Customer Reviews

The Raw Shark Texts: A Novel

5 star:		(49)
4 star:		(25)
3 star:		(21)
2 star:		(17)
1 star:		(8)

 

 

Lots of it's good, so let's start with that part. It gets off to an ordinary start - the protagonist has amnesia, so it could be about anything or nothing. It happened just after the death of a wonderful young woman who had taken him into his life. Then peculiarities emerge. This isn't usual amnesia, it recurs. He has these attacks.

He is attacked, it turns out. Something, equal parts philosophical abstraction and carnivore, has chosen Eric Sanderson as prey. With this revelation, we're down the rabbit hole and into a rubbery fantasy world. It's a world like none you've ever seen before, where information turns solid and solid objects are subject to debate. Characters develop reasonably well, with the exception of Mycroft Ward. The writing gets a bit overheated at times and the concept has soft spots, but both progress toward a satisfying end, one that has elements of "Griffin & Sabine" and Gaiman's "Neverwhere," but is wholly its own creature.

There's enough here to keep a reader moving along. If your imaginative "inner voice" moves its lips when it reads, there can be a lot to enjoy. I found a few points grating, though, and a tighter story would have been a better one. It's good, though. Some readers will get a lot from this one.

//wiredweird, reviewing a complimentary copy

I got through the first 50 pages or so of this wannabe innovative novel not sure what I was on to, but the writing was good enough, the unfolding plot odd and exciting enough to spur me on. Midway along, I started to really like the story -- and then, a hundred pages further , I was not so sure any more. Quickly the read became a downhill slide. Although beautifully written and highly, intriguingly imagined, the book's qualities fail to disguise a fairly hackneyed plot: amnesiac victim of some unknown trauma must discover his past and present reality. But then, what IS reality? Pursued by a conceptual, man/mind-eating shark, our hero sets literal (or not literal?)sail to solve that always too-grand question.

Does he resolve his existential dilemmas? (Yes, there are several such dilemmas, which means there's at least one too many.) By the end, I didn't much care. I finished the book out of duty, hoping to the last the story would redeem itself. Alas not.

Hitchcock did it much, much better.

Well, what can I say...this book was a good read.

I read it over the course of a single day, and I was not disappointed with the time I spent. The book begins with a simple, perhaps overused premise: the protagonist has lost his memory. He starts to rebuild a life for himself when he discovers that his memory loss was caused by something a little more sinister than a mere mental lapse.

Through a fascinating adventure into the depths of imagination and powerful verbal imagery the author takes you deep into the mind and thoughts of Eric Sanderson. He starts as a fairly cardboard, bland character, but then through constant growth he develops into his own sort of hero.

Though there are few characters in this book, the ones that are introduced feel alive and vibrant, especially the main female character, Scout. She is strong and independent, and is almost the picture-perfect strong female lead. Mr. Nobody is justifiably creepy, and the main antagonist, though never met, hovers over the events in the book with a dark, almost omnipotent malevolence.

I found very few things wrong with this book. The story is excellent, and I loved the characters. The ending almost seemed too happy for me, though, and it seemed like Sanderson's obsession over finding his dead girlfriend was fulfilled, and too easily at that. Also, there was mention of a second cat, Gavin...to where did he scamper? He was mentioned on too many occasions, and just seemed like he was abandoned as a character. His counterpart Ian provided the ideal image of a loyal, yet obstinant, feline.

I would like to see more happen in this universe of Hall's, especially with his presentation of Un-Space and the idea of a lot more happening in this world than most people ever see, yet I would also like to see what more Steven Hall can produce from his rich field of imagination.

Definitely a good read, especially from a first-time novelist!

Wow, this book comes in red AND blue! That's about as fascinating as I found this endeavor. I think the author didn't succumb to esoteric pretentiousness so much as simply fail to deliver an entertaining novel. I could feel a mighty effort though, and I almost liked him for sallying through with such an earnest attempt. I found the premise intriguing, the characters sympathetic, but I was bored by the dense tedium of the book's structure, disappointed when it didn't really follow through to anything memorable or conclusive, and found the prose self-conscious, the imagery strained, and the ideas ice-locked by some sort of sighing crush on HOUSE OF LEAVES, a much better and much more effective genre-splicing work of experimental fiction.

When he is shown an inkblot as part of a Rorschach test, Charly, the protagonist of Daniel Keyes' Flowers for Algernon says the line I quote in my review title. Charly is mentally handicapped, and can't use his imagination the way others can. He can't visualize what the ink MIGHT be, just what it is.

Steven Hall's debut novel is a clever play on that psychological trope, right down to the title (RAW SHARK TEXTS = Rorschach tests), and although it is one of the most intelligent and imaginative books I've read in a long time, by the time I was done, all I saw was ink. Lemme explain.

The story is about Eric Sanderson who wakes up with amnesia. A cliched but always compelling opener. As he tries to piece his life together, he runs into a suspicious psychotherapist, a doctor of language and memes, a curiously helpful Scout, and a host of predatory sea creatures. Except, the sea creatures don't technically exist, at least not on any kind of tangible plain. The only clear way to put it? Imagine an imagination. Now imagine that the imagination eats ideas. Can you picture it? Or do you only see ink?

Hall has tried to combine psychological wordplay with science fiction with a love story at sea. He has tossed in some vague Samurai history, a lot of literary landmarks and allusions, and a fantastical thriller masquerading as mystical solipsism. Sorry. I'm getting opaque. Must be the book. The point being, unlike his antagonist, Hall doesn't have several layers of razor sharp teeth, and I'm afraid he has bitten off more than he can chew.

The book is obviously meant to toy with readers' ideas of life, reality, and even with the concept of beginnings and endings. The book is very much like a psychological experiement, with the reader being the unknowing subject. There are so many avenues of interpretation, so many ways to look at this story, that although some people might find it enjoyable and thought-provoking, I found it as fun as flipping through 428 pages of inkblots.

Okay, well, I found it more fun than that. I was engaged on an intellectual level once Hall began to talk about conceptual loops and un-space. And when Eric begins to receive letters from himself in the past, my interest was piqued even more. But when it came time (I thought) to delve into the nuts and bolts of these issues, Hall chose instead to muddy the waters with more and more random ideas. A giant, personality consuming entity named Mycroft Ward. An underground lair made entirely of written words. A completely pointless cat named Ian (the name is supposed to be humorous, but perhaps only to Brits, because I don't get it). For those who have the time and inclination, the book is chock full of variables and mental equations (there is even a viral marketing campaign, a sort of global scavenger hunt, that revolves around negatives, or un-chapters of the book). If I were to rate the effort and thought that Hall put into the novel, I'd given him ten stars. It's that impressive.

However, if I were to sit down with a brush and dot-by-dot paint one of those Magic Eye paintings by hand, it would certainly be impressive and cool, but not what I (or anyone) should call art. I was going to give the book three stars, but then I got to the end and realized that the whole thing was the equivalent of a quantum physicist using a scientific calculator to mathematically describe the transcribed parabola of two twiddling thumbs. Beautiful, amazing, brilliant, boring.

I was reminded of other authors who bend and twist the form of novels but to far greater effect. House of Leaves is a common comparison. I also thought of everything ever done by David Mitchell and Jonathan Safran Foer. Authors who aren't just smart and creative, but who have real and powerful points to make BESIDE their creative and mind-bending gimmicks.

There is a very, very real chance that all of this complaining is the result of my own psychological response to the novel. I'm willing to concede the possibility that what Hall has written is a true Rorschach novel, a story that reveals and reflects nothing but what readers will put into it. Maybe -- just maybe -- I don't like the novel because I don't like myself. But I don't think so. The writing is pedestrian (functional) but also manages to sound labored and repetitive. The characters I found inconsistent and uninteresting. For instance, they readily accept all sorts of bizarre nonsense, including typographic bombs and fish made of words, but when Eric is told that a companion had part of her personality stolen, he says incredulously, "You're not making any sense."

Ha ha ha. No, Eric, it doesn't make much sense. The novel is a collection of magnificent mind games and thought-provoking ideas, wrapped in a tedious and unimpressive "thriller." Imagine, if you will, an imagination. If you can do that, then you're already one up on the book.

When is the last time you read an "I woke up with amnesia" novel that was actually original and unique? Probably never - unless you've read Steven Hall's debut novel, The Raw Shark Texts. Hall totally unleashes the power of words and memories in the form of a Ludovician, a powerful conceptual fish that swims in the streams of human experience and communication, a devourer of memories that, should it focus on one specific individual, will not stop pursuing that unlucky victim until he has taken everything that made that individual the person he/she was. A person's only real defense against this most relentless of pursuers is the establishment of a non-divergent conceptual loop, a bubble in the pathways of human interaction that hides the individual from the tell-tale signs of cause and effect. No matter how many words and concepts you wrap around yourself, though, you can't hide forever, not from this predator.

Eric Sanderson wakes up, face down on the carpet, with no self-identity or personal memories - but he does have a note instructing him to immediately call a Dr. Randle for help. According to the doctor, his is a rare case of disassociative disorder mixed with psychotropic fugue, its root cause tracing back to the death of a lover named Clio Aames two years earlier. Eric's former self is forgotten but not exactly gone, however, as letters from the First Eric Sanderson arrive almost daily. Eric ignores these communications on Dr. Randle's orders - until, that is, a most frightening and unexplainable event shakes the foundations of his newly rekindled world. Learning of the Ludovician-based danger he is in, Eric eventually sets off to retrace his former self's steps in an attempt to find the one man who might be able to help him, the mysterious Dr. Trey Fidorous. The First Eric Sanderson, we learn, had been obsessed with finding a way to undo Clio's death, and his desperate efforts to do so (with the help of Dr. Fidorous) led him to a hole in un-space, but rather than save his beloved he managed to unleash the text shark that now pursues the Second Eric Sanderson.

Think of un-space as the unknown labyrinth beneath us and the abandoned locations hidden throughout the world around us. It's not an easy place to find, especially if you're on your own and all you have are assorted fragments of your former self's past and a coded manuscript you are still trying to decipher. You need help, and Eric eventually finds such help in the person of Scout, a mysterious character in and of herself - for a vast number of reasons. As Eric's quest intensifies, concept comes to trump reality, setting the stage for a conclusion that may push the limits of some readers' disbelief too far but will delight those with a strong literary imagination who yearn for something different. Hall's daring and experimental way of presenting the Ludovician's approach to the story's final battle was rather brilliant, if you ask me.

I've barely touched the surface when it comes to the depth and intellectual range of this most unusual novel. It's so different that I can't even begin to do it justice. It's just as emotionally powerful as it is intellectually abstract, and it serves up quite an action-packed conclusion. Action, intrigue, mystery, romance, coded messages, conceptual sharks - this novel really has it all, and its creativity and originality more than make up for any slight plot-related missteps along the way. I daresay you've never read anything quite like The Raw Shark Texts.

Okay, let's start with the title. Raw Sharks Texts. Wow, must be a play on "Rorscharch test" Cool, huh? Well, not so fast. What is a "raw shark"? There's a shark in the book, but it's not raw, per se. In fact, the idea of "rawness" is never mentioned in the book. In other words, the title is fun and seemingly clever but in reality, it's a strained, ersatz clever.

That's my overall take on the book: fun and seemingly clever but at the end of the day, strained and in the end, not very fulfilling.

The writing is clear and easy to read (at least in the first half). In fact, it pulls you forward. Partly that's because the main character is very likable. And the semiotic/sci fi elements are fun.

But it's also because you want to know how Hall is going to wrap it all up in the end without resorting to the obvious. Alas he clearly couldn't figure out how to do that, so he didn't. You're left with two possible endings, neither of which is satisfying alone (one being obvious and the other being a non-ending). These endings are supposed to be more satisfying because you get two of them.

The second half is confusing (and dull) and the great tension between the two main characters is hard to fathom.

I did love the idea of primitive creatures emerging in the morass of data floating around us--the recapitulation of evolution in conceptual form, but the idea is essentially dropped for a second plot line that goes basically nowhere. Ah, but is there a nowhere or is everywhere nowhere and nowhere is always here?

The one word that reviewers seem to use most when describing The Raw Shark Texts is memorable, and indeed I think it shall be. That is to say, I imagine I will remember the book. Of course, the idea of knowing that one will remember something is intriguing. Is there any way to know what we will remember? Furthermore is there any way to know (e.g. remember) that which we once thought we would remember but have now forgotten? If these questions interest you, The Raw Shark Texts may indeed be for you.

If Mark Z. Danielewski and Haruki Murakami got together to write a romantic/mystery/horror story, it might turn out something like "Raw Shark Texts," the debut novel by Steven Hall. While the initial handling of some concepts is a bit clumsy (unspace?), the vivid writing and clever twists come together nicely. It's weird, stark and bittersweet.

A young man wakes up with total amnesia. A doctor explains to him that he's suffering from dissociative disorder, due to the loss of his beloved girlfriend Clio. The man -- Eric Sanderson -- attempts to muddle back into a life he doesn't recognize... but soon starts receiving letters and packages from "the first Eric Sanderson," warning him of something far more sinister. He tries to ignore the letters, but strange occurrances start haunting him.

The letters include items encoded with info, transcribed memories of his last days with his beloved Clio, and the revelation of what destroyed his memories -- a Ludovician, a conceptual shark existing in un-space. Now Eric -- and a strange girl who is strangely reminiscent of Clio -- try to escape the conceptual beast, and salvage what is left of his memory and life.

Lots of movies and books start off with an amnesiac seeking answers. But the story of "Raw Shark Texts" is a bit different: a postmodern horror/romance/mystery/action novel, which spins up some surreal creations, and doesn't give a tidy answer to its questions. In a way, it's a story about how the sadness and dreams of lost love can devour our minds. Yet it doesn't have to be the end -- love can be found again.

It would have been a disaster (conceptual sharks?), if he weren't such a solid writer -- he spins up the complex, wrenching emotions of a lost soul, written in vivid, colourful prose ("her normal smile turns sharp like little blades, and her eyes go all shiny and electric"). Yet his writing also gets dark and grotesque, such as Eric's confrontation with the soulless, disintegrating Mr. Nobody.

Like Danielewski, Hall has lots of typographic trickery (sharks and lampreys composed of words, blurred postcards, distorted books) that adds an extra surreality to the story. And there's the concepts of the Ludovician and unspace -- all the empty in-between places of the world -- which are introduced rather clumsily and hastily, but which are fascinating in themselves.

Eric himself is a likable guy -- geeky, mild-mannered, and loving, and who is tormented by the loss he can't remember, and the fear of losing what is left of himself. The other characters are well drawn as well -- his past and future girlfriends most of all, with their little quirks and oddities. And of course, that adorable cat Ian.

"The Raw Shark Texts" has some first-time stumbles, but Stephen Hall's debut is a clever mix of intellectual horror, romantic loss, and philosophical struggle with the emptiness of a strange, vivid world. An astounding postmodern thriller.

There's a very thin line between being influenced and being derivative, and this debut novel teeters rather uneasily between the two, paying homage to its influencers while rarely transcending them. It may be trite to do so, but it's also next to impossible to write about this book without mentioning, oh, say, Auster, Borges, Calvino, Carver, Gaiman, and David Mitchell, Murakami (just to hit the obvious ones), along with films such as Jaws, Memento, The Wizard of Oz, The Matrix and the collected works of Terry Gilliam, Darren Aronofsky, and Charlie Kaufman. Unfortunately, all these explicit and implicit nods to other work only serve to remind the reader how much generally better they are than the one being read.

The story concerns Eric Sanderson, a young man who wakes up in a house with no idea who he is or why he's there, or indeed, any memories. The first section of the book consists of him finding his ground in the world and trying to make sense of it. Meanwhile, he's been receiving mail and packages from his pre-amnesiac self, which he has refrained from opening. After this enigmatic prelude, we are finally let in on the secret: Eric is being stalked by a "conceptual" fish, a "Ludovician shark" which preys on memories and one's own sense of identity. This metaphysical predator appears to be able to wreak real damage in Eric's world, and eventually he tears open the letters and embarks on a journey to kill the shark. Along the way he hooks up with a sexy young woman who offers to guide him to the one man who might be able to help him -- an expert in conceptual fish. It seems she's on the run from her own peril, the exponentially cloning consciousness of a Victorian-era mastermind (rather lamely named Mycroft, referencing Sherlock Holmes' famously more intelligent brother).

This all sounds pretty good, and edited down, it might be. However, the book suffers mightily from Eric's lack of personality (In a sense, the author has painted himself into a corner in that the shark is attracted by Eric's personality, and thus he has to subsume it much of the time.) and the sheer amount of time the reader has to spend in his head. As one reads, it's not hard to imagine how much leaner and better the material would be as a film (especially in the hands of Terry Gilliam). There are a host of interesting ideas, such as the protection offered to Eric by large bodies of words (libraries, bookstores, masses of telephone books, etc.), the semi-subterranean world of "un-space", a whole slew of cryptographic gymnastics, and various typographical experiments (including a flipbook within the text). Ultimately, beneath the tricksy postmodern storytelling lies a very conventional story of love and grief. However, the prose isn't nearly up to the cleverness of some of the ideas and while it can be an exhilarating read at times, it can also drag quite a bit. It'll be interesting to see whether Hall's next book exhibits better control and writing.

Note: There is a rather substantial web site devoted to discussing and decoding the book's various elements and influences.

While I liked the book, I thought many of the side plot elements were too confusing. I could tell that it was the first book for the author. There were too many questions that went unanswered. Too many diversions or side stories. I really wanted the book end in a way where everything made sense, and it just didn't. The ending was very confusing and didn't tie up any loose ends. The book was all over the place. I wish that he would have just stuck with one element of the plot and ran with it. Instead we have all these different elements (Is Scout Clio, what's the flashing light video mean, etc.), that just don't make for a complete story. There were some amazing visuals and parts of the story made it a page turner. It just didn't end well and that really made me dislike the book. It also seemed like the author was trying to make too many stories. It was like a mix between The Matrix, Jaws, and Momento. Just pick a story and go with it. The sappy love story was poorly done as well. If I wanted to read a love story I'd read A Farewell to Arms or something like that, not this book.