In January 2018, I set myself a goal of reading six translated SFF works. Amatka is my third book. (I know, it’s 2019!) Prior to this, I attempted Eden, by Stanislaw Lem, which I’m sorry to say was a slog, and one of Lem’s admittedly more difficult works; and I Remember You, by Yrsa Sigurdardottir, a properly chilling ghost story for the middle of winter, which is when I read it.
Amatka (2017)
Written by: Karin Tidbeck (tr. by author)
Genre: Science Fiction/Horror
Pages: 195 (ebook)
Publisher: Vintage
Why I Chose It: I like dystopias. Amatka is written by a woman and stars a woman. It lies in wait for the unsuspecting reader on several LGBTQ+ and socialist-ish reading lists, which is where I found it when I came up with my original challenge. A few months later I was pleased to see it shortlisted for the 2018 Locus Award.
The premise:
Vanja, an information assistant, is sent from her home city of Essre to the austere, wintry colony of Amatka with an assignment to collect intelligence for the government. Immediately she feels that something strange is going on: people act oddly in Amatka, and citizens are monitored for signs of subversion.
Intending to stay just a short while, Vanja falls in love with her housemate, Nina, and prolongs her visit. But when she stumbles on evidence of a growing threat to the colony, and a cover-up by its administration, she embarks on an investigation that puts her at tremendous risk.
In Karin Tidbeck’s world, everyone is suspect, no one is safe, and nothing—not even language, nor the very fabric of reality—can be taken for granted. Amatka is a beguiling and wholly original novel about freedom, love, and artistic creation by a captivating new voice.
Discussion: The book takes place over a month and each section is divided into a week. I was instantly drawn in to the world, loved the concept, and the characters – each with secrets that unfold as the story continues. As with Jeff Vandermeer’s Southern Reach trilogy, ambiguity is a large part of the horror. I will try to avoid spoilers, but there is also a very subtle reveal integral to the plot. I believed I was reading about characters in a specific, familiar setting – then Tidbeck pulled the rug out from under me. Twice.
As they say in Massachusetts: Wicked awesome, do it again.
Vanja, Nina, and the librarian all inhabit a setting which utilizes a socialist/communist economic philosophy to keep four colonies alive and well. Each colony is responsible for a different product; for example, Vanja’s home, Essre, is the capital, while Amatka farms mushrooms, the basis for everyone’s diet (mushroom coffee!). What’s mysterious, however, is an undercurrent of fear: every few days, every object must be properly named aloud—or it will lose its shape and become gloop. “Accidents” are to be avoided at all costs. Children are taught from birth to “properly mark” items in order to ensure their continued form and function. Residents engage in naming and marking days, and items come with labels: “Toothbrush.” “Shirt.” “Soap.” “Train.” Yes, even the train, which must cross a dangerous, mysterious landscape between colonies. This is just the way Vanja and her fellow characters live. Status quo.
Language is very important to the plot, and Tidbeck plays with ambiguity here, too. What Vanja discovers during her stay in Amatka is something that threatens the very order of this existence. If someone has ever wondered why letters fall in a certain order, why sounds make up certain words and how we ascribe meaning to them, well, these are questions about the very basis of the study of language. (And the basis of reality… But I’m trying not to scare people away.)
Tidbeck is also not afraid to explore mental health issues. Characterizations and plot are underpinned by characters experiencing depression. Amatka is located in the far north, receiving diminished amounts of sunlight, so its medical lodge is equipped with sunrooms and sun lamps, which are in frequent use by Amatka’s citizens.
Vanja falls in love with her host, Nina, almost immediately, and in the short span of a week, that feeling is reciprocated and a relationship blooms. It was hard to buy that, but I was willing to overlook it for the sake of the story. Vanja is also not the “typical” woman by Colony standards (or by IRL standards). She is childless, prefers to remain so, and therefore rebels against the colonies’ mandated child-bearing duties that are assigned to every viable woman. To Vanja, this is horror. She’s not the mothering type; besides falling in love with Nina, she decides not return to Essre for several reasons, one of which is to escape childbearing. “Not the mothering type” used to be whisper-code for “lesbian,” but in Vanja’s case, it is literal. Hail and well met, Vanja; I’ve never read myself in fiction before, so kudos to Tidbeck for including this trait. Disclaimer: Don’t misunderstand me – if people want children, please, please have them. I will spoil them and send them back to you. (Hopefully no more caffeinated than when they arrived.) But I very much appreciated the inclusion of a woman whose ambitions were to find love, solve a mystery, and go to work, not necessarily in that order and perhaps all at the same time. I feel that’s rare in a female protagonist.
That said, I’d be remiss if I did not also mention that the book is also a critique of democratic socialism and/or communism (aka classless society in this case). There are advantages and disadvantages to a socialist or communist-run distribution of goods and services, but that is true of any -ism. However, there is a strict reason behind the communist-atmosphere in Tidbeck’s novella.
Conclusion: Recommended for readers of Yegevny Zamyatin’s We, George Orwell’s 1984, Jeff Vandermeer’s recent Southern Reach trilogy, and Stanislaw Lem’s Solaris. Amatka is by turns creepy, engaging, and thought-provoking. I love, but was not expecting, the surreal, ambiguous horror angle. Sometimes that’s done well, and sometimes not. Here it’s perfect, and instead of being set dressing, it’s actually part of the plot (as in Vandermeer’s work). I didn’t know quite what was happening, and although I didn’t get a lot of answers, I didn’t need them. Amatka is a quick read – I was riveted and finished it in a couple of hours – but toward the end make sure the reading environment is distraction-free so as to savor the ambiguity.
I must stop now, and let people go read the book and in so doing question the very nature of reality.
As for my challenge, I have three books left:
- Dendera, by Yuya Sato (Japan)
- Iraq + 100: Stories From A Century After The Invasion, edited by Hassan Blasim (Iraq)
- Three Messages and a Warning: Contemporary Mexican Short Stories of the Fantastic, edited by Eduardo Jimenez Mayo (Mexico)
I look forward to reading them, even though I haven’t decided which one is next.
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