Hi Kelley,
Not a beer drinker (though I wish I could be because it always looks so fun)… So, I bring wine to the table.
Anyway….I read your short stories online and I liked them, so I thought I’d give Solitaire a try. I found it next to Slow River (and had to grin). When I read the jacket and saw the word, “corporate”, I stopped smiling… What if it’s boring? What if I don’t get it? Do I really want to spend twenty-five bucks on something I might not get? Fuckit. I’m buying it.
And I am so glad that I did. What a story! I’ve been thinking about it for the past two days.
I read the other questions here and was surprised to find people wondering about Steel Breeze. I had forgotten about them and everyone from Ko… And I think it had everything to do with Jackal rubbing everyone out while she was in VC. I almost didn’t want to finish the book after Snow got rubbed out. It was agonizing. This is serious, I thought, breathe. If Jackal came out of VC and Steel Breeze, her family, Neill, Snow and the others were never mentioned again, I would understand that… But I’m glad it didn’t turn out that way.
I didn’t quite understand how editing would work for the other solos. To me, it seemed that the crocodile was a breaking point and that the way to survive in VC was to get past the breaking point without breaking. The way I saw it, Jackal took herself apart instead of letting her crocodile rip her to pieces. So, were the other solos so damaged because they passed the breaking point and broke? If so, how would editing work for them when, in their virtual memories (aftershock) they are in a different place than Jackal? Like, a broken place. It just seems that, for the ones that are in the broken place, it’s not a matter of finally facing the crocodile, but a matter of being able to go back to the first time they met the crocodile, so they can take themselves apart and get to the unbroken place where doors can be imagined. I feel like I’m doing a bad job expressing this idea, so I hope it makes some kind of sense.
Thanks for taking the time to read all of this,
cheers,
Lindsey
Beer, wine, champagne, chocolate milkshakes – bring it on, I like it all.
The way I read your question has to do with the difference between confronting (or being confronted by) one’s crocodiles, and being psychologically and emotional functional in the daily world.
The crocodile in this book is one of my metaphors for a particular, fundamental fear that I believe we all have to some extent – fear of discovering that we are not as good at (insert your notion of important human attributes here) as the people around us. That we are broken people in a world where only perfect people enjoy love and success. We are Bad. Jackal’s crocodile is a combination of guilt, imposter syndrome, and a huge need to please others so that she can like herself. It’s not a new fear – it’s been driving her most of her life.
I think lots of people go through life with one or more crocodiles lurking in the back brain. Sometimes we lock ourselves into little psychological boxes to avoid dealing with them, or to protect ourselves from their attacks. This influences our behavior and keeps us from living as fully as we can, but it doesn’t mean we’re nuts. We have tools (therapy, religion, mountain climbing, career, love, whatever) to help us manage the fear and get on with whatever lives we have decided to permit ourselves. What Jackal offers the other solos is such a tool to short-cut through the fear (as symbolized by the cell with no windows or doors) into a more expanded space. They still have flashbacks and get sucked into VC, but now they will have more options to deal with it.
The solos are screwed up because they’ve been forced to be alone with themselves in ways that (IMO) most cultures don’t socialize for. We’re not taught basic concepts and behaviors of autonomy to nearly the same extent as concepts of community. “Plays nicely” was certainly a lot more important to my grade school teachers than “independently sets her own standards and then strives to meet them.” And it’s clear in the context of the book that virtual solitary confinement is intended as a punishment. I am ambivalent about this, which is why it was only through being so alone that Jackal could win her way to a greater freedom.
It amuses me that some reviews describe Jackal as passive. Deciding to play nicely, or to play along, is not the same thing as being passive. That’s not a word I would apply to anyone who makes an effort to become self-aware. For me, it’s the most active choice there is.
Having said that, I don’t think anyone has to be particularly sane or self-aware to live a functional life. The average consumer in Jackal’s world won’t need to be emotionally mature to get her kicks from an infinitely customizable virtual adventure. Nor will the solos have to walk through the same fire as Jackal to “earn” the right to the wider virtual world. Some of them will be getting a free ride. In general, I don’t believe that people must become self-aware, or confront fear, or evolve spiritually to have lives that are comfortable and sometimes happy. It’s only necessary that our definition of comfort and happiness match the life we are living. How, and whether, we make that match is where story happens.
This is all highly metaphorical, of course, and like most metaphor breaks down at some level of detailed examination. One of the reasons that I’ve been thinking, lately, that I’m not a “real” science fiction writer is that metaphor is so much more interesting to me than the science necessary to support its creation.
I’m not sure if I’ve expressed all these ideas coherently. If I haven’t, please let me know, and I’ll take another swing at it. And thanks for taking a chance with your twenty-five bucks.
Growing up, I was mostly alone. Sometimes also lonely, but mostly just alone. I didn’t realize how much this saved me from some of that “fundamental fear” you talk about until I was hired to do a video at my old high school (it was “the” rich-kids’ private school). One of my film colleagues had tagged along to help me with the job. I was setting up the equipment when she said, “I can’t imagine coming here every day for classes. I would feel like shit. Everyone is better looking than me, they have perfect haircuts and designer clothes, everyone has more money, fancier cars, huge houses with swimming pools. I could never feel like I’m good enough.” Wow, what a blow to hear.
I don’t remember feeling any of that, though I wasn’t rich nor had fancy clothes (I was going through my baggy pants, sleeveless white t-shirt and five-dollar sandal phase). I took the chicken bus because my mom had once said she wasn’t going to teach a lesbian how to drive and I was too proud to take their car when they finally offered. Also, my parents weren’t big on allowances. I washed cars and did yards for change (which I spent on books), so I brought my own lunch to school, which also meant I didn’t get to hang out at the cafeteria. I was the only out bisexual or lesbian (I went by either and both) in our generation of a thousand students. Looking back, I couldn’t have been any un-cooler in a perfect-people place. But I felt fine. I played sports and the piano and took pictures and had a few friends (usually two, never more than five) and didn’t feel those dreadful things my film colleague had described.
I’m not a great person by any worldly standards, but I do believe I’m good enough for me. I think isolation allows you to either go totally bonkers or really get along with yourself. Since Jackal had started off being one of the perfect people (in an overcrowded sphere of influence and an idem internal space), it only seems necessary to have her travel the path of solitary confinement to bring her back to herself. I like how she doesn’t remain there, though. She’s always seeking a connection with the world, for different reasons at different moments in her evolution.
Krishnamurti once said to a man who wished to stay in a peaceful forest and away from the world:
“And one is tempted to live like that forever. But you canât. Even there, if you live in a forest, youâre related to somebody or something. Youâre related to the man who brings you milk. So there is always â even though one is a hermit â you are always living in a certain kind of relationship with another. And if you are a neurotic saint, then it becomes very easy. Most saints are neurotic.”
The trick, I think, would be how not to become a neurotic saint. Life is relationship and it should be embraced even if we like being alone. We can stay alone, but never isolated.