In Nekropolis, Maureen F. McHugh tackles gender issues in a way that hearkens to some of Ursula K. LeGuin’s best work. Nekropolis is at it’s heart the story of a forbidden love. Hariba is a Moroccan woman sometime in the future who has had some type of behavior modification (jessing) performed which transforms her into the perfect servant. In the house of her owner, she meets a Harni — a man-made organism that looks and acts much like a human but is not quite human. Hariba falls in love, and the Harni apparently falls for her too. The plot of the novel follows their struggle to find a way to make a life together in a society in which their love is taboo. Unfortunately, that’s also where the novel goes astray. To me, the most interesting aspect of the story is the nature of their relationship. Harni’s are created to do everything they can to please humans, indulging their every whims. It brings into question how genuine the feelings the Harni claims to have for Hariba actually are. That issue is only really explored in what turns out to be a denouement which lasts far too long after the main plot has resolved. The “action/adventure” plot involving their attempt to escape Morocco takes over the novel and pushes the more interesting relationship issues to the side, only to be resurrected in a whirlwind epilogue that feels forced and too brief to contain the story that needs telling. Additionally, the epilogue lacks the emotional punch it should have, as all the tension built up in the action/adventure plot has been resolved, leading to a very strange rhythm to the novel. This book could have been so good. Ms. McHugh has the capability to write the book I’d hoped this would be — she succeeded in China Mountain Zhang and Mission Child in raising fascinating issues regarding the human condition, but unfortunately for those of us impressed with her previous work she misses the mark with Nekropolis.

Count me among the many fans of Nicholson Baker’s body of work. Upon first cracking the pages of A Box of Matches I was quite pleased to discover that it is a return to the style of writing that made him famous — focusing in on the beauty of detailed minutiae within a story-arc comprised of a few reflective moments. This is the same stuff that made me love The Mezzanine and Room Temperature. In this case, our protagonist is a medical texts editor who details his early morning ritual of making a cup of coffee, starting a fire in his fireplace, and ruminating on his life. Like any piece of fiction by Baker, the descriptive details are dazzling and his use of metaphor and simile unparalleled among his peers. Those who, like me, appreciate a particularly inventive turn of phrase will find much to delight in this small book. Ultimately however, I found A Box of Matches not entirely satisfying. I think it has to do with the age of the narrator. In The Mezzanine and Room Temperature, both narrators were experiencing things both new and old, but mostly new and came at things with a palpable sense of wonderment. By contrast, the narrator in A Box of Matches seems a bit world-weary and lacks that same sense of wonderment. I think that takes away from the soul of the narrative that really shines through in the earlier two tomes. Detailed descriptions of things new and exciting make for a stirring read. Detailed descriptions of the old, the tried and true, come out a bit dull and perfunctory. It has always been a tightrope walk for Baker to make the mundane details of everyday life come alive exquisitely, and unfortunately with A Box of Matches it seems he’s lost his balance.