Reflections on the Future: Failure to Comply, Accessibility, and Epistolary Experiences
“A long series of unspeakable events led to the rise of mass deviation, the collapse of the social order. We need now only know RSCH was savior.” (143)
Failure to Comply by Cavar is an epistolary abolitionist text that introduces us to I, our nameless protagonist with two stomachs and three arms, alongside the authoritarian and all-consuming high-tech government known only as RSCH. I is on the run — not only from the firm grasp of RSCH, but from their past and its impact on their uncertain future as well; joined by Reya, a fellow self-hacker with a tumultuous history of their own, the text explores themes of climate change, bodily autonomy, and more through nonlinear storytelling and an emphasis on language as a force of control and collective liberation.
As a queer disabled artist with a penchant for body horror myself, I leapt at the chance to review Cavar’s debut novel for DIS/CONNECT — I was lucky enough to receive a physical ARC from Cavar in mid-spring, and it’s a book that has occupied the senses of anticipation and trepidation on my shelf for far too long. I had seen some early (and glowing!) reviews, and to be blunt, I wasn’t sure I was ready for the emotional realizations I felt confident I’d experience upon reading. Well, I was (partially) right — but as it turns out, Cavar’s writing provided doses of eye-opening revelations, calls to action, and surprising relatability in equal measure. Perhaps the most impactful to me, however, is the role that language played throughout the book — and in particular, how the rhetoric that typically surrounds literature can, whether implicitly or not, reify ideas of coercive power that the genre seeks to prevent. The most defining example of this might be — as other reviewers have pointed out — the idea of a “body of work.” This concept is instilled into many of us at an early age; as children, we are taught to structure essays with an introduction, a conclusion, and the all-important “body”; we conceptualize an intrinsic relationship between the physical form and the ephemerality of language, and we link it to our own bodies as well. When an author dies, their life is recounted by revisiting the texts that made them famous — so the body of their work remains relevant long after their physical form has been interred.
However, for disabled individuals — like myself, like Cavar, like I and Reya in Failure to Comply — our bodies are not guaranteed the same irreverence and sanctity by those around us who view them; instead, our accomplishments are presented in spite of our disabled or augmented physical forms. It is deemed impossible that our contributions to the world can be intrinsically tied to our disabled existence… and even more so seen as an impossible leap when we are CripQueer, because we no longer fit the aesthetically- and capitalist-pleasing standards of queer identity. In Failure to Comply, this is best viewed through the idea of the “record” — not just the book itself, but the pervasive surveillance state that everyone within the restraints of RSCH society upholds through the mandated contacts they wear. “I am writing this for public record,” I repeats over and over again. Nothing is True unless RSCH records it, but I can subvert what I record; our bodies, whether “whole” in the eyes of RSCH or deviant in some way, bear the stories that we may never fully tell. I, in their final pages, shifts their gaze from the rigidity of RSCH into the unknown expanses of green — it’s antithetical to what RSCH deems as True, and the bodies that lie beyond are able to exist in and of themselves, rather than as emblems of the RSCH record. Perhaps for the first time.
RSCH continually emphasizes the importance of Truth, and the importance of formatting that I’ll explore further below is relevant here as well. Only Truth that is set by RSCH can be deemed as true Truth; all other forms of truth are only an imitation, a sign of deviance. RSCH uses “deviance” as a way to condemn anything — whether it’s words, actions, or even mere thoughts — that conflicts or attempts to supercede their own policy; this framework is used for acts of rebellion, yes, but also to pathologize noncompliance and reprimand any deviances (pun intended) from the norm. “Diagnoses, including MA [“misplaced aggression”], were RSCH’s first and more effective line of defense against deviance” (94). But it’s not just “aggression” that categorizes Citizens as deviant; “once, there were people who could not hear and their englishes spoke in gestures, but they were reported to the authorities for their Inability to Vocalize, soon found to be co-morbid with MA” (107–108). Deafness, too, is condemned as uncivil and unbecoming of the strict parameters of RSCH. Our disabled bodies — and, of course, it is vital to mention here that many Deaf and HoH communities do not consider their existence to be a disabled one — are deemed contradictory to societal success. In Failure to Comply, these disabilities are met with harsh classification, decreased access to Citizen opportunities, and observation that often turns into experimentation. This is not a symptom of the book’s dystopian nature — it is a direct reflection of authoritarian regimes in our own history (and perhaps our future) that deem disability as a sign of biological failure. The language Cavar uses to describe it is novel, yes; the realities it recounts are reminiscent of perhaps the most non-fiction horrors we have as a people.
I would be remiss if I did not also spend a moment to dwell on the nontraditional text orientations/formats and interludes that Cavar included, primarily through interruptions and loud government bulletins from RSCH. Intermixing bold text that quotes from RSCH briefings or authorities serves to emphasize the all-seeing pervasive nature of RSCH’s control — there is (almost) nowhere that I and Reya can run where the words of RSCH can go unheard, even if they don’t want to listen. And yet, RSCH phrases all of their mandates through the language of choice: “Will you choose to comply?” (131) The reality of it, as I and Reya find in the forest, is that neither choice — yes or no — produces a meaningful result. Instead, we must turn away from the question entirely, break free from these dichotomies and binaries that bind us to coercive conformity.
Failure to Comply is a brilliant, gut-wrenching, and deeply personal novel that transcends genre and stylistic barriers; it creates endless worlds out of its words, out of its imagery, out of its design. It is a story of growth, not only within ourselves but the boundless abundance of nature that waits for us beyond what we expect. It invites us to rebuke our rulers and embrace subjectivity without sacrifice. It’s beautiful and unexpected, and at its core, it is true.
“The truth is already here, it is either known or yet-known.” (82)
