Anathem by Neal Stephenson is the most dense novel released to my knowledge. The characters frequently break into what is called Dialog on Arbre, the world in which the book is set. In those Dialogs, learned characters discuss complex issues of science, epistemology and so on. On Arbre, the world has been split into (essentially) two main factions: the intellectual, monk-like avout and the often boorish inhabitants of the so-called Saecular world. If you’re already feeling annoyed by the neologisms, there’s a glossary at the back that can ease your pain.
Stephenson is one of the most popular modern science fiction authors, and I’ve been an avid reader of his since I was a pre-teen. Some of his followers only enjoy the easy-to-digest cyberpunk epic Snow Crash, even though (or perhaps because) it is juvenile in retrospect. The novel takes some time to pick up, but once it does, it takes on some of the fast pace and swashbuckling adventure that made The Baroque Cycle, his earlier historical fiction trilogy, such a delight.
The avout are largely corralled atheistic, disciplinarian monastaries called maths, where they apply themselves expressly to the pursuit of “pure” knowledge. They are forbidden from applying much of it by ancienct treaties designed to ward off attacks from the outside. They are largely isolated, aside from a once-per-decade opening of the gates and intermingling with the general population.
I liked it, but felt irritated by some of the Dialog about quantum mechanics and how it applies to philosophy – it reminded me too much of some of my PoMo schooling. Anathem has its own complex intellectual history with many parallels to our own – it can be a fun activity to spot some of them. For example, our Plato is Protas on Arbre. My irritation was largely erased by the end of the book as some of the theories (referred to as “theorics” in the book) were applied to the plot.
For all of Anathem’s sophistication, the plot is ultimately simplistic. The relationships between the characters never become as interesting, engaging or enticing as that between Jack Shaftoe and Eliza in The Baroque Cycle. For the most part, the monk-like avout remain a little too serious throughout, although there are some funny bits sprinkled throughout the tome. The heavy gas of all the heavy concepts being bandied about chokes out some of the character development.
Despite these caveats, I enjoyed it, but feel uncertain about actually reccommending it to people who aren’t already familiar with Stephenson already.
