This is a wonderfullly mind-bending book that works on so many levels it would definitely reward a second reading. Its premise is pretty strange: in a post-apocalyptic England, turned into an achipelago by global warming, a brutal and backward society is ruled by a religion based on a holy text of "revealed truth," The Book of Dave. Fast-rewind to the present and it soon becomes clear that The Book is the psychotic rantings of a London cabbie of the same name, engraved on stainless steel plates and buried in his estranged wife's garden. The purpose of this insanity is to pass to his son "The Knowledge" of London streets, routes and points of interest that cabbies need to memorize to get their license. Intewoven with this is Dave's worldview, venomously warped by rage at the ex-wife, longing for his "Lost Boy," and the side-effects of a stew of mis-prescribed drugs.
The first chapter of Will Self's book, set in 522 AD (After Dave) was almost incomprehensible, even though I lived and studied in England for years and I am quite conversant with cockney and London lore. It is worth persevering, however. Slowly the realization dawns that many of the strange vocabulary and practices relate to taxis and their drivers. The ubiquitous holy (or "davine") greeting, rendered in horrible texting abbreviation, is "Ware2, guv?" Anyone who ever hailed a cab in London knows that these are the first words out of the driver's mouth. In the dystopian future these are words that connect one to Dave's sacred world. Priests are "Drivers," prayer is "intercom," wise and exalted people are addressed as "rearview," souls are "fares," heretics are "fliers." The last one took a while to decipher: in the present, fliers are people who take a cab to Heathrow to leave London, and they are by definition heretics, leaving behind the familiar, wondrous, endlessly interesting London.
The novel unfolds in 16 chapters that alternate between the dystopian future and the blighted present, skipping back and forth even within their own era. In the future there is rigid separation of the sexes, with the children spending exactly half a week with each parent (as Dave the cabbie prescribed in his Book). The routes and sights ("runs and points") are endlessly recited by rote, even though they have disappeared for centuries, although some of them are being rebuilt in grotesque caricature by people who have no idea what they looked like. The people are kept in brutal servitude for the benefit of King Dave III and his Lawyers (feudal landlords) by a combination of religious doctrine, a cadre of Drivers (state-sanctioned priests), Examiners, spies, and armed thugs. That the rantings of the demented cabbie become the holiest of holies and the entire basis of a society is exactly the point: Dave's steel-engraved bile served the purpose of the rulers, but then, as the author redundantly points out, they would have used whatever else was at hand and fit the need.
In the parallel narratives, all is not doom and gloom. Dave recovers his sanity; in 510 AD a new prophet ("geezer")preaches a gospel of love and freedom, based on the idea that Dave wrote his Book when he was "off his rocker," then wrote another book repudiating the first and prescribing kindness and reconciliation. According to this new gospel men and women can live together and use the fruits of their own labor. Of course the geezer threatens the social order and is swiftly sent to the Tower of New London. His grisly fate is unclear until his son sets out to find him and understand the nature of his dad's heresy ("flying"). I won't give away any more, but only say that along the way Will Self's pessimism burns through like a smoldering fire.
As one reads along, things become clear. American readers will still find it hard going. The many twists and turns of the plots and subplots take us through present and future London in all its bewildering detail. There are side trips along the way to take in the bigoted world of cabbies, the crazy antics of militant fathers' rights activists, private detectives, loan sharks, etc. In the future, we get vivid descriptions of the priests, inquisitors, torturers, executioners, informers (CCTV men), taxmen and flunkies as well as some strange, genetically engineered talking pig/ cow/ human creatures called motos. Parallels between the two worlds are piled up with abandon; I'm sure I only got a fraction of all the allusions and references, but I will read the novel again.
In all, this is a strange and wonderful book, one well worth reading and rereading. The New Yorker reviewer talks about Will Self's boundless misanthropy. I know from experience that there is plenty of that in the UK, but I would disagree in this case. A misanthrope would not have created such a vivid world, in all its mostly repulsive detail, leavened with flashes of heroism, goodness and nobility. For all their sadness and futility, Will Self's flawed heroes, current and future, struggle for sanity and kindness. That they mostly fail is not due to misanthropy; I take it as a cautionary tale.
