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A Skinnerful of Asher…
Neal Asher rocks with this new novel. Like Ian Drury, he may have originally
come from Billericay, but he’s certainly no blockhead. The Skinner spews out thrills, prills,
brains, and nerve endings. The
Skinner is the novel that Neal Asher was evolved to write.
Spatterjay is a terrifying world inhabited by sharks, a world where even
the sails drive a tough bargain, and everything has jaws. Leeches of all shapes and sizes exert a
forceful sucking movement on the whole ecosystem, but even they are not the top
of the food chain. Neither are humans,
whose bodies are subject to daily attack from animals each anxious for their
daily pound of flesh. This seems
to be more like a food circle than a food chain. If you set foot in the wrong dingle, then you may well end
up as dinner, and they’re far more vicious and cunning than those in
Emmerdale. This is a world where a
seafood diet is taken to extremes. One thing’s for sure: you certainly need
guts to participate in Spatterjay’s blood sports… But to long time readers of Neal Asher, Spatterjay is a
familiar, and certainly unforgettable world. Spatterjay featured in the story of the same name in Neal
Asher’s earlier collection of extraordinary stories, ‘The Engineer’. The character of Erlin reappears, as
does Janer, from the preceding story, ‘Snairls’.
There are a
few differences from these earlier stories. Janer’s official indenture to the Hive appears to have
lasted for a much briefer period than is stated in ‘Snairls’. The inhabitants of Spatterjay are
called ‘Hoopers’ instead of ‘Spatterjays’. Polity celebrity chefs must have inundated them in the
intervening century as well as scientists, as the Hoopers have developed some
rather nifty culinary skills.
Erlin believes that she caught the Spatterjay virus from an exchange of
bodily fluids rather than being bitten by a leech on her back (or is that the
forearm?). The details concerning
Erlin’s first encounter with the Skinner differ somewhat with Erlin’s later
account: no one has to wear masks on the Skinner’s island, and the Skinner
seems to have shrunk with age, rather than grow as he should. Then again, Janer’s account of how the
Hive minds and hornets were discovered to have sentience is recounted almost
word for word from ‘Snairls’.
However, Spatterjay has a thriving, ocean-going oral culture, in more
ways than one. Yarns are told on
ship to keep the ever present threat of ennui away, and it’s understandable how
the details of stories change over the centuries, even when such tall tales are
spun out by the people who lived and died through the events… Some have experienced so much pain that
only a kind of primal or race memory remains… The alien Prador are very
interested in the oral culture of Spatterjay, no matter how fallible the
memories, but they haven’t come collecting ballads about Thomas the Rhymer
(although they do have a penchant for kidnapping humans, and for considerably
more than seven years and a day).
But then they too, should maybe watch out for ugly ducklings falling on
their heads…
Although
there are jaws aplenty on Spatterjay, the virus ensures a long lifespan. A diet deprived of broccoli means that
you might grow too tall, but tobacco doesn’t stunt your growth. Asher, like Tolkien, seems to have been
subsidised by the evil weed industry, and his prose is certainly as addictive
as nicotine. However, Erlin’s
dissatisfaction proves that a long life span is not all that it’s spun out to
be. She’s come in search of Ambel,
the old sea captain who seems to be the only one who can make her feel at
ease. As for Keech, well, you
can’t keep a good cop down, even if you have killed him. In these days, when you can’t always
rely on Banks, invest your money in an Asher fun(d). He provides thrills and spills aplenty, and can literally
beat a tired heart into life, albeit with the help of a little nanotechnology
and a few augmentations. And while
Sniper may drone on and does a jolly dance with a winded Molly Carp, the Warden
AI is there to see almost everything.
No doubt you will shed some skin whilst reading this book – at 450 pages
plus it’s a hefty book – Asher to Asher, Dust to Dust and all that (although
even Major Tom would be hard pressed to find a vein in this space oddity) – but
it has enough hooks to keep an old sea captain amused, and also has tips on the
best techniques to regain said skin (just puncture it with a few holes to get
the air bubbles out – DIY wallpapering without the glue but plenty of
goo). Forget Banks’ preoccupation
with a handful of dust, Asher shows that there is fear to be found everywhere.
At the
beginning of the book, Asher openly acknowledges his debt to those from “Aldiss
to Zelazny”, but there are many universes out there, and whilst his universe
may share aspects with others, it also includes his own peculiar
ingredients. Neal Asher really did
pay attention to all those biology classes at school, and not just those that
featured condoms. As well as
providing a thrilling narrative, Neal Asher also gives us a few belly laughs,
and is very good with intestines generally. He’s also very good at keeping brains on the hop, and we’re
not talking lager here (although everything does taste and smell like curry,
especially on a Friday night).
This is no world for chickens either, KFC or otherwise. If I were to tell you that the main
villain’s body is running around headless on an island, and his head is livin’
in a box (not cardboard), you’d probably think I’m mad. Asher’s prose is like the flight of the
bumblebee: it shouldn’t work, but it does, and it contains a nasty sting in the
tale… My Latin’s stercus, but
“coram domine” may well be an apt epithet.
Authortrek
rating: 10/10
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Visit our Neal Asher page,
for a Neal Asher biography, Neal Asher bibliography, Neal Asher short
stories, and interviews |
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