Dhalgren (Paperback)

Dhalgren is not a book for everyone; in fact, I'd even go so far as to say it's not for most people. Delany's work is definitely influenced by the fact that he is a gay black man, so if you're expecting normal sexual and emotional relationships, look elsewhere. It's also a dense book, which your average Grisham- or Crichton-reading person is not going to get, or even want to get. It's also long and slower-paced than most books I've read.

That said, it's also one of the most fascinating tales I've read to date. I have sincere worries I'll ever be able to look at, say, a Philip K. Dick book with quite as much reverence again.

It is a labyrinthine book, a sort of wandering narrative that somehow stays carefully focused as the tale weaves continually through its long tale. In his foreword, William Gibson said, "I have never understood it. I have sometimes felt that I partially understood it, or that I was nearing the verge of understanding it. This has never caused me the least discomfort, or interfered in any way with my pleasure in the text. If anything, the opposite has been true."

When I read those words before starting the text, I had my doubts, along with a few lofty - but misplaced - ambitions. How, I wondered, could you not "get" a book, yet still enjoy it? "Maybe I can figure its mystery out," I said to myself. How foolish I was.

In re-reading the foreword after finishing the book, I see now that Gibson was absolutely right. "Dhalgren," he says, "is not there to be finally understood." This is absolutely correct; the nature of the city and the events that occur within it are part of the story, but are not the point. The point of the story is the story; it is one of the few works I have read that justifies itself simply by reading through it.

Gibson also describes in his foreword how reading Dhalgren strips the reader of many of the things that readers often consider to be their fundamental rights as readers, because it refuses to deliver itself unto the reader in the typical question/reward fashion. "If this is a quest, the reader protests, then we must learn the object of that quest. If this is a mystery, we must be told at least the nature of the puzzle. And Dhalgren does not answer."

This, too, is true. This may sound strange, but there is simply no way to put into words how this book can be so unconventional, so unyielding of its secrets to the reader, and yet so thoroughly enjoyable.

And the strange thing about this book is that even though it is long and has no overt "point", even though it does not deliver insights on what will happen next, even though it took me over four months to read, I loved it. It feels good to have finished this book, as though I took the ride with Kid and Lanya and all the rest. It's a journey I won't soon forget. And if you're just the right kind of reader, you won't, either.

There is a lot going on in the book, but for me, the central conceit seemed very clear (SPOILERS FOLLOW), although brilliantly unorthodox:

The disaster that creates Bellona (a post-apocalyptic city) is the coming together of two equal and opposite forces - a black man (George) and a white girl (not a woman-- June). Each has an stereotypical aspect: George is the sexually insatiatiable rampaging black rapist, June the helplessly vulnerable innocent white victim. But each has a more hidden aspect that runs counter-stereotype. George is a hero who saves children from a burning building, while June is a hypocrite who murders her own brother to cover over her appetites.

They come together in an act that appears to be rape, but which may actually be an piece of playacting created for the pleasure of the participants. This transgression is what warps time and space in Bellona, setting off a series of events in which a white sniper kills black children, the black residents riot and burn the city, anarchy sets in and people flee, armed gangs take over the streets, middle-class residents take refuge in fortresses of delusion, June stalks George in a combination of attraction and repulsion and the entire cycle repeats over and over, endlessly.

In this way the book is a psychological portrait, not only of the Kid --a racially and sexually ambigious artist --but also of the American city --a racially and sexually-obsessed powder keg --during a certain moment in history.

This book has a lot to say, if you've got the stomach for it, read this book. Just don't expect to understand it while you read it. Understanding only comes after finishing the book, reflecting on it, tripping on it, sleeping on it, then re-reading it only to discover you got it all wrong.

Don't expect to know what is going on all the time (or even most of the time). As in Catch-22, the scenes aren't always chronological, they are not organized by theme, nor will one necessarily explain the next. Consider: imagine yourself with several college buddies with one or two you knew from high school, and another you meet at work last month. Will the telling of tales be ordered - chronologically or thematically? Or will one tale remind one person of something which he blurts out and starts to tell, leaving someone else with a tale she was reminded of but will wait until she gets a chance to tell? Will the tale of the high school prom necessarily be told before the tale of the panty raid, or the party during finals week? Yet, once all the stories are told, the new guy still comes away with some understanding of who these people were, what they were like, and the kind of world they came from. Analogy over.

I would give this book 6 out of 5 stars if (I could). It is the experience of a lifetime. A completely self-contained universe that parallels ours closely enough to frighten. Other reviewers have compared it (both favorably and unfavorably) to Herbert's Dune. Themes of coping in hostile environments is the only similarity. Delany's world actively seeks to screw with the heads of the readers and the inhabitants alike.