Dystopia, for the 'Lulz'

Article excerpt

Dystopia, for the 'Lulz'

Of all the Great Living North American Writers, Margaret Atwood may be having the most fun. Having firmly established her cred as a serious writer with works like The Edible Woman and The Handmaid's Tale, she's now earned the right to a certain level of goofiness: Spending

her days on Twitter, attending Comic-Con, and devoting the past 10 years to a post-apocalyptic saga filled with bad puns and mutant pig-beasts. Its hard not to envy her: She's done her work and assured her legacy-now gets to do what she likes.

MaddAddam, the third and final installment of that sci-fi saga, is probably the closest Margaret Atwood will come to writing a William Gibson novel. Underground hacker networks are established, narrow escapes are made and busty bordello proprietors are revealed to have hearts of gold beneath their scale-and-feather-embellished full-body prophylactics. Much of this action is narrated by a heroic hacker, the sort of man who- unironically, and in a moment of tenderness with his lover-uses the phrase "for the lulz."

If all this sounds a little pulpy, well, it is. But it's also the work of a great writer. The arguments that Atwood has built her career around-power, and how it is obtained; sex, and what it has to do with power; language, and how it serves or deceives us; survival, and how to do it in a natural world that is largely indifferent to our concerns-are all worked out in the MaddAddam trilogy. It just so happens that they are frequently expressed via mutant pig.

Oryx and Crake, the 2003 novel that kicks off the trilogy, remains the bleakest of the series. It centers on Jimmy, a mediocre copywriter and lifelong cad who believes himself to be the last surviving member of the human race. Filthy, malnourished and beginning to hear voices, he stumbles through the wilderness, gleaning food from the eerily placid, semi-human "Crakers" and reminiscing about the world he's lost: one in which biotechnology was the only game in town and corporations had replaced governments and exploited the natural world to the point of collapse. All of this culminated in a plague that a bioengineer named Crake unleashed upon humanity so that his creations, the Crakers, might inherit the earth. The book ended with Jimmy stumbling upon a miraculous group of human survivors and contemplating whether he ought to kill them. The story's power came from the fact that, by the time those survivors arrived, we were none too happy to see them either. Although Oryx and Crake could be funny and tender in its depiction of human weakness, it was also so pessimistic it hurt.

Her 2009 follow-up, The Year of the Flood, backtracked a bit: She invented new survivors, more resilient than poor Jimmy, and gave them a past life as a cult of ecologically minded urban gardeners whose ethos might allow humanity a chance at life in the wake of the plague, or at least a less instantaneous death.

MaddAddam sticks, for the most part, to these survivors, both the peaceful Gardeners and their militant splinter group, the MaddAddamites. (Jimmy appears, but just barely. He's one of her best-drawn characters-manipulative, self-absorbed, casually sexist and terminally average, but imbued nonetheless with an aching sensitivity, he's an excellent argument for both human frailty and human worth-but he spends much of the book unconscious.) These survivors seem to do everything Jimmy can't: Obtain their own food, build shelters, have conversations, create literature, fall in love. The utter despair of Oryx and Crake is a dim memory; the question of MaddAddam is not whether humanity should survive, but how.

As one of these love affairs unfolds- between the steely, pragmatic Gardener Toby and the lulz-prone MaddAddamite Zeb-the story dips, at length, into Zeb's past. …