Arrive at Easterwine is either fiendishly good or criminally terrible. It would take several readings to know for sure. On its surface, Arrive is about the creation of a self-aware supercomputer tasked with three problems: find true leadership, true love & the true shape of the universe. The narrative style is reminiscent of Russia's Olesha, or perhaps a William Faulkn
Arrive at Easterwine is either fiendishly good or criminally terrible. It would take several readings to know for sure. On its surface, Arrive is about the creation of a self-aware supercomputer tasked with three problems: find true leadership, true love & the true shape of the universe. The narrative style is reminiscent of Russia's Olesha, or perhaps a William Faulkner with talent. One can never be sure if the events being related are real or metaphorical. The machine itself, Epikt, drives this home early on. Just when the reader is about to throw the book down in disgust over characters as "tigers" eating "goats", Epikt declares, "You know, don't you, that there aren't *really* tigers, this is just a metaphor that perhaps has gone on too long" (paraphrase). This blurring between real & metaphor, with unique turns of phrase, make Arrive a challenging read, which not everyone will have the energy to get thru.
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Unknown Binding
,
216 pages
Published
January 1st 1971
by Scribner Book Company
R.A. Lafferty writes like a science fiction outsider artist. His voice is uniquely conversational but carefully elaborated and syntactically his own, his themes seem burningly personal and earnest though perhaps obscure to anyone else, and his plotlines, even when seeded with tropes, are anything but ordinary.
Here, a powerful, barn-sized A.I. constructed along lines that sound more like an act of conjuring or summoning than proper engineering (as befits the Institute for Impure Sciences), under
R.A. Lafferty writes like a science fiction outsider artist. His voice is uniquely conversational but carefully elaborated and syntactically his own, his themes seem burningly personal and earnest though perhaps obscure to anyone else, and his plotlines, even when seeded with tropes, are anything but ordinary.
Here, a powerful, barn-sized A.I. constructed along lines that sound more like an act of conjuring or summoning than proper engineering (as befits the Institute for Impure Sciences), undertakes a prophetic series of Three Great Failures, which gradually allow it to model the universe in greater and greater detail. But with the world it is modeling increasingly populated by its own automatonic subroutines, there's a kind of mis-en-abyme happening. When the science team of oddly densely-developed archetypes (the witch, the giant, the king) who built it finally demand an image of the universe itself, their horror my be almost a realization that they've become a part of their own model. Or something like this, as the path to this point is a serpentine route of legend (leviathans and prehistory), marginal theological discourse (what if the original grain of the Host was Millet?!), and peculiar analysis of the hidden depths of every human. And did I mention that this is being narrated by the machine itself, possibly in a manner that could be deemed unreliable given its own mechanistic, sybolic understanding of the world outside, or inside, itself?
An elaborately strange vision, sometimes beautiful, sometimes annoyingly discursive, never ordinary.
This is also another one where it's worth enlarging the cover:
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2.0 to 2.5 stars. First off, let me say that this is the second R.A. Lafferty book I have read. The first one, Fourth Mansions, I thought was brilliant and just loved.
That said, this book kind of lost me (and not in a good way). While filled with some incedible imagery and some very funny dialogue and observations about the human condition, the narrative was too disjointed and confusing to follow with any sense of enjoyment. I believe this might be a great book to read in small doses as the wri
2.0 to 2.5 stars. First off, let me say that this is the second R.A. Lafferty book I have read. The first one, Fourth Mansions, I thought was brilliant and just loved.
That said, this book kind of lost me (and not in a good way). While filled with some incedible imagery and some very funny dialogue and observations about the human condition, the narrative was too disjointed and confusing to follow with any sense of enjoyment. I believe this might be a great book to read in small doses as the writing is original and often very funny. I think I was just not in the mood to "put in the work" required to take out of it any true sense of enjoyment.
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This one started out almost like a science fiction story but quickly delved deep into all-ass craziness and never looked back. Like all stylistic authors I like, I've come to realize R.A. Lafferty is good in small doses- undiluted hits of him in quick succession drive me a little wacko.
I have to take some points away from this novel because the "plot" was pretty convoluted, and that's saying something as Lafferty will never be known for his intricate plots.
It also has an incredibly weak ending,
This one started out almost like a science fiction story but quickly delved deep into all-ass craziness and never looked back. Like all stylistic authors I like, I've come to realize R.A. Lafferty is good in small doses- undiluted hits of him in quick succession drive me a little wacko.
I have to take some points away from this novel because the "plot" was pretty convoluted, and that's saying something as Lafferty will never be known for his intricate plots.
It also has an incredibly weak ending, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a sequel to this book- strangely I sort of came if not to "care" about the characters, at least become more interested in them as the story progressed, especially the narrator-machine, and I would like to see more of him in the future. Lafferty is usually a master at the "subtle" ending, but the last 20 or 30 pages of this book whizzed by my head with their obsession with pseudo-geometry and other nonsense. I really expected the characters from the beginning to reappear, but they never did (at least as far as I can tell).
I wonder what it would be like to read all of Lafferty's work in chronological succession, would they all tell one great epic story of the same baffling cosmos?
Lafferty is really hard to like if you're not in the mood. And while I was in the mood some of the time, I wasn't in the mood all the time, and that hurt my enjoyment a little widdle bit near the end.
Sample Ordinary Lafferty paragraph:
"The patterns of badger-bone marrow give all the highway maps of the worlds. They give every inlet and tidal estuary of every planet of every sun. Here were all sorts of plans and patterns writ small. There were blueprints (gray-red prints) of how to build worlds and welkins. If the whole universe were destroyed, it could be reconstructed pretty nearly from the patterns of rock-badger bone-marrow. The badger is dead, but its bone-marrow is not dead yet. It is still living, almost lunging in the color flickers of it." (187)
Best response by ktistec machine to rejection slips from magazines refusing to publish his stories:
"Now quite what you had in mind? Who asked you? It is what I had in mind or I wouldn't have written it. Misses the mark? Move the mark then. Where this hits is where the mark should be. Listen, you, I have your person-precis before me. I see that you have talent only and no genius at all. Whose fault is it that you are overstocked? Am I responsible for your inventory control? I do not ask you to publish these things. I tell you to. These are parts of the High Journal itself." (94-95)
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During freshman year at Grinnell College, Rich Hyde and I roomed next to Rick Strong on the third floor of Loose Hall. Rick, an aspiring bassist a year older than us, was from the Bronx, had an engaging sense of humor, shared my interest in sf and wrote pretty well himself.
Rick dropped out of Grinnell after my sophomore year, finishing out east somewhere. Fortuitously, he was in New York City when I went on to graduate school and our friendship was renewed. Indeed, it continues.
Among the authors
During freshman year at Grinnell College, Rich Hyde and I roomed next to Rick Strong on the third floor of Loose Hall. Rick, an aspiring bassist a year older than us, was from the Bronx, had an engaging sense of humor, shared my interest in sf and wrote pretty well himself.
Rick dropped out of Grinnell after my sophomore year, finishing out east somewhere. Fortuitously, he was in New York City when I went on to graduate school and our friendship was renewed. Indeed, it continues.
Among the authors Rick introduced me to are James Branch Cabell, Robert Sheckley and Raphael Aloysius Lafferty--all of them odd, all of them funny, all of them writers in the field of, ah, speculative fantasy. Lafferty is perhaps the oddest of the lot and this may be his funniest book.
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Raphael Aloysius Lafferty
, published under the name
R.A. Lafferty
, was an American science fiction and fantasy writer known for his original use of language, metaphor, and narrative structure, as well as for his etymological wit. He also wrote a set of four autobiographical novels, a history book, and a number of novels that could be loosely called historical fiction.