The short: The Definitions is a brief novel populated with many ideas, but it adds up to much less than the sum of its parts. As a piece of dystopian fiction, it’s underwhelming and a bit haphazard, but I can tell that Greene thought hard about both the concept and his driving principles, and that is admirable.
[vacillating between 2 and 3 stars - what are stars, anyway?]
SOME SPOILERS BELOW!
The idea driving this book is that this group of “patients” at a hospital are learning to recover from a “virus” that steals all of their memories, from (most? all?) language to experience to personal history and knowledge of the outside world. However, what we gather over time is that they are essentially inmates of a brainwashing prison, forced to cycle through the program over and over until they fit the mold that their keepers have set for them. What is happening outside the walls of the hospital and what happens when the patients graduate is unclear.
The protagonist is–as we eventually learn–a woman and specifically a queer woman, in a position where she understands that she is feeling attraction but can’t name it and doesn’t have social context for why it’s “wrong” to feel same-sex desire. The subject of her attraction-revulsion is a really horrible woman with a rotten personality and a wart on her toe that she keeps trying to get people to bite off. (The entire toe wart plot is disgusting but one of the only truly memorable aspects of the book, so while I hated reading about it, kudos, I guess.) Ultimately the protagonist does not bite the wart and a man does.
I myself cannot imagine doing anything at all for the woman in question, let alone bite a chunk off her contagious toe with my literal and only mouth. In any case, the protagonist spends a lot of time picnicking alone with men and noting that people approve of this, while not feeling anything. That’s compulsory heterosexuality for you, I suppose, except I think in real life the compelled often do feel something, which is “bad.” I question the idea that she (in her flattened state) would both have a drive towards lesbianism and have no negative reaction to being forced towards men. In this world compulsory heterosexuality does help you avoid biting a wart. Who's to say, then, if it's all that bad? In case you think I’m making too much of this, it’s really and truly a major plot element.
The protagonist’s emotions are (as mentioned) flattened, deadened. That is clearly a choice driven by the idea that this place strips the personhood and vibrancy of humanity out of its victims, but it makes for dull reading (even though it took about 2 hours to read). Something I like about the dystopian works I will mention below, and about more concrete books like Station Eleven, is that while they’re driven by a bludgeon-like premise, the characters subdued by their societies are trapped in a battle between innate human desire for freedom and the constrictions of a profoundly unfree existence. Even Ayn Rand, a despicable being, manages this. This is a matter of personal taste, but I would much, much, much rather read a book where even an unpleasant protagonist (as in 1984) is pummeling the walls of their cage than one where the protagonist is so profoundly trapped that she doesn’t pummel at all.
Perhaps her flatness would be more bearable if I bought into the ways in which Greene indicates the sociopolitical landscape of his novel. However, I found the whole approach clumsy and off-balance. Reeducation classes with laughable titles whacking you in the head with their (I think poorly selected) specificity and aim to control. The basic conceit of language loss, and language retrieval, is something I also think is weakly managed. You can tell he thought about how people would interpret words without the context of remembering society, but most of the time it misses the mark for me. He’s just not delivering on a perfectly fine idea.
I think the best element of the book, although it still didn’t impact me as intensely as it could, is the matter of (especially women’s) sexual and reproductive autonomy. The entire plot of picnics with women / picnics with men is quiet, but unnerving; it’s brought home with another character’s miscarriage, in a situation where, horrifically, none of the “patients” even understand what pregnancy is. I appreciate the layers of this, the thematic coherence.
I also genuinely think that the array of ideas and impulses in the book is interesting and good, very solid material for the genre.
The Definitions isn’t unique in boiling its dystopian setting and storytelling down to a thought experiment with the characters operating as signifying rats running through its maze. Dystopian fiction (from Divergent, which I like, to We, which I love, to Brazil, one of the most effective movies I’ve ever seen) tends to blunt the complexity of reality in order to yell home its political and moral points. I get that. And while I have been writing about The Definitions, I believe I have gleaned a lot of Greene’s intentions and choices, and those intentions and choices feel both thoughtful and appropriate to the genre. So why does it feel like such an ineffectual novel? Why don’t I like it?
I believe it’s literally a skill issue. Classic dystopia may use rough abstractions to elicit complex ideas, just as cubism elicits complex forms through rough or distorted shapes. But cubism isn’t just making things square or putting eyes on sideways, and to be successful it requires a unique eye and control of the medium; and dystopia requires structure and precision in its bluntness. It needs to be built, not thrown at the wall. I don’t think Greene knows how to pick the slim moments of horror and implication that would make this really pop, and some of his choices for worldbuilding are too vague or gimmicky or just slightly off in terms of hammering home his points. It just wasn’t satisfying.
And truly, dystopian fiction is a hard genre to break into with enormous impact. While every genre has its repeated conventions and the threat of sameness, dystopian fiction has produced a number of the most memorable, affecting, and lasting books of the last 100 years. It’s very hard to stand in direct comparison to literally half the high school curriculum AND Suzanne Collins. It’s hard, and he tried, and he thought very hard about it, which I appreciate. It made me want to dig into its guts, which I appreciate. So in this case A for effort, B for thoughtfulness, but something much lower for how it all comes together.
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This book was received via the publisher as an E-ARC and I think what I think.