Weir’s
retrospective stream-of-conscious style conjures a fragmented perception of
time and space. We are placed into the
story at different intervals of time – sometimes we are given updates a few
days apart, sometimes daily, and sometimes mere hours or minutes between. The often-decreasing separation between
updates as the story moves forward plays with the reader’s perception of time,
as we more viscerally feel the race against the clock, and therefore increases
the tension in the novel’s final act. This
at times disjointed narrative frequently evokes humor:
“Things
are finally going my way. In fact,
they’re going great! I have a chance to
live after all!”
LOG ENTRY: SOL 37
“I’m
fucked and I am going to die!”
Because Mark is telling this
story to us (or as he assumes future historians, cleverly allowing Weir an
excuse to explain the science behind all of Mark’s actions), like the
relationship between Ruth and Nao in Ozeki’s A Tale for the Time Being, we immediately pulled into an intimacy
with his character. However, this disconnected style, and the
fragmentation it creates, reinforces a sense of separation that is mirrored in Mark’s
exile.
His
alienation is evident in his claustrophobic existence. Rarely moving outside, Mark lives his life
imprisoned within the bounds of what is habitable. With the Hab representing his last tie to
Earth and civilization, any journey that places it beyond visibility causes him
great anxiety. Despite the vast
environment surrounding him, only an infinitely small portion is available to
him.
As the perspective shifts
to the parallel third-person story of NASA and the Ares 3 crew working to
rescue Mark, the reader is reminded of Mark’s inaccessibility. This intersubjectivity works to subtlety
decenter Mark within the narrative as we move in scope, further emphasizing his
alienation.
No comments:
Post a Comment