Thanks to NetGalley for my free ARC!
Freezing Point is a terrifying look into an old subject: the price of immortality. Despite this tried and true theme - and the fact that the book is concerned with cryogenic freezing, the idea of which has somewhat fallen out of fashion in both fiction and real life - the book doesn't feel like it lacks any punch. Its central question: what are you living for if all you pursue is a longer life? - is just as relevant in today's world of wellness influencer scams and 5 am ice water facials as it was in 1969 when Freezing Point was first published. This is handily drawn attention to in an excellent new foreword written by Sophie Mackintosh.
In the novel, magazine editor Bruno discovers he has life-threatening cancer and decides to undergo cryogenic freezing in the hopes of being woken one day in the future when the disease can be cured. In this, medicine succeeds - but in a way, Bruno never manages to make it back to the 'real world,' either the form in which it is when he wakes in 1995 and 2022, or the world he expected when he went to sleep. So much has changed that all the touchstones Bruno had in his old life - his job, music, magazines, literature - have no meaning for him anymore, or have no meaning for the people of this new world, so they no longer exist. Much like the protagonist of Joe Haldeman's The Forever War, Bruno wakes up to a world that has moved on without him, in which he can't find his place. Or, more to the point, it seems no one around him is willing to let him find his place - their obsession with immortality, with deciding between living for now or working hard for a life in the future, is so all-consuming that they can't accept that he has no desire to make such a decision. The sad reality of Freezing Point is that, while Bruno may have survived the cancer in body, for his life, the disease was indeed terminal. He never manages to escape from the labyrinth of the hospital, once they have their claws in him; as surely as anyone else, the quest for immortality drags him down.
I think this book really hit home for me because it explores one of my biggest fears: being kept in a hospital room and not given any information about my condition, being 'looked after' without having any of my treatment explained to me. This is the action around which much of the novel revolves: Bruno is kept in various treatment centres and not given all the information he needs because it will supposedly be 'too much for him.' There's a very well-paced, growing horror throughout the book as Bruno begins to realise that, far from keeping information from him for the sake of his mental health, the people in charge of his care are keeping things from him with ulterior motives. They desperately want to mould him into one of them, into someone who will be useful for society, who will work for them, for immorality, without question, as they do. Bruno continually voices the audience's perspective, demanding to know more about this world, and is placed in increasingly more powerless positions. The increasing loss of autonomy he experiences at the end of the novel - going from being able to meet with his beloved Jenny to being strapped to a bed and fed through a tube - is particularly chilling (no pun intended).
There are so many little details that lend this book a kind of creeping, slow horror (like ice slowly freezing?). The covering and uncovering of the windows in Bruno's room - and the fact that he never truly gets a window he can actually open, always being enclosed and trapped - was one great detail. The fact that there are no windows in the hospital in 2022 - no way of knowing what's going on, the action of the narrative stripped down to its most fundamental truth, the freezing 'up and down,' - was really chilling. The lights consistently going on and off in the 2022 section, and the way Ackermann kept making a joke of it, and the fact that we never really got an answer for why - never got an answer for who the people in yellow coats were, either, aside from what Bruno imagined about them - added to the sense of disconnection from the world that pervaded the novel. Bodelsen created such a creeping sense of dread as you got deeper and deeper into the novel and realised how hopeless Bruno's situation was becoming - culminating, of course, with Bruno himself recognising this and wanting to end his own life, and in the end being denied even that level of autonomy.
I have to admit I wasn't 100% sure what the point of the side plot with Jenny and her and Bruno's child was. It heavily affected the narrative, as the reason Bruno chose to go back 'down' rather than stay in 1995, but like many of the characters in the novel, I wasn't entirely sure what was so special about Jenny or what exactly Bruno saw in her. He seems to have almost imagined himself in love with her - and the way their story ends, with her just rejecting him, makes the whole thing seem pointless. I'm not entirely sure what Bodelsen was trying to say with the whole thing, or what its thematic point was? It seems like the reader is meant to just understand that, of course, Bruno is in love, because Jenny is a beautiful woman. To me, that's some peak Male Het Writing xD
Aside from that, I had no complaints about Freezing Point. The book is short, but it packs an incredible punch into its runtime. I still feel haunted by the final image: Bruno constantly reliving the same loop in his memories, probably not even an hour long. While most people have rightfully picked up on the themes of immortality and its fruitlessness, the horror of the medical malpractice angle haunts me after finishing Freezing Point. Bruno took a chance because his doctor assured him it would be the best thing, because he trusted his medical providers and the system - and he was paid back with a lifetime of agony. Unfortunately, that's still an all-too-relatable story in our modern world.