The chief tragedy in reviewing David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas is that readers are not going to want to know how well Mitchell explores the central tenets of his text but, as the author himself asks through a surrogate character, whether the book's central conceit comes off as gimmick or inspiration. Why this is tragedy is because while the book is very good and Mitchell's ability to leap from character to character and style to style with little reservation and less hesitation shows a remarkable gift, there will be readers whose primary interest (or lack of such) will revolve about what we may consider Mitchell's gimmick.

Here's the thing about gimmicks (and we'll get this out of the way as quickly as possible so that we can get to the meat of the matter, Mitchell's novel): everything about a book—every book—is a gimmick. Its plot, its structure, its choice of characters, its vocabulary and style and prose and use of device. All of it. It's all just a gimmick to get you, the reader, to forget your self-consciousness for long enough to consider an author's creative product. It's all just the means an author will use to trick you into engaging in his purpose for the duration of the book's page count.

And when we describe a book as gimmicky, all we're saying is this: I didn't like the book.

And part of that may be due to an author's inability to sustain whatever gimmicks, whatever bag of tricks the author has chosen to employ. Or part of it may just be that some people don't like to be aware of the fact that there is a structural foundation, an erector set's worth of girders, an abandoned wharf's collection of pilings, a ramshackle assortment of concrete and rebar and wood and wires, glass, ducts, canals, service elevators, and furniture—all lurking just off-camera. Or in Cloud Atlas' case, not so far off camera.

So was Cloud Atlas gimmicky?

Well, because I very much enjoyed the book: no, it was not gimmicky in the least. An exercise in formalism and experimentation to be sure, but no, not gimmicky.

Mitchell uses in Cloud Atlas a chiastic structure to develop themes of liberty and determinism, savagery and civility, and a critique of the Ecclesiatical cliché that there is nothing new under the sun. Using six thinly connected stories told through six different mediums in six different time periods spanning hundreds of years, Mitchell explores the seemingly innate savagery of humanity (and especially of civilized humanity). In the end, Mitchell provides few clues as to how one might conquer this orientation—though he does suggest in a testimony from a dystopian future that any orientation may be overcome (prompting suggestions of education and standing on the shoulders of those who have come before).

In any case, his topics are worthy, his characters indelible, his method of conveyance sound, and his ability to handle a pen unquestionable. Some stories will be better received than others and each reader will find those that ring most true in the inner ear of their own conscience. Regardless, Cloud Atlas is an ambitious work whose form and experiment, though potentially distracting to the distractable reader, is entirely necessary (I believe) to the story he tells. Without his particular ordo apocalypsis, Mitchell's novel would lose the strength of its ability to convict as well as its ability to offer what hope it can (however slim). An excellent work and one worth any reader's time and attention.
___________________________________________

Note on Kindle edition.
Filled with hundreds of typos. Hundreds. Perhaps over a thousand. I easily lost track. Many spaces dumped so words run together. Words that were apparently hyphenated for line breaks in the printed edition are hyphenated in the Kindle edition even when in the middle of a line. Makes for atrocious reading. My advice: even if you prefer to read on a Kindle, pull out the printed edition for this book in particular. It suffers greatly in digital.