ONLY HUMAN

Author: Sylvain Neuvel
Year: 2019 (2018)
Publisher: Brombergs Bokförlag
Language: Swedish (Translator Peter Samuelsson)

”Bara människa” (”Only Human”) is the third and final tome of the Themis Files-series by the Canadian translator and writer Sylvain Neuvel. Unlike its two predecessors, important portions of the story are set on a planet other than Tellus and offer glimpses into the enigmatic society that constructed the powerful robot which, thousands of years later, came to wreak havoc here on earth.

The third part also introduces yet another tempo, adding to the variation already established between parts one and two. At times, “Bara människa” almost reads like a political treatise veiled in the guise of fiction, a scathing but unoriginal critique of the contemporary political landscape. Through the prism of the extraterrestrial society that we get to know after the robot Themis is summoned to return to her home planet in the opening of the book, Neuvel casts a probing light on what he presumably perceives as political failures in our time on our own planet in general, and perhaps North America in particular.

As a politically interested and active person, I followed his musings and the political dialogue with a certain degree of satisfaction.

SPOILER

My senses were particularly titillated by the revelation that some of the narrative unfolds among the shoals and islets of my home town south of Stockholm. Yet, this sequence struck a chord particularly close to my marrow bearing in mind Sweden’s recent accession to NATO and the associated concerns about our nation’s safety and territorial sanctity. In one scene, both poignant and perturbing, the Swedish navy officer Captain Lucas Nilsson is interrogated (Neuvel was kind enough to label File 2157 a “debriefing”) by a US army colonel. Upon questioning this audacious intrusion by foreigners on Swedish jurisdiction, the captain’s concerns are unceremoniously dismissed by the American who makes it perfectly clear that the chain of command is what the North American super power desires it to be in any given situation and depends very little on national sovereignty and established hierarchies. “Let’s not waste our time pretending that you have a choice”. A taste of what is to come for our armed forces, perhaps.

More lamentable still, is the sorrowful void of missed opportunity that lingers in Nevuel’s lack of interest in the planet that he has created and the customs and culture of the lifeforms that presumably inhabit it. The same lifeforms that are capable of a technology with a destruction power that could annihilate our entire civilisation in a matter of days.

Amidst the passage of several years, the protagonists are enveloped in an extraterrestrial environment never before seen by a human eye and yet squander the precious gift of curiosity in favour of petty squabbles and relational discord. It borders on travesty to plant Vincent Couture, a renowned linguist, on a different planet for years and fail to arm him with any interest at all in learning the local language. Instead, he chooses to impart the gift of broken English upon a native youth. In lieu of an epic odyssey of discovery we are left with the banality of bickering and self-pity. The only lasting impression from their years as celestial voyagers seems to be the memory of escape and the interpersonal dynamics between the persons themselves, sadly devoid of the transformative significance typically expected from such an otherworldly experience. Indeed, a squandered opportunity born of what seems to be the writer’s want of artistic ambition and a lacklustre visionary capacity.

Within this hollow discourse, one single vaguely shining pearl of meaningful knowledge emerges from the void. It is a cautionary tale woven from the strict ideal of non-involvement in the affairs of other civilisations and the hubris of attempting to rectify trespasses of the past. This part explains much of what transpired in the first two books whilst calling forth a host of ponderous queries. To what extent can a living creature, however intelligent, foresee the outcomes of their actions? What responsibility accrues to those who wield the sceptre of power?

Similar to the first two books, the narrative through interrogation recordings, diary entries, and secret files, continues to fail. In the end, it is obvious that the writer, careening toward the abyss of chaos, simply capitulated and allowed the last couple of chapters to fizzle out in the mundanity of happenstance encounters between people in shops and on the street while the headlines keep enumerating file numbers for no apparent reason. It has long become unclear who records these conversations, by what means, and for what purpose.

The Themis Files, alas, appears to me as a distinct disappointment, a discordant note in the in the symphony of excellence otherwise associated with the esteemed publisher Brombergs Förlag. One cannot help but wonder whether The Themis Files constituted an experiment or a gamble for Brombergs. Though I sincerely hope that the venture met with financial success, I cannot deny that it put a bit of a dent in my confidence in the brand.

On a positive note, I am pleased to take this opportunity to trumpet Lee Gibbons’ riveting cover art which captures, per chance, the splendour and mystery of what this trilogy could have been in the hands of a more skilled writer.

UNDER THE NORTH STAR - II

Author: Väinö Linna
Year: 1988 (1960)
Publisher: Wahlström & Widstrand
Language: Swedish (Translator N-B Storbom)

If the initial tome of Väinö Linna’s famous trilogy “Under the North Star” (see my review from March 2024) lays bare the rift in the social fabric of pre- First World War Finland, the second instalment “Upp Trälar” (published in English, and indeed the original Finnish simply as Part Two of the trilogy) sees Finland completely torn apart. The cataclysmic upheaval of the world war that brought an end to the oppression of the Muscovites, also hurled an already weary nation into a brief but bitter civil war between the forces of a marching Socialism and an entrenched Bourgeoisie.

In “Upp trälar”, Väinö Linna ventures forth into a grim era in Finland’s history, wasting no concern to embellish or veil the unspeakable evil wrought by one countryman upon another. What once was a resigned acceptance of fate, gradually sprouts into fear and suspicion, blossoming into fervent resistance and protest. We follow the genesis of the labour movement and how the first workers’ strikes compel the landowning classes to yield their first concessions. We are there when they later attempt to claw back some of their privileges in the midst of the turmoil following the Russian Czar’s effort to reassert dominion over an increasingly unruly Finland. We observe the violent reaction from the downtrodden, their blazing spirit under the scarlet banners of Socialism. We witness how Finns, increasingly wary of one another, engage in an arms race and ultimately a brutal and relentless war. And we mourn alongside the lone voices of reason their futile bids to prevent the looming calamity.

The atrocities perpetrated by all sides in the conflict defy all concepts of humanity, as the blind rage of vengeance knows no bounds other than its own indiscriminate barbarianism. People who have seen no other world than that populated by one another are pitted against each other, unleashing a hatred beyond comprehension. The outcome can only be death, suffering, and unspeakable despair.

Such events are, of course, not inherent to Finnish history or culture but form a humiliating leitmotif throughout the ages of human development. Whether religious wars, the Inquisition, the Rein of Terror, the October Revolution, the Massacres at Volhynia, Endlösung der Judenfrage, the Balkan War… the list goes on. And this is accounting for merely one of the six populated continents of the world. When given the chance, man reveals himself all too eager to provide evidence that what differentiates him from the beast is not his intellect or culture, but rather his unmatched capacity for hatred, barbarism, and his insatiable hunger for destruction, power, and blood.

As I argued in the review of the first part of this trilogy, the typical Swedish reader will scarcely be able to fathom the magnitude of such trials as Swedish socialists, faced with diametrically different challenges than their Finnish counterparts, had the luxury of riding the tide of a rapidly rising democratic movement allowing them to steer their course toward reform rather than revolution. By immersing ourselves in the Finnish experience we are unceremoniously confronted with the prospect of what could have been, a revelation that should give us pause in our insular sense of entitlement.

Although the tone in “Upp trälar” is endlessly darker than that in the first book, Linna’s literary genius remains beyond reproach. With his masterful touch, he treats each of his characters and every event with the utmost respect, offering neither accusation nor defence beyond that what their own deeds already dictate. While history teaches us that the socialists were defeated by a joint intervention of Finnish and international military forces, on an individual plain there were no victors. Here Linna, in his inimitable way, delivers each and every one of them to us for forgiveness or condemnation according to the inclination of each individual reader’s own conscience.

Indeed, if the first part of the trilogy resounded of hard labour punctuated by sparse but genuine laughter, the second book echoes of nothing but gnashing teeth and inconsolable screams into the darkness of an indifferent universe.