Simmons, Dan: Drood
Drood (2009)
Written by: Dan Simmons
Genre: Horror
Pages: 771
I'm no stranger to Dan Simmons. I enjoyed Hyperion and The Fall of Hyperion, but I absolutely loved The Terror. It was The Terror, combined with the gorgeous cover of Simmons's latest, that had me pouncing on Drood the moment it was released. Of course, my husband stole it and read it first, as he also absolutely loved The Terror, but I was more than eager to read it once he was done.
The premise: Drood chronicles the last five years of Charles Dickens's life as told through the eyes of his friend, collaborator, and competitor Wilkie Collins. It starts with the railway accident at Staplehurst that nearly ended Dickens's life, and when Dickens first becomes obsessed with the mysterious person named Drood (which ended up inspiring Dickens's final but incomplete novel, The Mystery of Edwin Drood). Dickens's obsession becomes Wilkie's obsession, and the two men fight to discover who this mysterious lord of the Undertown really is, what he really wants, and why he's singled them out.
There's so many spoilers behind this cut that you might cry if you look. Then again, you might cry if you don't, so consider yourself warned.
When I read The Terror, there was no way that I could truly, comprehensively, review the book. That's how much I loved it, and that's how well the whole book fit together.
With Drood, I have no such problem. I can't even say I cared for this book very much, even though I recognize the literary genius of it.
So let's get a few things out of the way: it's horror, but it's not a very consistent horror. It's a thriller, but not a consistent one. It's absolutely and most certainly and totally a historical fiction, and for that matter, it's absolutely and most certainly and totally a mystery, though the mystery itself gets lots in the pages upon pages of near-mindless description.
A few disclaimers: I am no Dickens scholar. I think I referenced this while reviewing Marie Brennan's Midnight Never Come in that once upon a time, I was in love with every and all things British Lit, and at that time, I would've gobbled up anything set in London, especially during the Elizabethan and Victorian times. GOBBLED IT, I tell you. However, I'm very far removed from that time, and I've come to realize (though it makes me a little sad to admit this), that I'm no longer as interested in these times and these settings as I used to be.
Make no mistake, I have read Dickens. But only A Tale of Two Cities (which I absolutely loved) and that was back when I was fifteen years old. My only other experience with Dickens is Oliver Twist (the musical as well as Disney's animated re-telling Oliver & Company) and, of course, A Christmas Carol, because that's, like, a staple in our culture. But that's it. And I'll give myself SOME credit: while I've not read Wilkie Collins, I do recognize the name and I have seen his work on the shelves. I know who he is, though I didn't know until reading Drood that he was a contemporary of Dickens.
But what I want to stress, before I go any further, is that my interest level in the setting, let alone the characters, is no where NEAR as high as it was for The Terror, and there, it was setting alone that won me over.
Like Midnight Never Come, the setting and the use of historical detail was not enough to keep me engaged during what I perceived as the book's flaws. And right now, I'm talking about Drood.
Does Simmons write a truly good and epic historical fiction? YES. Make no mistake about that. Never once did I feel, while reading, that I was anywhere but THERE. Simmons truly does know how to take his historical characters and incorporate them into his historical settings and plots in such a way that you're never pulled out of the book because you feel it's too modern, or whatever. Simmons gives the reader a rather seamless picture, even if the picture isn't one that's all that interesting to an individual. I'll give credit where credit is due: if you're a fan of historical fiction, of the Victorian era, of historical London and all things Charles Dickens and/or Wilkie Collins, I'm not sure how you could conceivably ignore this book. It's a must-read for you, whether or not you find the book fulfilling.
But for the rest of us, let's continue.
Right away, I knew I was dealing with the ever popular case of AN UNRELIABLE NARRATOR. That is not only key in reading this entire book (because you know Wilkie's POV is skewed on some level), but it also establishes the distance in which the reader should perceive the story. My hibernating literature brain is also informing me that an unreliable narrator was a rather common literary device of the time, or roundabouts that time, so in many ways, it's a tribute.
What makes Wilkie unreliable? For starters, his obvious jealousy of Charles Dickens. That alone colors every word choice, every observation, and every action, and should therefore make the reader very suspicious. But also, he's an opium addict, and let's face it, that puts a serious question mark on the reality of the supernatural events that take place in the book. No doubt, some of those supernatural events are fascinating, such as Wilkie's vision of Drood during Dickens's reading and the silver chords attached to the giant bell, as well as Wilkie's waking nightmare of Drood's implantation of the scarab beetle. It's all excellently described, but the reader is always wondering, during these scenes and so many others (the green, tusked woman; the Other Wilkie), just how real these events are. By the end of the book, I'm pretty much inclined to say NOT AT ALL, and NOT A SINGLE MOMENT OF IT. For several reasons.
1) Wilkie's an opium addict. I know I've said this already, but I can't stress this enough, especially when combined with:
2) Charles Dickens's mesmerization of Wilkie before the telling of the Staplehurst accident and the first mention of Drood. There was a part of me, while reading that section, that noted that Wilkie had sort of nodded off, but it was filed away until Dickens admitted later that he had Wilkie mesmerized for at least ten minutes, and that the whole Drood nightmare was nothing more than a hypnotic suggestion reinforced by the creative and opium-addled mind of Wilkie.
3) The discussion of the formatting of both Dickens's and Wilkie's mystery novels, both which feature characters who steal and/or murder under the influence of BOTH opium and mesmerism, as well as the constant discussion whether or not a person, under mesmerization, can be forced to do something he wouldn't do naturally.
Again, I'll give credit where credit is due: while I think that Simmons overplayed his hand in this regard (I had no doubt during the course of the book that Wilkie was acting under the influence of somebody's mesmerism, which made Dickens's revelation rather anti-climatic), I think it was a rather genius thing to do. While Wilkie and Dickens are both describing the events and the motivations of their novels (The Moonstone and The Mystery of Edwin Drood respectively), I couldn't help but wonder just how well Simmons was structuring HIS OWN BOOK in the very same way that was being described. A reader could really get wrapped up in Dickens's own explanation of Edwin Drood, and see it as the actual hierarchy and structure for Drood, with the characters in the mystery reflecting the life of the characters in Simmons's novel.
You could, in truth, go in circles, and you might, should you decide to REREAD the novel, find the clues to support your theory. But frankly, I agree with Wilkie's early assessment that there is no Drood, that Dickens made him up to mess with Inspector Field and Wilkie, and it's only to Wilkie's misfortune that his opium addiction allowed the myth of Drood to grow entirely out of proportion.
I may not have proven this very well, but I am left and convinced that anything that even remotely hinted at as supernatural wasn't supernatural at all, but a product of Wilkie's very overactive, opium-aided and mesmerized creative mind.
Which begs the question: all those events that did appear to be supernatural, what really happened?
Some are disturbing, like the mark on his mother's sternum and her reaction to him every time he came into the room. He though the scarab beetles were communicating, but the realistic alternative is far more disturbing. At least Hatchery's murder was cleared up by Dickens, because I was going to believe that perhaps Wilkie killed that man too, as I believe he killed Gooseberry. He must have, because something has to account for the note and the fact that Wilkie KNEW that "Drood" sent Field Gooseberry's eyes. Then there's the noise in the back stairwell and Wilkie's firm belief that something horrible and unimaginable lives there, and that he fed that poor servant to the beast. No. I believe he imagined it, and that the truth is that she ran off with her lover. Nothing else explains the note that was received afterwards.
Has anyone ever seen the movie American Psycho? This book and that movie (which was based on the book of the same name, but I've never read it so I can't compare) are one in the same in terms of protagonists who honestly BELIEVE they've done certain things, but come to find out, those certain things never happened at all.
And let's face it, the trick ending where the narrator/main character is the bad guy he was dissociating from himself (Secret Window) or is another personality he personified (Fight Club) has been done before and will be done again. And once you're aware of that possibility, you start recognizing the signs and you know long before you ever get to the pivotal moment that your narrator is completely and totally fooling himself.
Oh, you want to believe otherwise. Why else, in this case, would you read 771 pages of every-freaking-detail of Wilkie's and Dickens's lives and habits and relationship issues and dinner choices and OMG-SO-MANY-UNIMPORTANT-DETAILS!!?!?!?! 1) you're hoping to hell that this Drood really does exist and there's an epic ending, be it Wilkie being influenced by Drood to kill his dear friend Dickens (nope, not the case, but that would've been awesome) or 2) you just really gotta love these historical figures and this historical time.
But there is other reason, and in some ways, this what Simmons warns the reader of from the start: this isn't a book about Drood or Dickens or Dickens's obsession of Drood, this is the memoir of an opium addict, and as such, especially if you consciously acknowledge it from the start, the pleasure in reading, in theory, is separating fact from fiction, if you can.
Some people might find this delicious. I did not. The narrative voice got so tiring and the description and needless after needless scene so boring that I couldn't care for our narrator at all, let alone like him, and I had trouble even liking Wilkie's perception of Dickens, which is obviously meant to come off as negative, because we are getting this through Wilkie's eyes, but still: WHY READ THIS BOOK?
The competition between authors and the jealousy and envy that arises is nothing new, particularly when one author is constantly praised and the other wishes for that fame. Sure, Simmons does a great job portraying that lesser role, to the point that I'm not sure I trust Simmons's characterization, but then again, it may be accurate, or it may be Simmons's personal taste from Wilkie's prose and his works reflecting into the character and simply coming out ugly. I've not read Wilkie Collins, and I'm kind of curious to do so, since it was his book, The Moonstone that might just very well be the birthplace of the modern mystery. After all, Dickens's own incomplete (and what would've likely been superior, from what I understand) The Mystery of Edwin Drood was influenced by Wilkie's work, so you can't really argue Wilkie Collins's place in literary history, even if he wasn't as celebrated in his time or even as celebrated now as Charles Dickens was and is.
And I so wish that Wilkie had simply SHARED his experiences of Drood with Charles Dickens, but I suppose I understand how Wilkie's competition with the Inimitable would prevent him from doing so, though I really, really, REALLY wish he had. Of course, if he had, the novel wouldn't have been nearly as long, and after all, Simmons did have to fill in those five years between the accident and Dickens's death. /sarcasm
I think I've babbled about this book enough: the flaws are obvious in the book's length and unnecessary detail and way anti-climatic ending, and no, in this case, it's not about the journey, because the journey isn't even remotely satisfying from a character, setting, or even story level for me. But one thing I will say I really enjoyed, a small jewel that saves the book from being a complete deflated blimp, is Wilkie's actual murder of Caroline's husband, Joseph Chow. It was a lovely surprise, and it tied certain elements of the book so nicely that I think I could've enjoyed this book more if only Simmons had focused and trimmed it down. It could have EASILY been 400 pages, and I don't say that lightly nor out of any disrespect for Simmons, because after all, I loved almost every page of The Terror, which was similar in length.
My Rating
Wish I'd Borrowed It: but if you must get it, wait for the paperback. Here's the thing: if you're a fan of this time period, if you're a fan of historicals and you're a fan of Dickens and/or Wilkie Collins, you may be satisfied by this book. Certainly, Simmons weaves his fiction so effortlessly with his historical fact that even if I were well-researched, I'm not sure I could separate fact from fiction. Simmons writes historicals very well in that regard, but in this case, and for readers NOT invested in historicals or this time period or in Dickens and/or Wilkie Collins, the book is ridiculously too long with very little payoff at the end to justify such a journey. There is no doubt in my mind that Simmons has done some very interesting things in regards to parallel structure (life imitating art imitating life kind of thing) and his narrative, in the end, I was far from satisfied. I cared nothing for the time period or the characters, and frankly the characters were quite unlikable or unsympathetic. There is very little horror and very little thriller in this book, and what we do get is pretty much made null, in my interpretation, by the ending. Instead, if this is a book that captures your interest, you must read it and hold on to one very important fact: Wilkie Collins is an unreliable narrator, and rather than read this book as a mystery, you may want to read this book as an exercise is separation fantasy from reality. In some places, it's easy to do so. In others, it's not, and in others, you really, really hope it's reality even though it reads like fantasy.
This is my least favorite of the Simmons that I've read, and I respect the author and his obvious talent. Certainly, talent shines from these pages despite the book's flaws. But if you really want to read a masterpiece by this author, I'd recommend The Terror or Hyperion (followed up with The Fall of Hyperion) instead. Granted, that's all else I've actually READ of Simmons, but The Terror, in my mind, was a satisfying masterpiece. Drood, for all its cleverness, was not.
Cover Commentary: I think I've already stated I fell in love with this book because of it's cover. It's just TOO awesome, what with the coloring, the simplicity and elegance and the oh-so-effective silhouette. The Subterranean Press cover, as shown behind the cut, has very well done ART, but it doesn't speak to me, nor does it capture the tone of the novel, if that makes sense. I don't want to call it cartoonish, but it doesn't speak to the heavy realism that's so evident in these pages, and it implies more mystery to the book than there really is, IMHO.
Next up:
Downbelow Station by C.J. Cherryh