Shades of Grey by Jasper Fforde
Last week finally brought my turn at the library’s copy of Jasper Fforde’s novel Shades of Grey, the first of what looks to be a closely plotted trilogy titled “The Road to High Saffron.” It was a treat: demanding, charming, intriguing, and just generally Fforde on his best game. I do not yet have it figured out, though I have some preliminary hypotheses, and while the social issues and politics seem in some ways “so last century,” I’m confident that Fforde has no intention of leaving us smug in our assumed progress. The other shoe is just about to fall.
I imagine that libraries and bookshops are struggling, once again, with where to shelve Fforde. Literature? Science fiction? Do we have a designated space for sheer whimsy? ‘Cause while the reader cannot be absolutely certain whether this is a post-apocalyptic future, or a replanted colony, or an AI program, or something else entirely, what it most definitely is is a Victorian-level-technology British society whose most distinguishing characteristic is drastically impaired eyesight (although they don’t interpret it that way, no, not at all).
Almost everyone is totally night-blind -- cannot see by the moon and stars, too dim for them -- and absolutely everyone is some level of color blind. This society is stringently racist, but your “race” is the bit of the color spectrum that you can see. “Greys,” who see no color, are the lowest of the low, and perform most of the labor. “Purples” are the highest of the high, and rule. A very few people can see the whole spectrum; they’re technicians (and politicians?) who keep the supply of artificial color flowing correctly. (That’s right: artificial color that anyone can see, even a Grey. There’s a shortage; the precious finite raw materials for artificial color are being used up. Also, the manufacture of spoons is forbidden, your post code is tattooed on you but is no help in delivering your mail, there is only one rabbit left alive in the world, doctors treat ailments by showing patients color swatches, and the government periodically decrees a “great leap backward.”) Our protagonist is a Red, just one step above the Greys down at the bottom of the spectrum, but as the story begins, he is completely unaware of the oppressive insanity that is his society, and is mostly interested in bettering his status by marrying a woman whose family generally sees just a little bit more Red than his.
Naturally, in the way of novels, he is sent on a journey, and learns better. Or worse. By the end, he is a secret revolutionary.
I wonder whether this trilogy will turn out to be Fforde’s best work yet. I'm looking forward to the next volume.
A good Fforde book is never too easy. Cheerful, yes. Stroking your I’m-an-observant-and-informed-reader ego, oh yes. But not quite simple. That’s where he went wrong in his slump in the middle of the “Thursday Next” series, I feel. He got too clear, too accessible, and too... bored? With himself, with his characters, with us. But as I said when I read the second-to-most-recent (another one premiered just this week) “Thursday Next” novel, he’s back. As clever and delightful as ever. And now, as challenging, too.
I imagine that libraries and bookshops are struggling, once again, with where to shelve Fforde. Literature? Science fiction? Do we have a designated space for sheer whimsy? ‘Cause while the reader cannot be absolutely certain whether this is a post-apocalyptic future, or a replanted colony, or an AI program, or something else entirely, what it most definitely is is a Victorian-level-technology British society whose most distinguishing characteristic is drastically impaired eyesight (although they don’t interpret it that way, no, not at all).
Almost everyone is totally night-blind -- cannot see by the moon and stars, too dim for them -- and absolutely everyone is some level of color blind. This society is stringently racist, but your “race” is the bit of the color spectrum that you can see. “Greys,” who see no color, are the lowest of the low, and perform most of the labor. “Purples” are the highest of the high, and rule. A very few people can see the whole spectrum; they’re technicians (and politicians?) who keep the supply of artificial color flowing correctly. (That’s right: artificial color that anyone can see, even a Grey. There’s a shortage; the precious finite raw materials for artificial color are being used up. Also, the manufacture of spoons is forbidden, your post code is tattooed on you but is no help in delivering your mail, there is only one rabbit left alive in the world, doctors treat ailments by showing patients color swatches, and the government periodically decrees a “great leap backward.”) Our protagonist is a Red, just one step above the Greys down at the bottom of the spectrum, but as the story begins, he is completely unaware of the oppressive insanity that is his society, and is mostly interested in bettering his status by marrying a woman whose family generally sees just a little bit more Red than his.
Naturally, in the way of novels, he is sent on a journey, and learns better. Or worse. By the end, he is a secret revolutionary.
I wonder whether this trilogy will turn out to be Fforde’s best work yet. I'm looking forward to the next volume.
A good Fforde book is never too easy. Cheerful, yes. Stroking your I’m-an-observant-and-informed-reader ego, oh yes. But not quite simple. That’s where he went wrong in his slump in the middle of the “Thursday Next” series, I feel. He got too clear, too accessible, and too... bored? With himself, with his characters, with us. But as I said when I read the second-to-most-recent (another one premiered just this week) “Thursday Next” novel, he’s back. As clever and delightful as ever. And now, as challenging, too.