Michelle Bailat-Jones

Writer, Translator, Reader

I love fiction that engages both parts of my brain – the part that expects nothing more than the words on the page to create distinctive if not beautiful prose and the part that wants to be challenged, that wants to have to re-think something I thought I understood or at least had some idea of. I think that fiction, if it works, should accomplish these two tasks. In that sense, I want more than just well-written entertaining distraction. I want the questions. Along with the messy and improbable answers. I want flawed individuals and eccentric personalities, historical perspective and modern recklessness. I want understanding and fear, courage and abandon. I want humanity distilled and discovered. I want to find myself in the story and at the same time lose myself completely in something wholly beyond me. 

Which is exactly what The Echo Maker does. The underlying story is deceptively simple: a man flips his car on a lonely stretch of highway one night and wakes up several weeks later, both physically and mentally broken. His sister copes with the burden of caring for him. A famous doctor comes to work with both of them. But this simple story hinges on the mentally broken aspect of Mark’s post-accident person. His body is the same, most of his memories intact but his very notion of self has undergone a radical transition.  

The question underneath all of this – how do we know who we are – is profoundly difficult to get a grasp on. The very fact that our own self-awareness is superceded by the brain’s need to ensure the cohesiveness of that very awareness makes the awareness itself dubious.  

To see the person closest to you in this world, and feel nothing. But that was the astonishment, nothing inside Mark felt changed. Mark still felt familiar; only the world had gone strange. He needed his delusions, in order to close that gap. The self’s whole end was self-continuation. 

[…]The job of consciousness is to make sure that all of the distributed modules of the brain seem integrated. That we always seem familiar to ourselves.  

The novel’s two other points of view parallel this idea as well: Karin, the sister, fighting against who she wants to be and the person she presents to others and Dr. Weber, a specialist called in to work on Mark’s exceptional case, struggling to determine his professional and human self-worth, his multi-layered appreciation of brain functioning and what it means to his specific truth. Powers uses these three individuals to explore, quite beautifully I might add, this intricate question of self-understanding and constructed reality. 

In many ways the story reads like good detective fiction. There are several mysteries to solve regarding the night of the accident and other events in the past of each of the characters. Powers introduces a number of twists and turns to the otherwise straightforward and time-contained plot, twists and turns that eventually lead to a satisfying and surprising end. But where Powers really shines is in the humane dissection and presentation of his characters; these are fragile humans from the get-go who are made more fragile by one fantastic event. In Powers’ hands, they fall apart, lose themselves and lose each other but in that dissolution they somehow stumble upon something essential. Some tiny piece of understanding worth fighting for. And they fix on that breathtaking perception and find a way to hold on.  

Finally, I can’t finish this without mentioning the cranes. Powers begins the book and centers much of its story on the spectacle of migrating Sandhill Cranes. Such a perfect image running parallel to his exploration of memory and consciousness – creatures with an inherent map, their lives and self-perpetuation wrapped up in something as simple, as complex as memory.  

The nervous birds, tall as children, crowd together wing by wing on this stretch of river, one that they’ve learned to find by memory. They converge on the river at winter’s end as they have for eons, carpeting the wetlands. In this light, something saurian still clings to them: the oldest flying things on earth, one stutter-step away from pterodactyls. As darkness falls for real, it’s a beginner’s world again, the same evening as that day sixty million years ago when this migration began.  

[…]As first light breaks, the fossils return to life, testing their legs, tasting the frozen air, leaping free, bills skyward and throats open. And then, as if the night took nothing, forgetting everything but this moment, the dawn sandhills start to dance. Dance as they have since before this river started.

9 Responses to “Richard Powers – The Echo Maker”

  1. Stefanie

    This sound like a wonderful book. It got so much attention when it came out and it sounds like it really lives up to expectations.

  2. verbivore

    Stefanie – It was a wonderful book – complicated and easy to get into. I really enjoyed it.

    Nicola – Yes, I think it will be on my top list for a long time!

    Stephen – I’d be very curious to read what you think about it. I can’t recommend it enough!

  3. Jacob Russell

    A couple of years ago a friend–I think of her as a friend now–a cybor space acquaintance, refugees, exiles and escapees from web sites as they evolved and expelled us–or at least, me: Salon–the old not-for-pay Salon, Atlantic Forum before Atlantic Monthly delegated fiction to the Terminal Care Single Issue Nursing Home, Readerville… one more place I’ve been booted from… (expelled from a whole State in 1965… declared PNG by Mississippi). Very few acquaintances last through these transitions, some voluntary, some forced–so I have special regard the few hang on for more than one or two expulsions… ah yes, the point at hand: Richard Powers. This fellow expat recommended Plowing the Dark. That was enough to convince me–this was someone whose career I wanted to follow.

    He hasn’t disappointed me yet, and your review does a pretty good job of zeroing in on what I respect in Powers. The fragility of his central characters–of their self-identity-can make them difficult to “identify with” (how the middle-brow reviewers milk this one), but that is the edge, the precipice he makes them walk, the heart of the question at the heart each of his novels… this thing about “identity.”

    In each novel, the question of personal identity is matched with a set of roughly (or more than roughly) complimentary questions from fields we assume are less contingent, less contaminated with our subverting needs and wishes–fields that suggest we might explore them with more disinterested minds: programing virtual reality, photographic imagery and history, mathematics, music, the structure of DNA and its discovery… and in each case, the science, the complimentary representation of the human question, is no less problematic and elusive than that one about “personal identity.”

    So yes, he characters seem stiff–hidden behind their projected, fragile and unstable self-images, expressing themselves in a odd sort of Powers-esque dialog, all feint and dodge, evasion and deflection… the sort of more than semi-conscious lie… of if not lie, refusal… refusal to take the business of settled identity seriously… so the dialog comes across as ironic evasion…evasion that reveals the “lack” the Lacanic “Real.”

    I’ll post a link to your review. So glad to see Powers being given the attention he deserves.

  4. J.S. Peyton

    I’ve seen this around a lot. Every time I see it at the bookstore, THE ECHO MAKER and I kind of gaze at each other for a second until I squint, purse my lips and then move away. I kept waiting to be convinced to buy it and now I have. Thanks!

  5. verbivore

    Dorothy – I hope you do, I’d love to hear what you think!

    Jacob – Thanks so much for the thoughtful comments. I’m glad that the rest of Powers’ work fits with The Echo Maker. I’m going to look up some of his other books very soon.

    J.S. Peyton – I’m glad I’ve convinced someone! I hope you enjoy it.

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