Sean Faulk discusses futuristic lit, rebellion, and confessional writing in Konik’s novel.
Michael Konik
Fiction | Novel | 266 pages | 5.2” x 8” | Reviewed: PDF ARC
978–0988994553 | First Edition | $14.00
Barrelhouse Books | Baltimore | BUY HERE
Not that many years ago, futuristic literature focused on what a wonderful place the world could be. Flying cars. World peace. Space exploration. But slowly that has been changing. From young adult to science fiction, there’s a definite dystopian theme that runs through literature now. The world is a different place, and it seems that many people aren’t as hopeful for the future as they once were. But there’s another trend that’s seen in these books: the idea of rebellion.
In 2009, Michael Konik wrote the book Everybody Sing, which would eventually become Year 14. This was years before the current political climate. There was no way of predicting that his book would mirror so many people’s worst fears less than a decade later. The book would not be published until 2017 by Barrelhouse Books, coming at a time when it would make a serious impact on many people, considering the turmoil that came from the 2016 election.
In the Sacred Homeland, which could be any country in the world, a new regime has come to power and revamped society. Everything has been reset: language, culture, even the calendar. The narrator, a nameless man, starts by recalling the rough transition to the new world. Unlike many of the older citizens, he was a young man when the change came about, and he “drank the Kool-Aid.” Thirteen years later, he holds a prestigious position at Perriodocko, the country’s leading, and pretty much only, newspaper, where he happily reports on the Sacred Homeland’s “National Heroes,” “Caring Leaders,” and “Dedicated Servants.”
Everything is regulated to a massive degree. A permit or license is required for everything from riding a bike to having an alcoholic drink, a “bolo.” The main form of entertainment is “chu chu,” which mainly consists of famous female singers, and even that is regulated heavily.
“The average citizen enjoying his favorite song on the radio probably didn’t know how many concerned authorities were involved, how much hard work was required, to make the process go so smoothly.” (p. 54)
When the narrator is instructed to supervise Mr. TupTup, a new employee who got his job by being the son of an important government official, the narrator’s regulated and orderly world is thrown off kilter. Mr. TupTup is scatterbrained and obsessed with singing stars. His behavior suggests he may be a sufferer of a mental disorder, a “Dip Dip” in the new language. His obsession over the upcoming National Song Competition passes on to the narrator and introduces him to a different aspect of the Sacred Homeland.
Unlike in other popular dystopian novels, the rebellion isn’t an action-packed suspense. It’s more subdued. Here the revolution doesn’t have to come from shooting and screaming loudly, but from something simple, such as old ladies planting an unpermitted garden or singing a song that doesn’t praise the Sacred Homeland. People can rebel by refusing to ignore the unfairness.
“Yes. That is a fine idea in our fine country with a fine newspaper. Just wait. It will be better later. Yes, that is a fine idea. Let us talk in the morning, when Perriodocko appears and all our questions will be answered, and no one will care about yesterday.” (p. 99)
The narrator, who, since the regime came to power, has strived to follow the rules and be a good citizen, is faced with the idea he may be part of the problem and that the rebellion is closer to him than he ever knew.
The narrative is told in the form of someone trying to write everything down quickly after a major event has occurred, almost a confession. There’s a sense of urgency in the writing, coming out in a stream of consciousness at some points. The rushed feeling of the telling strikes a nerve with the reader. The urgency transfers and becomes not only a need to tell the story, but a need to hear it. With the narrator not being given a name, it could be anyone, and that’s enough to give the reader a personal stake in the story.
With so many people fearing that something like this will be the eventual outcome of the current atmosphere, Year 14 offers a compelling narrative and hope that things could get better later.
