glamour is a story of invisibility, but a form of invisibility that owes nothing to H. So yes, oblique, or at least using the trope in a way that we might not expect. I thought that was supposed to be a positive, that novelty was meant to be a strength, indeed a defining characteristic, of science fiction. The Gradual is a time travel story, an archetypal science fiction trope that is well over years old.

But the way it is used here is disturbingly different from how time is generally employed within sf. Time eddies and fluctuates and swirls about the islands of the Dream Archipelago.

The central character, Alesandro Sussken, is a talented musician and composer born and brought up in one of the nations of the northern continent. His country is locked in a perpetual war with one of its neighbours, but the war is fought out on the uninhabited southern continent, beyond the more-or-less neutral islands of the Dream Archipelago. Sussken escapes the draft, though his brother does not, and builds his career. His work is largely inspired by the islands of the Dream Archipelago, a couple of which he can glimpse on the horizon but they remain objects of desire forever out of reach.

Then, out of the blue, he is invited to join an orchestral tour of the Dream Archipelago. In the earliest Dream Archipelago stories the islands were places of sexual allure and peril, places of warmth and ease where it was tempting to throw off inhibitions. When Priest returned to the Dream Archipelago with The Islanders , the character of the islands had changed, they were more variable, often colder, more workaday. But the islands that Sussken encounters on that first tour revert to the earlier model, places of warmth and relaxation and sexual pleasure.

He is seduced. But when the tour ends and he returns to Glaund City, he finds that much more time has passed than could be accounted for by the duration of the tour. This, something like halfway through the book, is our first indication that time travel is involved in the story. There is something disingenuous in that sentence, as if the pairings are the wrong way round. War shapes the world; time shapes the music. But music is time: time signatures, tempo, the sequences of sound and silence from which all music is built.

The fact that Sussken is a musician is integral to the fact that this is a novel about time. The curious curlicue journeys that Sussken must undertake in the latter part of the novel to compensate for the gradual are musical shapes as much as they are temporal shapes. So, if we are paying attention, we know that this is a novel about time travel long before Sussken slips through time.

But these are distractions on the surface, they are not the bass note of time that underpins the whole novel. Yes, this is a novel with a straightforward, familiar, well-used science fiction trope at its heart. But that trope has been reinvented, changed into something else, given a different rhythm.

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And then it has been hidden in plain view. We like our science fiction to be new and familiar at the same time, and that is exactly what Priest has given us in this novel. But the familiarity has been distorted and the newness is radical. Or maybe the problem is that it is too radical. Looking back, The Islanders was not shortlisted for the Clarke Award, though that was a tour de force of radical innovation.

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Last year, The Thing Itself by Adam Roberts was not shortlisted, though it was clearly the most sustained and successful reinvention of science fiction that we have seen for some time. Maybe radical is no longer what we want our science fiction to be? But as a work of literature The Gradual is at least on a par with The Extremes , which was shortlisted for the award; or The Adjacent , which was shortlisted for the award; or The Separation , which won the award. Paul Kincaid was one of the founders of the Arthur C.

His book on Iain M. When I reached the end of The Gradual , I flipped back to that opening sentence and realized that, once again, Priest gave away right at the start how the novel was going to work, and then kept me from seeing it until I was most of the way through. Every time I read a Priest novel I pay attention to the first sentence. I wish I knew how he did that. Your email address will not be published. News Electric Athenaeum: Call for Submissions! Events Call for Papers: J. Reading The Prestige is tempting, but knowing the twist from the movie probably spoils any reading of the book.

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Sorry, Matthew. Superb collection, with ingeniously designed and cleverly, subtly interlocking stories about mind and sanity, culture and war, sexuality and madness. A connected collection of really good stories with sightly less than satisfying conclusions.

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This collection of stories is characterised by non-completion. By ellipses, gaps, loss of memory, tantalising hints of more, general incompleteness. In the stories themselves, in the people, in the world. This turned out not to be the book I thought I was reading. Having adored The Islanders, I thought I was getting an earlier novel set in the same place.

Uh, no.

This is a set of short stories including a couple of novellas : some set in the Dream Archipelago, some just referencing it. So I was This collection of stories is characterised by non-completion. So I was quite discontent when I read the first 'chapter' - The Equatorial Moment - and accepted it as setting the premise for the book Don't worry; I got over my disappointment.

It's a vignette, explaining the very odd thing about this world: that there is a time vortex, which means it's the same time everywhere on the world at the same time. It also means that flying somewhere is a rather difficult business. It also sets up that this world is experiencing a war, which - far more than issues to do with time - informs the entirety of this collection.

It's set in the Dream Archipelago, but that's all.

The Islanders by Christopher Priest

Some of these stories are directly about the war, and its impact on soldiers and civilians. Its connection to the Dream Archipelago is tenuous - the novel that the soldier loves is set there. This story was the first taste of incompleteness that flavours the rest, as Priest suggests and hints but does not fulfil. It's marvellous. This time the soldier has been granted leave due to sickness which manifests as synaesthesia; the civilians are women who have become whores because of the exigencies of war.

This aspect, that the women are not simply whores but that they became such for real, usually economic reasons, and that they might also have other concerns, was a delight. Too often whores and slaves just exist in the same way that horses or dogs do, with no reference to what came before.

The Gradual by Christopher Priest: a review by Paul Kincaid

So that worked. And there's a tantalising question over whether the soldier in these two stories is the same man or not. The last story in the collection, "The Discharge," also brings together art and war and ellipses. It's the fullest exploration of the war that's been affecting this world for a ridiculous amount of time, and makes it clear that ridiculous is exactly what it is.

But then the narrator ends up in the Dream Archipelago, and starts exploring art And the story takes on a whole other layer and attacks a whole other idea. It's maddening and glorious and a bit creepy. You know that thing where you're reading along, and you've been assuming something about the race, gender, location or attitude of a character and then something happens and you have to go back and read everything again to see whether you were stupid and made a mistake, or whether the author has been deliberately messing with you?

That was "The Miraculous Cairn" for me. And I'm pretty sure the answer is the latter. It's set half on the mainland and half on an island; half in the present and half in the past; and it's a horror story. One of those slow, creeping horror stories that might not be a horror story but probably is. Gave me the shivers, anyway, and is the exemplar of non-completion. It has nothing to do with the war. Neither does "The Cremation," which is set more fully in the Archipelago and whose horror aspects stem directly from that fear of not knowing the local traditions and attitudes and behaviours.

It works all too well. Also largely separate from the war is "The Watched," whose horrific nature really only comes through in the last few pages. Before that, it definitely has its creepy elements but they're not the focus although on reflection perhaps that ought to have made it more creepy Instead, the reader is left just as much in the dark as Ordier about the society of the Qataari, his object of frustrated fascination.

What makes the novella really work is that this fascination, while at the heart of the story, is not its sole preoccupation. Ordier - living in the Dream Archipelago but not a native, having left the mainland and his war-related work - lives a relatively ordinary life with a girlfriend whose job is demanding and disappointing, and we get many pages of relatively ordinary life along with Ordier's growing obsession.

This adds to the creepiness but it's not just there as filler; actually I would have been happy reading about Ordier and Jenessa and their experiences, they're so intriguing. Which is why it works as a novella.

Are they SF? Is this fantasy? The collection is set on a different world, yes; but there's no exceptional technology - it would be easy to read much of it as set in a generic olde worlde rural setting until you get references to planes, grenade launchers and microwaves. There's also no magic; the time vortex just exists, and except for stuffing around with air travel doesn't actually impact on life.

The people are human, with nothing special about them. This is just But I would still argue that it counts as speculative fiction, because I am contrary like that. This is not the sort of collection I can imagine reading again. The stories are demanding, they're frustrating, and I think they may only work once.