Customer Reviews

Emphyrio

5 star:		(5)
4 star:		(1)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

I have little to add to those who've commented that this little Classic of Vance's Gaean Reach novels is haunting, and Vance in the top of his form. This little passage always stays with me as an example of writing that could ONLY be Vance:

(It's a backward world, far from Earth, a thousand years in the future... where artists and artisans are exploited by a commercial cartel. This is a conversation between the protagonist as a little boy who's just seen a puppet show, and the peripatetic puppeteer Holkerwoyd):

"I was born beside a star so far that you'll never see its light, not in the sky of Halma."

"Then why are you here?"

"I often ask myself the same. The answer always comes: because I'm not somewhere else. Which is a statement more sensible than it sounds. And isn't it a marvel? Here am I and here are you; think of it! When you ponder the breadth of the galaxy, you must recognize a coincidence of great singularity!"

"I don't understand."

"Simple enough! Suppose you were here and I elsewhere, or I were here and you elsewhere, or both of us were elsewhere: three cases vastly more probable than the fourth, which is in fact our mutual presence within ten feet of each other. I repeat, a miraculous concatenation! And to think that some hold the Age of Wonders to be past and gone!"

Reminiscent of "1984" or "Brave New World," "Emphyrio" is Vance's stab at dystopian fiction. Like its predecessors, it is a gloomy, pessimistic novel (lacking Vance's trademark wit); unlike other novels in this genre, however, this one is enriched by a coming-of-age story focusing on the relationship between a father and a son.

The first (and far better) half of the book focuses on the bond between Amiante and Ghyl. Amiante is a skilled artisan whose work is highly valued, but his lackadaisical and somewhat rebellious attitude keeps him from participating fully as a "proper" member of a strictly regimented society--a world in which any form of automation or duplication (cameras, molding, assembly-line manufacturing, etc.) is strictly forbidden in order to maintain the quality and uniqueness of handmade goods. Amiante imparts his aloofness to his son Ghyl, who shares his father's taste for individualism and subversion. Goaded by seditious friends and angered by his father's ultimate punishment, Ghyl hatches a scheme to leave his native planet; the plan goes awry but allows Ghyl to explore the universe and discover its history and secrets.

Vance aims his barbs at a wide range of targets: the welfare state, capitalism, totalitarianism, religion, socialism, class warfare, unions, and more. And that's the problem with the last 100 pages: the novel is far too short for such a scattershot approach, and the "message" often gets lost in a series of quick resolutions and easy aphorisms. Planets are briefly visited, characters come and go, and secrets are revealed. While on Earth, for example, Ghyl spends a month (fewer than four pages) with Flora, "a slim blond Norwegian girl," but the reason for her sudden introduction and equally sudden disappearance is mystifying. Through contrived coincidences (e.g., running into a previous acquaintance on faraway planet) and relatively effortless disclosures, Ghyl learns "surprising" truths about the structure of his native society. The resolution of the plot and the revelation of the book's secrets are actually quite clever, so it's doubly sad that Vance seems to be rushing through the story, tying up loose ends without either making them all that believable or giving the reader much of a chance to consider what they mean.

"Emphyrio" is, of course, meant to be an allegory, and I suspect that Vance deliberately modeled his "myth" as fable (like, say, "Animal Farm") rather than full-blown epic (like "Dune"). His nightmarish universe and imaginative vision is far too big, though, to be satisfactorily presented in 200 pages. As a result, "Emphyrio" at times seems more a skeleton of a brilliant novel than a fully realized masterpiece.

As most of the other critics have noted, this is a vastly different book than most of Vance's other novels or stories. While it shares the some of the same trappings and atmosphere of Vance classics such as "Night Lamp" or the Durdane trilogy, its view is rather depressing. In my opinion, "Emphyrio" most resembles the Durdane trilogy, with its ignorant protelariat and non-existent civil society controlled by a mysterious entity.

I, too, agree with the critic who mentioned the discord between the two halves of the book. The first (better) half focuses on the societal injustices and the rights of Man. The latter part IS rushed; it seems that Vance had to change tack after the hijacking of the Lords. It reminds me of Twain's "Huckleberry Finn," (yes, I'm serious) in that regard--Twain faced the same dilemma 2/3rds of the way through that book (while Jim and Huck are on the raft). Does anyone else agree with this observation?

I highly recommend this book. Find a copy, and grab any copy of ANY Jack Vance book that you come across.

Jack Vance is at the top of his form in _Emphyrio_. The novel tells the story of Ghyl, a fey youth who questions the solidified, authoritarian society in which he is growing up. It is in effect a socialist or capitalist dystopia (depending on how you define the terms), and Vance does a great job presenting the superiority of individualistic liberty vs. monopolistic rule by a class of exploiters in a non-didactic, dramatized form. The ending presents a surprise to the reader that has been well prepared. This is Vance at his best.

This is one of Vance's best novels, and in many ways a good introduction to this author. On display are many of the hallmarks of his mature style: his elegant writing, his wonderful depiction of local colour, his unusual social systems. Emphyrio lacks only the humour that is so often present in Vance: this is one of his more melancholy books. It's also better plotted than many of his novels, and it's a stand-alone.

The story concerns a young man in the city of Ambroy (on the planet Halma) named Ghyl Tarvoke. Ghyl is the son of Amiante Tarvoke, a rather unconventional inhabitant of Ambroy. Amiante is a master carver of wooden screens, one of the handmade products that Ambroy exports to the rest of the Galaxy, but he is rather solitary, and does not produce especially many screens, and does not participate in the religious rituals of Ambroy, which involve intricate leaping (saltation).

Ghyl's childhood is wonderfully presented. It's rather lonely, but happy, as Amiante's rearing of Ghyl bids fair to make him as unconventional as his father. Ghyl explores much of his city, which is ruled by a very few "Lords" or "Remedials," who control the utilities and services of the city, and provide a guaranteed minimum support lifestyle to the common people who co-operate, in exchange for control of the market for Ambroy's artwork. Various regulations are enforced, most notably an absolute rule against duplication of any kind, ostensibly to ensure the maintenance of Ambroy's reputation for completely original handmade art.

Ghyl makes a few friends, some who end up "noncups," or people living outside the welfare system. He also learns eventually that his father's unconventionality extends to illegal duplication: his father has a collection of historical documents, which he duplicates. He also teaches Ghyl the writing systems used in these old documents. One old document is an unfinished version of the legend of Emphyrio, a hero of the past on the planet Aume who helped humans throw off the domination of aliens from the mood Sigil. As Ghyl grows older, he remains isolated from most of his fellows, an isolation only enhanced by his brief affair with a Lord's daughter, and further exacerbated by his father's eventual punishment and death for his duplicating.

Finally Ghyl is pushed to a desperate act, kidnapping a Lord's spaceship. This leads to a journey offworld, where he eventually learns much about the true story of Emphyrio and the true nature of his own planet, of the Lords who rule it and the mysterious puppet makers of the moon Damar. The resolution is satisfying if a bit odd, with a nice twist. However, although the plot of this novel is satisfactory, the real pleasures, as with all Vance, lie elsewhere.

This book features, for one thing, a very satisfying depiction of an odd, lonely but happy, childhood. For a second thing, there is the culture of Ambroy, which is perhaps not so odd as some of Vance's social structures, but still fascinating, with its welfare system, prohibition of duplication, mysterious Lords, and unusual and mordantly amusing punishments. Thirdly there is Vance's always elegant prose, with his glorious touch for names of people (Amiante Tarvoke), alien races (the Garrion), and places (Daillie); and his knack for coining words (noncups, skeel, Remedials). And finally, his plots, even when unsatisfactorily resolved, often seem to be following conventional paths before suddenly taking unusual but believable turns. Vance's main weakness, besides his occasional trouble with endings, is his cavalier approach towards scientific realism. In some moods this bothers me, but I think it's best with Vance simply to ignore this. So what if his spaceships seem but cars that can be driven at FTL? That's not the point with Vance.

The city of Ambroy, on the planet Halma, is a place best described as "medieval Stalinist" with secret police, remote lords in their Eyries, powerful nepotistic guilds, and a welfare and taxation system which seems fine when you think about it, except for the fact that the game is rigged and no one is in fact paid anything like what they worth. On this world, incredible craftsmen produce priceless works of art, unknowing all the while. It's a depressing and bleak place, but that's not the worst of it, as it turns out.

You can argue that Jack Vance doesn't write "science-fiction" but rather social satire that just happens to have aliens and spaceships in it. The story here is really in the telling, and a plot summary is largely a waste of time, and probably misleading as well. Ghyl Tarvoke is our hero: we see his relationship with his father (but there is no maternal relationship at all) and how that shaped him into becoming a thief, pirate, scholar and revolutionary (remember that any plot descriptions are misleading, even if literally true).

Vance here is writing a story about human nature, people and their follies and foibles, as well as about power structures and unquestioning obediance to "how things have always been". There is action and contemplation in equal measure; one can read this on a few levels and enjoy it on all of them. This is a really accessable starting point for Vance - short and yet complex, with a style unmistakely unique that leads you deeper and deeper into the tale.

The one flaw I find in this engrossing book is that Vance seems to have decided, at that stage of his career, that it needed a little more structural emphasis than his previous books had displayed. This led him to the calamitous device of an opening, "framing," chapter. If this opening chapter should be torn bodily from the book -- and would we might see Vance's own explicit authorization for such a deed! -- it would then be perfect, in all respects.

I've loved everything I've read by Jack Vance up to this book. But Emphyrio is not written in the style of some his later stories, although it was by no means poorly written. It just lacks the dry wit that is the hallmark of, for example, the (awesome) Demon Princes and for me that was a major disappointment.

Nonetheless, the story was fine. Though, without getting into too much of the plot, it's one of those "clever" or "meaningful" endings which sci-fi authors all like to do from time to time. If that's your thing, this book is for you. If not, there's better Vance to be read.