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The Delirium Brief
Aug. 1st, 2017 05:17 pm"The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means." - Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
It may be useful to remember, from time to time, that fiction is not defined in terms of the alignment of the moral character of the main actors with the outcome. Tragedy is not the decline of the good, nor comedy their triumph. They are defined by formal traits - not quite as simple as "the main characters get married" or "the main character dies", much as those can stand in place when watching Shakespeare - and the moral character of the protagonists can vary all the way along the spectrum.
The detective story, in its classic form, is purely comic - the story begins with an invasion by chaotic forces in the form of violent crime; it chronicles the restoration of order by the agency of the détective, and ends with the murderer exposed and imprisoned or executed, safely unable to disrupt society further.
In Fryeian Romance, moral character correlates with both centrality and eventual success, and in Fryeian Irony, there tend to be just shades of grey, and stories end with no clear "success".
Modern spy fiction tends towards the ironic from this point of view, from Conrad through Le Carré to Deighton, although a thriller where the protagonist/agent overcomes all opposition and triumphs, so that we leave him (usually, but not always, him) with a drink in one hand and the sovereign's thanks either received or at least deserved, would fit a comic shape. Urban fantasy can sit in various places around the wheel, from a romance model (good Slayer, evil vampires, continuing adventures) through to the ironic, but in common with much popular SF it tends towards the comic, introduced by derivation from the detective story.
Up until now, Stross's Laundry books have had their alliances principally with the comic form, especially that taken by the detective novel. With The Delirium Brief those alliances shift, firmly, into the ironic. There are no good guys left; in many ways it is becoming clear that there never were any in the first place. There are lighter shades of grey and much darker shades of grey, and somewhere over the horizon there are shades which can only be described as light-annihilating (assuming that this volume's villains count as black). Some of the villains from four of the past five novels end up as allies. (Although in one case, the PHANGS, this has been a done deal for a while.)
And after this book there is not even an apparent return to a status quo ante. It's quite enough to confirm that Peter Watts may have been onto something when he described Charlie as having a bleaker outlook on life than he does.
It is, however, still, in the colloquial sense, sometimes comic: perhaps more funny as the humour becomes blacker. The reader's enhanced view of what is going on supplies a steady flow of dramatic irony in depicting the expectations of the characters.
Very well worth reading, though definitely not an entry point into the series.
It may be useful to remember, from time to time, that fiction is not defined in terms of the alignment of the moral character of the main actors with the outcome. Tragedy is not the decline of the good, nor comedy their triumph. They are defined by formal traits - not quite as simple as "the main characters get married" or "the main character dies", much as those can stand in place when watching Shakespeare - and the moral character of the protagonists can vary all the way along the spectrum.
The detective story, in its classic form, is purely comic - the story begins with an invasion by chaotic forces in the form of violent crime; it chronicles the restoration of order by the agency of the détective, and ends with the murderer exposed and imprisoned or executed, safely unable to disrupt society further.
In Fryeian Romance, moral character correlates with both centrality and eventual success, and in Fryeian Irony, there tend to be just shades of grey, and stories end with no clear "success".
Modern spy fiction tends towards the ironic from this point of view, from Conrad through Le Carré to Deighton, although a thriller where the protagonist/agent overcomes all opposition and triumphs, so that we leave him (usually, but not always, him) with a drink in one hand and the sovereign's thanks either received or at least deserved, would fit a comic shape. Urban fantasy can sit in various places around the wheel, from a romance model (good Slayer, evil vampires, continuing adventures) through to the ironic, but in common with much popular SF it tends towards the comic, introduced by derivation from the detective story.
Up until now, Stross's Laundry books have had their alliances principally with the comic form, especially that taken by the detective novel. With The Delirium Brief those alliances shift, firmly, into the ironic. There are no good guys left; in many ways it is becoming clear that there never were any in the first place. There are lighter shades of grey and much darker shades of grey, and somewhere over the horizon there are shades which can only be described as light-annihilating (assuming that this volume's villains count as black). Some of the villains from four of the past five novels end up as allies. (Although in one case, the PHANGS, this has been a done deal for a while.)
And after this book there is not even an apparent return to a status quo ante. It's quite enough to confirm that Peter Watts may have been onto something when he described Charlie as having a bleaker outlook on life than he does.
It is, however, still, in the colloquial sense, sometimes comic: perhaps more funny as the humour becomes blacker. The reader's enhanced view of what is going on supplies a steady flow of dramatic irony in depicting the expectations of the characters.
Very well worth reading, though definitely not an entry point into the series.
