Jean-marcel's Reviews > Song of Kali

A strange thing happened while I was reading this book.

All through the first half or thereabouts, I gritted my teeth and cursed. I didn't think I would enjoy the rest of the journey. Had I given up partway through, I would have come to goodreads years later (I read this book in 2007 or so) and probably given it two stars.

Then, something happened. I realised, or at least I think I did, what Simmons was trying to do, and I understood that the reason I was having a hard time with this book was that I had a developing, intense dislike for the narrator/protagonist, Robert Luczak. I have been examining other reviews on this site, and it doesn't seem that anyone else had this issue, but from almost the first page, I simply felt a lot of scorn for this man, so clearly far out of his depth, yet so obviously full of a self-satisfied complacency and full-bellied relief that he was living in a nice, safe country where he could raise a stable, middle-class family and strive toward being some kind of intellectual paragon whilst writing for his little magazines. He even took a step toward embracing liberal multiculturalism by marrying an Indian woman, though one born into privilege and far removed from the cesspits of Calcutta. "Well, good for you, Mister Luczak, you pretentious prick," I thought to myself, with my worst and most cynical sneer.

Then, Simmons, through the voice of Luczak, made some offhand, disparaging comment about science fiction, and science fiction writers, and I chuckled. I suddenly got it. Simmons, a science fiction writer, among other things, wasn't just trying to say something about India and its culture. This is as much a commentary about western foolhardiness and ineffectual dabbling as anything else. At one point Luczak sees a low-caste cleaning girl accidentally electrocuted while doing her job, and, while justifiably horrified, all he can do is complain to his hosts. There's this attitude, completely unconscious and unintended on Luczak's part, that despite the fact that he's apparently doing serious work and is intellectually capable of learning and growing, he can't help but be grumpy about a lot of dirt spoiling his holiday. While I wouldn't say Luczak distorts the truth enough to be considered an "unreliable narrator", he is part of a longstanding horror tradition: one who is too busy looking at the trees to see the forest around him.

Ultimately, I let the tension of my contempt go, because I realised that Luczak was not a stand-in for Simmons himself, but rather a well-intentioned but ignorant man who just gets himself deeper into the muck without even realising what's going on. In fact, the buildup to the book's harrowing climax is really quiet and subtle, so that one just sort of reads along and, like Luczak, doesn't quite realise how dire things have become until the very last moment. Then, there's no turning back. The ending...oh, the ending: an ascension of madness and the most nerve-wracking tension followed by one of the most downbeat and depressing conclusions I can remember reading. While Luczak is not exactly redeemed, I felt so sorry for wishing him ill by the last pages. The man goes through so much so suddenly, and deserves so little of it, even though he may be a blunderer. Initially I gave this book three stars, but as the final quarter or so has stuck with me for so long, and has left some kind of permanent scar on my mind, I found I had to increase the rating.

There's a good amount of ambiguity here, too. Did supernatural events take place? Luczak doesn't believe in such things, but his drug-addled brain is by the end ill-equipped to explain anything. We, the readers, can infer what we like. I like how the novel doesn't spoon-feed us; though Luczak in his nice high-rise tower loftiness would certainly have tried, the last pages show that this tower is truly shattered, even though Calcutta is far behind him, and he can't even make the effort anymore. This is powerful stuff, all the moreso because it is ultimately told in a voice that I found rather unsympathetic through large portions of the narrative.