Veniss Underground (Paperback)

Set in the future, one's instinct is to read "Veniss Underground" as science fiction, but to do so would mean missing something very fundamental at work. In reality, the novel is set in the future because it allows VanderMeer the freedom to use certain plot devices to propel his story forward. However, the real power of the novel comes from its exploration of our humanity.

That said, his future is a fascinating construct: set in a world where each city has become a power unto itself, surrounded by impassable wastelands of human creation. In this regard, VanderMeer again harkens back to mythology, as Athens and the like were beacons in a strange, dangerous world. Veniss is a city where genetically engineered meerkats talk and act as servants, and where walking, breathing Ganesha's provide security and courier services. Moreover, the city itself is a marvel, a world unto itself. However, Veniss is coming unglued, and it is all its fragmented leadership can do to keep it together. Moreover, Veniss survives because of the Underground, a sort of slum where untold thousands live out their lives in a kind of indentured servitude, hoping only to escape their all to literal hell. To say more, would give away too much, but the resonances VanderMeer has created with our shared histories should be somewhat clear from this overview.

Stylistically, "Veniss Underground" is arranged in a manner that seems almost pretentious at first, but actually proves to be quite effective. The novel is divided into three sections, each devoted to three of the main characters. The first is told in the first person by Nicholas, the instigator of the book's plot, but perhaps the least important character. His voice is that of our most base instincts as humans; he is selfish, utterly self absorbed, and short sighted. As such, the first person is the perfect choice, as we can all see ourselves reflected in his failures.

The second section is to told in the second person, which was difficult to adapt to, but nonetheless perfectly chosen. The reason for this is that Nicola, Nicholas' sister, is the purest aspect of a horribly twisted world. While she is ultimately no better than anyone else, she is placed on a pedestal by the use of the second person, and thus becomes objectified as what one aspires to be, or to posses. Nicola's voice is both the most enigmatic and the most effective because she is held above and apart from the fray, even as it swirls around her.

Finally, there is the third section which uses the conventional third person to narrate the events of Shadrach, Nicola's one time lover. His is a section of action, of deeds, and as such he is almost outside his own control (certainly his normal behavior) and is therefore the perfect vehicle for third person narration. As Shadrach descends into ever greater horror, his humanity is stripped away and he becomes literally an avatar for the progression of the story. It is only when he returns to the surface that he regains some semblance of self control.

What then of the true protagonist, the "bioneer" Quin, who created those remarkable meerkats and much darker things? He is barely glimpsed in person, but VanderMeer lets Quin's creatures tell his story for him. In much the same way that one could say a human's love is a reflection of God, even as his failings are a reflection of his humanity, so too are Quin's creatures' capriciousness and aloofness a reflection of their creator, even as their pathos is a reflection of something beyond Quin's control. Ultimately, Quin aspires to be godhead, but is brought low by the fundamental tendency to entropy that must remain forever outside his control. In this aspect he is less reminiscent of a mythological figure than he is of Kurtz of "Heart of Darkness"/"Apocalypse Now" fame.

Jeff VanderMeer has created a novel that plums the depth of depravity and horror in a way that neither Dante nor Conrad could ever have conceived. Unlike them however, he finds redemption and beauty at the very nadir of human endeavor. While the fate and purpose of Quin's creations is at best an enigma, the conclusion can only be seen as one of hope; that there is something fundamentally good in our species that will hold back, and eventually triumph over, our own worst creations. Brilliantly conceived and superbly executed, this is a novel that represents the best in writing today and is not to be missed.

Jake Mohlman

The central part is the last chapter (I regard the first two chapter as a prologue to it) describing the voyage from the surface to the deepest level of the underground. It feels like a modern version of the Dante's Inferno. Vandermeer describes that which the progress in the underground humanity is more and more withdrawn. First it is only reflected in the behavior of people living there in despair. Then even their appearance alters (like the reappearance of the main character of the first chapter). Further down the underground is populated with creatures which only remaining humane character treat is suffering because they recognized the agony to live in that place and the awareness of their own doomed and flawed existence. At the end even that is gone and what remains is a chaotic dog-eats-dog world.

I rarely encountered a book which provoke so much emotion while reading and long after that. The book defies any classification into SF or Mystery and its use of first and second person narrative makes it so distinct to other who tried a similar approach.

Highly recommended

"Veniss Underground" succeeds on so many levels. First, it has fully realized characters who fully engaged me. Not only did I see them as real, their respective plights became important to me.

Second, it has a simultaneously exotic, beautiful, terrible, and revolting far-future setting that is vividly described. One thing that I especially appreciated about Jeff's work on the settings is that he never feels the need to describe how such a crazy place came to be, what century we're in exactly, or what part of the world. The city of Veniss just *is*.

Third, the action and pacing are brisk enough to keep the book moving and create suspense, but just leisurely enough to allow lingering on the settings and the abundance of strange creatures. The third section of the book, in particular, is a hell of a ride. There are scenes in this third section that will stay with me forever. I can't provide much description of the third section of the book without spoiling the fun and surprises, so I won't try.

Fourth, the prose itself is near-perfect. As always with Jeff's work, each sentence is so obviously crafted with loving care. As a writer myself, I know the kind of painstaking, repeated rewriting that it takes to get prose that is both this poetic and this tight. The prose is lush without ever bogging down--as beautiful as the prose in, for instance, Pynchon's "Crying of Lot 49," but you never have to stop and re-read a sentence because it falters under its own weight.

In addition, Jeff takes some risks with the storytelling technique that totally succeed. Again, I don't want to spoil surprises, but I do want to say that this technique succeeds so well because it allowed me to see the characters in a way I don't think I otherwise would have been able to. I am in awe of what Jeff pulls off here.

I predict that this book will find a large audience because Jeff has managed to write a highly accessible book filled with beautiful prose; surreal, exotic, vivid settings; compelling characters; and a great story. Throughout the book, there are moments of laugh-out-loud humor side-by-side with moments of horror and revulsion side-by-side with moments of true beauty. "Veniss Underground" is one of those rare novels that possesses real popular appeal *and* true literary merit worthy of study, in the same package with elements of fantasy, a far-future setting, imagined technologies, and just plain surrealism. Don't miss this.