Machines Like Me by Ian McEwan

Ahhh Ian McEwan!

My love affair with McEwan and his books is such a seesaw of anticipation, hope, expectation and oh so often disappointment. Atonement is the only book that has lasted the distance for me, although I'm willing to give Chesil Beach another shot, as in hindsight, I read it for the first time at completely the wrong time in my life to appreciate it properly. 

Machines Like Me sounded very promising and I'm probably one of the few people that didn't get totally creeped out by the front cover. Alternate histories, artificial intelligence (aka science run-amok) and profound moral dilemma's are all my literary cups of tea.

I've been holding off writing this review as I waited for Mr Books to finish it too. I wanted to discuss it with him and combine our thoughts for this post. Because, love it or hate it, Machines Like Us is the perfect book group book - oozing with thought provoking ideas and many points to mull over and debate.

The trouble for me in the end, was that I didn't buy the moral dilemma and was frustrated by the alternate history storyline that felt unresolved and unexplained - a gimmick rather than a fully fleshed discussion point. Which isn't to say that Mr Books and I didn't have a healthy discussion about consciousness, mind versus brain, emotional nuances, black and white thinking and how we develop shades of grey thinking. We did. But neither of us ever believe that robot Adam was anything more than a robot. 

He and the other 20-odd Adam and Eve robots were unable to cope with the 'real' world of human chaos and complexity. Their logically processes and programmed responses were not enough. Perhaps if they had been created as children and allowed to learn gradually the responses appropriate for the society they were living in about how to exist in this particular world of adults before moving on to older bodies, they may have not have freaked out so much.

What makes us human? Is it our brains, our feelings, our sense of consciousness? Is it soul or spirit or some other undefined, unseen element that makes us, dare I say, unique?

Mr Books threw the 1999 Robin Williams movie, Bicentennial Man into the mix. It had similar themes - robots as household help/slaves and where, exactly, is the line between human and non-human. 

The human characters were less than impressive - flawed, messy, chaotic individuals. They were insipid, jealous, vengeful, judgemental and lacking in dignity with imperfect moral compasses. No wonder the Adams and Eves struggled to fit in.

In this version of 1980's England, Alan Turing is still alive an inventing.
I was fascinated by how one person's life (or death) could change the course of history and wanted more of this. Turing, alive and well and fully embracing his sexuality changed the course of the Falklands War for example in McEwan's world. Turing's insistence on open source for all his inventions, meant that everyone had the ability to create technology, including, or more to the point, especially military equipment, which allowed Argentina to acquire the capacity to blow England out of the water in 1982.
But he didn't explain how or why JFK survived that shooting incident in Dallas - it was just a mention in passing. Maybe the advanced technology allowed for better surveillance and faster response times, so that there was no second bullet. Or maybe bullet-proof cars were invented by then in this alternate universe. We don't know. It is all pure speculation. Or as McEwan said,  "What might have happened was lost to us."

Favourite Character: none

Favourite Quote:

The present is the frailest of improbable constructs. It could have been different. Any part of it, or all of it, could be otherwise.

Favourite or Forget: It's not easy to forget a McEwan read. They usually make for a good book group discussion with their contentious issues, moral ambiguity and loose ends. But this one is not a favourite of mine.

Former Posts:

• The Best & Worst of Ian McEwan
• The Child in Time
• Amsterdam
• My Purple Scented Novel
• On Chesil Beach

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

I like to think that I have taken my 'what to read whilst travelling' choices to an inspired level of brilliance, but I really outdid myself with our recent trip to Japan. Reading Murakami in Japan now feels like the ONLY place to read Murakami!

Not only does the usual Murakami weirdness make sense when you're actually in Japan, but you also realise just how important the environment is to Murakami and his characters. His descriptions of the trees, forests, waterways and urban spaces are everywhere as you move around the country. As are the crows.

In this case, the boy named crow is a mentor to our young protagonist, Kafka Tamura, perhaps an alter ego, a Japanese Jiminy Cricket. Whatever crow is or isn't, right from word one, Murakami is flagging that symbolism, mythology and psychology will be our prime concerns in Kafka on the Shore.

In Japanese mythology, crows are seen as a sign of 'divine intervention in human affairs' (wikipedia). Western mythology tends to associate the crow with bad news or as a harbinger of death. They're selfish, spread gossip and neglect their young. And they're everywhere in Japan. They sit on telegraph wires, fence posts and roof tops. You often wake up to their cawing, even in the city.

Cats are the other creatures that dominant not only Murakami stories, but many Japanese stories, yet curiously I didn't see one single cat in three weeks, let alone a talking cat! The opposite of the crow, cats are creatures of good luck, although still often associated with death and hauntings.

Silence, I discover is something you can actually hear.

There is no denying that Murakami is on very intimate terms with kooky.

If the talking cats weren't enough, a cameo appearance by Johnny Walker and Colonel Sanders of KFC fame might tip you over the edge. A reference to the (fictional) Picnic at Hanging Rock as an example of another group loss of consciousness event caught my eye. Did Murakami know that it was an urban myth? Is that what he was implying about his own story? The sense of mystery and other-worldliness was certainly a shared atmosphere between the two stories.

I was also amazed by truck drivers who suddenly became classic music afficiandos, quiet librarians who turned out to be sex fiends and sex workers who quoted philosophers. What's not to love? The kookiness gets under my skin and into my head. Just like what happened to me with his previous books.

1Q84 is still roaming around in my head, Colourless Tsukuru less so, but it's still a memorable book experience.

Things outside you are projections of what's inside you, and what's inside you is a projection of what's outside you. So when you step into the labyrinth outside you, at the same time your stepping into the labyrinth inside. 

One of the really enjoyable aspects to reading Murakami in Japan is the place names. Suddenly they really mean something. Most of the action in Kafka takes place in Takamatsu on the island of Shikoku. 

We didn't get to Shikiko with this visit, but we did see one of the huge bridges, from a distance, that joins Shikoko to Honshu and we spent some time at the station that is the interchange for the JR line that goes to Takamatsu. Seeing the name of the city featured in my book up in lights suddenly grounded this surreal story into reality.

This is only my fourth Murakami (see my Author Challenge tab for details) so I'm not sure I can safely name all his common themes and ideas, but there are a few that I've clocked. Going into the woods/fear of getting lost, weird sex, talking creatures, dreams, random jazz references, loneliness and silence. And for me, the reader, there is an over-riding sense of bewilderment (WTF was that about?) as well as an overwhelming sense of wanting more (whatever it was a think I like it!) 

I'm caught between one void and another. I have no idea what's right, what's wrong. I don't even know what I want anymore. I'm standing alone in the middle of a horrific sandstorm. I can't move, and can't even see my fingertips.

Murakami doesn't wrap his stories up with a neat, tidy bow or resolve many of the story lines. This should be totally frustrating...and it is, but somehow you love being kept in the dark and confused at the same time. Perhaps it's the likeable characters? Or perhaps it's the not so subtle way he plays with your head? Or perhaps it is the hope that the next book he writes will bring you one step closer to understanding this maddening man and his ability to suck you into his world. 

Every one of us is losing something precious to us....Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's how I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories.

Image source

Murakami likes to do the whole books in books thing. Kafka's backlist was an obvious start -The Castle, The Trial, Metamorphosis and In the Penal Colony in this case. But he also referenced The Arabian Nights, the complete works of Natsume Soseki, a book about the trial of Adolf Eichmann (I can only assume it was Hannah Arendt's Eichmann in Jerusalem), Electra by Sophocles, The Tale of the Genji and 'The Chrysanthemum Pledge' in Tales of Moonlight and Rain by Ueda Akinari.

So many tangents, so many connections, which one should I tackle next?