Once in a while, you find a book that follows a different pattern. It doesn’t exactly “break all the rules”, but neither does it follow one of the popular narrative structures. This is the art house vs the summer blockbuster; an artist’s personal vision vs the Pontiac Aztec. The Southern Reach trilogy is no Aztec.
What VanderMeer has produced is premium existential horror. He does not labor and strain and point wide-eyed at the vast ancient mind-rending behemoth, he calmly narrates a world that is genuinely incomprehensible. This is not simply a case of having limited information, though we certainly do; rather one slowly comes to realize that there is no way to fully understand what is happening. The closest we can come is vague metaphors. This realization adds another layer to what is already a most unsettling cake. VanderMeer brings us to this place organically. And he does it without racism.
The fact that he does it at all is an impressive feat. To conjure the incomprehensible without descending into gibberish is an accomplishment. To maintain a thread of compassion and humanity throughout is a triumph. These are books you feel. And that feeling has weight. It’s not as soul-crushingly bereft of hope as McCarthy’s “The Road”, but… you get the idea.
To say more would risk spoiling the vibe, and existential horror is all about the vibe. It is a genre built on vibes. I will say that these books set their own pace. One does not wander into the unknown and expect everything to be wrapped up neatly at the end. Even so, there is great satisfaction in making the journey.