In his third Novel-in-Stories, "Cloud Atlas," Mitchell proves himself to be a keen manipulator of styles and voices. He gives us six different characters from six different eras (a sea-faring notary in the late 1800s, a bisexual composer working as an amanuensis to an aging composer in Belgium during the early 30s, a hard-boiled investigative reporter from 1975, a British vanity press publisher...
more In his third Novel-in-Stories, "Cloud Atlas," Mitchell proves himself to be a keen manipulator of styles and voices. He gives us six different characters from six different eras (a sea-faring notary in the late 1800s, a bisexual composer working as an amanuensis to an aging composer in Belgium during the early 30s, a hard-boiled investigative reporter from 1975, a British vanity press publisher trapped in a 21st century rest home, a fast food clone from a dystopian, futuristic Korea, and a tribesman scrounging out a meager life on postapocalyptic Hawaii), their voices as ingrossing as they are distinct. In some cases it takes patience and thought to decode the dialogue (the Hawaiian tale is written in an inventive, if not occasionally befuddling, dialect), but it is by all means worth the effort.
Mitchell's gimmick here is that each story is interrupted (sometimes in mid-sentence) by the one that follows it. The only tale that exists uncut is the sixth, which runs to its natural conclusion before passing the baton to the other five endings. The stories could conceivably be read alone and make just as much sense, but there is also plenty of connective tissue that makes each plot relevant to the other.
Mitchell's message here isn't new, and as far as themes go, he isn't blazing any trails. Each tale deals with slavery and imprisonment, racism and prejudices, worlds where the will of the weak fights the stubborn odds of the strong. Mitchell's ideology owes as much to Nietzsche as his craft owes to Robinson's The Years of Rice and Salt, but his multi-faceted scope, his absolute command of the language and how it is woven into six completely different tapestries, his genius for the employment of words and meanings -- this is all refreshingly new.
If there's anything negative to be said about the book, it's that Mitchell doesn't always trust his own skill. He occasionally employs plot devices (the comet-shaped birthmark) that clunk across the page like cars with square tires. And there are a few too self-referential moments for a writer who's at home in his own narrative skin. In the second story, Robert Frobisher, the composer, is creating "a sextet for overlapping soloists" called "Cloud Atlas," a musical masterpiece that is structured in the same manner as the book. "Revolutionary or gimmicky?" wonders Frobisher in a passage that tries a little too hard to play for audience sympathy.
Given the book's themes, no sympathy is needed. Mitchell juggles the five tales so expertly and dizzyingly that they blur into one colorfully infinite loop. And much like the loop of civilization -- as it rises and falls throughout history, borne up by breezes of bravery, defended by the status quo, brought down by choppy waves of change -- each tale has an ending that is bright but bittersweet. It's not giving anything away to say that each character finds victory in their lives, but these moments are all microcosmic. There's something distinctly fatalistic about the novel, as if the shoulders of the plot are perpetually bowed by the heavy weight of a world of lies, manipulation and oppression. But the six men and women who fight under that weight bring even still the hope of glory and change -- if not universal or lasting, then at least personal, intimate, and moving.
"Cloud Atlas" isn't just personal, intimate, and moving. It's hilarious, dark, demanding, and dynamic. Even if Mitchell's message is as old as the Bible, his unmistakable skill lends new credence to old words. It's a book that lasts longer than its pages, like a sky that's too small for its clouds.
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