Thursday, 25 July 2019
President for Life
In the early days, it had not been too difficult to teach the children the forbidden word, bird, to tell them the diluted story of the little clay flute, and to recall simple anecdotes from the book called Walden. But, over the years, so many things had changed, especially after President Ongresowa had been elected President for life. By that time, most children were born underweight, their intellectual growth stunted from lack of light and from malnutrition. Most of the population relied on Havnotz bread for the bulk of their diet, which was made from leaves, grass and corn husks imported from the Scenic Route and beyond. President Ongresowa had demanded that even the smallest school should put aside the time every day for the singing of patriotic songs, dancing of stylised folk dances, and forming of human pyramids. The children had little energy for the acrobatics and flash-card demonstrations demanded by the President. Every day, after lunch break, Miss Fletcher coaxed them to rest their heads on their desks, and to close their eyes. While the children’s eyes were closed, she told them stories. Miss Fletcher understood that she must never refer to a time before the Wall or a place outside the Flightproof Netting, for the President insisted that the children must grow up without a knowledge of either. - Excerpt from "House of the Flight-helpers", Tartarus Press UK
Thursday, 4 July 2019
The Walking of the Dolls
(Excerpt from "House of the Flight-helpers" by Philomena van Rijswijk, Tartarus Press UK)
Once a year, the main street of Grenzgebiet was closed to wheeled traffic, such as trucks and carts, and the tall dolls atop their skilfully wielded stilts, would lead a parade through the town. Some of the dolls had faces as smooth and as white as porcelain, with kohled almond-shaped eyes and ridiculously long orange wigs. Others had their faces covered with leather balaclavas, their eyes and mouths suggested behind irregular gashes. On their heads they wore simple goggles. There were yellow raffia skirts and tall head-dresses made from fake palmfronds; and there were long cotton trousers and sequined capes. There was an inflatable doll sitting side-saddle on a smiling inflatable moon. The inflatable doll was always the crowd’s favourite. She was called Sybil Obedience, and for many years had represented the ideal of Productive Motherhood. On the day of the doll parade, the young woman with the most children, who at the same time had put in the most hours of paid labour, was given a small resin replica of the round-eyed pneumatic character.
Once a year, the main street of Grenzgebiet was closed to wheeled traffic, such as trucks and carts, and the tall dolls atop their skilfully wielded stilts, would lead a parade through the town. Some of the dolls had faces as smooth and as white as porcelain, with kohled almond-shaped eyes and ridiculously long orange wigs. Others had their faces covered with leather balaclavas, their eyes and mouths suggested behind irregular gashes. On their heads they wore simple goggles. There were yellow raffia skirts and tall head-dresses made from fake palmfronds; and there were long cotton trousers and sequined capes. There was an inflatable doll sitting side-saddle on a smiling inflatable moon. The inflatable doll was always the crowd’s favourite. She was called Sybil Obedience, and for many years had represented the ideal of Productive Motherhood. On the day of the doll parade, the young woman with the most children, who at the same time had put in the most hours of paid labour, was given a small resin replica of the round-eyed pneumatic character.
Wirtschaftswunder Day
-Excerpt from "House of the Flight-helpers" by Philomena van Rijswijk, Tartarus Press, UK
‘People of the country of Incognita,’ he began. High above the square, Berisha Begari looked down from his perch two hundred metres above the cupola of the Sunshine Circus. ‘People of Incognita,’ the President repeated, suddenly made uneasy by the eerie stillness that now emanated from the enormous crowd. ‘I am your father,’ the President proceeded, suddenly unable to remember his prepared speech. ‘You are my children, and, like a good father, it is my sacred duty to protect my family from the Outsiders.’ The President stopped and waited. Usually, the word ‘Outsiders’ was a trigger for uproarious cheering and applause. This year, the President found himself gulping and running a finger around inside his collar, which suddenly felt too tight. The President cleared his throat. ‘ . . . from the Outsiders,’ he repeated. At last, someone in the front of the crowd raised an arm, and the President prepared himself for a cry of patriotism and nationalistic punching of the air. However, the cry that issued from the citizen was not Hurray for the President!, but a timid Boo! that echoed from one side of the square to the other, and was accompanied by the unexpected landing of an ovoid missile at the President’s feet.
‘People of the country of Incognita,’ he began. High above the square, Berisha Begari looked down from his perch two hundred metres above the cupola of the Sunshine Circus. ‘People of Incognita,’ the President repeated, suddenly made uneasy by the eerie stillness that now emanated from the enormous crowd. ‘I am your father,’ the President proceeded, suddenly unable to remember his prepared speech. ‘You are my children, and, like a good father, it is my sacred duty to protect my family from the Outsiders.’ The President stopped and waited. Usually, the word ‘Outsiders’ was a trigger for uproarious cheering and applause. This year, the President found himself gulping and running a finger around inside his collar, which suddenly felt too tight. The President cleared his throat. ‘ . . . from the Outsiders,’ he repeated. At last, someone in the front of the crowd raised an arm, and the President prepared himself for a cry of patriotism and nationalistic punching of the air. However, the cry that issued from the citizen was not Hurray for the President!, but a timid Boo! that echoed from one side of the square to the other, and was accompanied by the unexpected landing of an ovoid missile at the President’s feet.
An astonishing book...Review by Clare Rhoden
House of the Flight Helpers by Philomena van Rijswijk Tartarus Press Review by Clare Rhoden (Aurealis Magazine)
House of the Flight Helpers is a meditation on the present and the future it forebodes. In the dystopian land of Incognita, fear and loathing disrupt the natural order. Cowering inside Luckycola city, everyone lives in the shadow of the Great Wall, a barrier erected to keep out birds. Every feather that slips in invites panic: city folk suffer from a manic phobia of everything avian. Overhead, bird-proof netting separates the city from the dangerous sky. Days are dimmed and a permanent seasonal disorder prevails. But the servants of the President for Life ensure no citizen shows sadness. Oxymoronic Cheerful Federators, cold and brutal as the Stasi or the SS, prey on the citizens. Into this heartless setting, van Rijswijk introduces a swathe of pathetic but interesting characters, from Juana in the mental hospital to Honeysuckle Rose, a child plucked from home and thrust into an orphanage after her sister’s arrest. The multitude of stories within this novel produces a dense read that needs time and reflection. The convoluted narrative passes from scene to scene like a film panning over an entire continent, occasionally zooming in. The reader sees similar situations in different guises across the city. Fear, suspicion and self-preservation dominate. The President’s denial of history, like his institution of enforced celebrations, increases the weight of satire. House of the Flight Helpers is a concentrated critique of the 20th century and a resounding warning about the 21st. Humanity, in seeking to control life and bend it to human purpose, tramples over natural justice and beauty—here represented by birds. This book rewards slow reading and provides moments of poetic truth. Language is assured and the descriptions mesmerising. It is satire, elevated literary satire, that may frustrate the reader who desires solid stepping stones in plot and character development. An astonishing book of many merits for readers of intelligent dystopia.
*Aurealis is an Australian speculative fiction magazine published by Chimaera Publications, and is Australia's longest running small-press science-fiction and fantasy magazine. The magazine is based in Melbourne.
House of the Flight Helpers is a meditation on the present and the future it forebodes. In the dystopian land of Incognita, fear and loathing disrupt the natural order. Cowering inside Luckycola city, everyone lives in the shadow of the Great Wall, a barrier erected to keep out birds. Every feather that slips in invites panic: city folk suffer from a manic phobia of everything avian. Overhead, bird-proof netting separates the city from the dangerous sky. Days are dimmed and a permanent seasonal disorder prevails. But the servants of the President for Life ensure no citizen shows sadness. Oxymoronic Cheerful Federators, cold and brutal as the Stasi or the SS, prey on the citizens. Into this heartless setting, van Rijswijk introduces a swathe of pathetic but interesting characters, from Juana in the mental hospital to Honeysuckle Rose, a child plucked from home and thrust into an orphanage after her sister’s arrest. The multitude of stories within this novel produces a dense read that needs time and reflection. The convoluted narrative passes from scene to scene like a film panning over an entire continent, occasionally zooming in. The reader sees similar situations in different guises across the city. Fear, suspicion and self-preservation dominate. The President’s denial of history, like his institution of enforced celebrations, increases the weight of satire. House of the Flight Helpers is a concentrated critique of the 20th century and a resounding warning about the 21st. Humanity, in seeking to control life and bend it to human purpose, tramples over natural justice and beauty—here represented by birds. This book rewards slow reading and provides moments of poetic truth. Language is assured and the descriptions mesmerising. It is satire, elevated literary satire, that may frustrate the reader who desires solid stepping stones in plot and character development. An astonishing book of many merits for readers of intelligent dystopia.
*Aurealis is an Australian speculative fiction magazine published by Chimaera Publications, and is Australia's longest running small-press science-fiction and fantasy magazine. The magazine is based in Melbourne.
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