SUBCUTANEAN BY AARON REED: BOOK REVIEW
24/4/2020
 Click here for an interview with Aaron Reed SUBCUTANEAN REVIEW Subcutanean, by interactive fiction author, game designer and general award magnet Aaron A. Reed, is a print-on-demand novel with an unusual publishing concept: simply put, each copy is different. When you order yours, a unique version of the book is generated for you containing features not found in any of the other copies. Although the characters, setting and basic premise are the same for each book, these features – small details or even whole sequences - have “ripple effects” which can end up significantly altering the reading experience. As part of his successful attempt to crowdfund the novel, Reed has provided ample information about the hows and whys of this (https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/subcutanean-a-novel-where-each-copy-is-different#/). In a nutshell, he has used something called “generative text” where computer programs are used to produce narratives, something often used in game design for obvious reasons. He is also drawing on a long history of experimental fiction dating back to Raymond Queneau’s work with Oulipo and experimental authors such as George Perec (France seems to really churn these guys out for some reason) and Mark Z. Danielewski. This is all interesting enough in itself, but what about the, you know, book? Well, if you’re worried about the literary quality of a novel created in this way, I can put your mind at rest. Subcutanean is most definitely a “proper” book. It tells the story of Orion and Niko, a pair of student friends and housemates who discover a doorway underneath Orion’s bed one night. It appears to lead to a weird basement area in the house, but after a first inspection reveals the geographical and architectural impossibility of the whole thing, the place is simply referred to as ‘Downstairs’. Naturally, the boys begin to explore the labyrinth of unsuspected corridors and rooms existing Downstairs, but they soon bite off more than they can chew as the confounding, sanity-warping nature of the chunk of (sur)real estate beneath their house becomes apparent. And each time they visit, more of its creeping chaos seems to follow them back home… As someone who has always been plagued by those recurring dreams of mysterious rooms suddenly appearing in familiar houses, and is fascinated by those strange architectural no-spaces that exist in many properties in real life, I was always going to be a sucker for this book. And Reed is very good at it – the rooms and layouts that unfurl before his characters are often highly disturbing, to an extent comparable with Robert Aickman’s short story ‘The Inner Room’. He has no trouble injecting new life into the old ‘labyrinth quest’ formula, and he also has a very good grasp of the emotional responses uncanny architecture induces in people. None of this should be too much of a surprise given Reed’s past as a game designer, but nothing about his previous CV prepares you for how good a stylist he is. He is dedicated to creating original, memorable metaphors and the book is full of wonderful turns of phrase. Some of these are deceptively simple. When Orion gets lost during an early foray into the Downstairs and ends up returning via a circuitous route, he “[feels] superimposed”. It would never have occurred to me to put it like that, but the other week I managed to get idiotically lost in the countryside ten minutes away from my house, and that’s exactly how I felt on returning home. Amusing but spot-on expressions such as “indignant vertigo” and “dimension poisoning” are used to describe the cocktail of unpleasant feelings the disorienting labyrinth inspires in the two lads. And a likeable pair of lads they are, too. Reed has character-painting skills the equal of many more established authors and you find yourself really rooting for the pair to pull through the ordeal. The complex, shifting relationship between Orion and Niko is another unexpected pleasure of the book. Orion is gay and his close friend Niko is handsome, so the scene could’ve been set for an epic barrage of slashy clichés, but in fact their relationship feels very real, and there are enjoyable flashes of humour throughout the book, although some of it is very dark. I also liked the way their experiences are made to resonate with the reality of existence for university students, young people who are at a time in their lives when they are faced with a plethora of doors to step through – doors which do, however, have a nasty habit of slamming shut the moment you’ve walked through them. This leads me to what I feel is the only real drawback of Subcutanean – I would have liked to read (even) more about the boys, their backgrounds and everyday lives both before and during the incidents in the book, though it’s hardly surprising that this should take a back seat in the latter third of the novel, as the dynamic action scenes start coming thick and fast. That said, even in the final chapters Reed manages to avoid making things feel too “video-gamey”, which is a plus for me as I have little interest in any kind of gaming except dumb first-person shooters. Though the novel is game-like in one way: many of the scenes induce the same sort of unnerved but slightly fascinated feeling you get when a game crashes and you end up looking at something really warped and weird on the screen. That, however, is a very good thing in my opinion. All in all Subcutanean is a remarkable intellectual achievement – I prefer not to think about the effort it must have taken to coordinate all these different possibilities of narrative, because it just makes me feel stupid - but more importantly to the reader, it’s a literary success which is compulsively readable, profound and pleasingly ambiguous. Absolutely recommended. SUBCUTANEAN: A NOVEL WHERE EACH COPY IS DIFFERENT |
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