
What to say about this novel? I can, I suppose, outline the basic structure: it’s set partly in 1840s USA (including Texas, which was an independent republic at the time, a fact I did not previously know) and partly in what I suppose would have to be described as a post-apolalyptic totalitarian steampunk dystopia. Somehow these worlds are connected by a prophetic novel written by a past character – are we reading that, or are we reading what actually happens in the future? And does an old book discovered in the future world actually relate events that happened in the past, or is it a fictionalised account of the actions of people that apparently existed?
I don’t want to spoil things too much, but I think it’s important to state outright that not all of these questions will be answered. This novel may have high fantasy elements (the use of prophecy and an order of magical nuns spring to mind), but it strays from the flock by leaving a number of things things unresolved at the end. If you thought Tom Bombadil was pointless and stupid, this may not be the book for you. (Conversely, if you’re a Bombadil truther, there are probably about a hundred absurd theories you could construct from this novel, and may the stars of Elbereth illumine your hairy feet.)
Honestly though, the most salient feature of this book is its design. Physically, aesthetically, it is utterly beautiful. Partly this is due to the inclusion of illustrations – some of them purportedly the work of a character who is a naturalist, others diagrams of machines or objects in the steamtopia, etc. Because this is partly – OR WHOLLY??? – an epistolary/documentary novel, those documents are also represented through the design elements of the novel: for example, when the narrative is related through transcripts of conversations recorded by the totalitarian government, these have the look of official government records.
That stuff would make the book nice to look at, but it’s not the whole point. Apocryphally, when writing The Sound and the Fury, Faulkner’s dream was that Benjy’s section, which jumps around erratically in time and is near-impossible to follow, would be printed in fourteen different colours, to enable the reader to tell, at a glance, where in the narrative she found herself. (It wasn’t possible in 1929, but the Folio Society did do a limited run not too long ago.) Bats of the Republic is not nearly so complicated; however, even in the “straight” narrative sections of the novel, which take place in different times and places, the design and layout are employed as visual clues as to what’s going on on any given page. It’s a brilliant, and generous, technique which, combined with the beauty of the book as an object, create a much richer reading experience than might otherwise have been possible.
Look, this isn’t a totally satisfying reading experience. I had a lot of questions at the end, and not just about what happens after the last page. But it was enjoyable in ways that other novels aren’t. I can’t honestly recommend it to everyone, but if you’re at the intersection of the design nerd/fantasy nerd Venn diagram, have at it.