M. John Harrison - The End of Everything

Well they always say you shouldn't be afraid to try new things. I was unsure I would like M. John Harrison's latest book The End of Everything after I read the Guardian review here. As quite a literal reader I am uncomfortable with stories that aren't particularly clear on what's happening, or layer meaning upon meaning. Nonetheless I decided to give it ago, not least because I very much like end of the world novels, and we are facing catastrophic change.

The End of Everything is mostly set in the very English seaside world of the Kent coast. A place of small farms, former fishing villages and second homes. The world has undergone some form of catastrophe. Aliens called the iGhetti have appeared connected in some way to financial centres and banking - the City of London being a common location. The military have bombed and shelled their somewhat ghostly forms, but nothing seems to have halted their advance.

Civilisation seems to have collapsed. One character who claims that he has repeatedly visited London to study the iGhetti is met with disbelief. The state doesn't seem to function - there are no police when one of the characters commits murder early in the book - and instead a form of listless mob justice seems to rule. But on the other hand some cafes and inns seem to function in a way that bears no real relationship to an actual economy. Perhaps this is meant to be a comment on our own economy, which seems to bear little relationship to the needs of the people who make up society.

Much of the book centres on people who make their living by collecting artefacts from the sea. Unnamed things wash up on the beach and some are sold or kept. Special artefacts can be transformative for the finder, who consequently leave the coast. Phillip has found one of these artefacts. It seems to be alive - indeed at various points people eat bits of it - and over time it grows and develops. When Phillip dies it takes on his personality or part of it. Marnie, Phillip's elderly relative, goes on a road trip with the artefact and Phillip's ashes. Marnie appears to be on a quest to try and find out what happened. But she doesn't seem to really mind - instead she's drawn to the source of the problem at the City of London. Perhaps its the source of all our problems.

Online commentary suggests that the novel is meant as a comment on Brexit, or capitalism. I thought it had something to say about commodity fetishism - but perhaps thats the Marxist in me reading too much. But there's a real fog about this book. Its not clear what is happening - is anything real. Is anyone even human? Does anyone have a purpose? Are the customers in the cafe ghosts? Or are they real people lost in a landscape that has lost all meaning.

My Guardian reader worried that readers who dislike SF might be put off by this book. I am not sure. Those who are put off are probably those like me who need more certainty in their novels. Those who like ambuguity, metaphor and fog will love it. I could see the brilliant writing. But I couldn't see into the story.