This Australian speculative fiction debut is a celebration of nerdery, nature and the self. In what appears to be a future Earth, the reader is introduced to Arto the moment Arto wakes up with the realisation that he is a robot and cannot remember anything beyond that. The first part of the novel is told through a stream of consciousness as Arto literally finds his feet, and his head and his hands. Arto is fresh and annoying, something like a cross between Ted Lasso and Microsoft’s digital assistant Clippy.
As the story strides forward at an eager and off-kilter lope, Arto – and the reader – uncover clues of his designer, his purpose and why he was abandoned. The Blue Mountains setting lends Arto a particular bushy twang and adds shocking beauty to the stark setting and tone.
Just as you reach your tolerance level with Arto and his exclamatory, cheesy style, he meets his untrustworthy sister, Indi, and shortly afterwards, humans. “The sensation of the wind on my face is delightful, though I do of course have my head docked to my neck! The last thing I want is to see my body zooming away without me in a hot-pink ride. I raise my arms against the wind until I reach a point where the lift sucks them higher, and then they’re flapping in the air above me. I can’t help but to whoop and holler. ‘Wooooo! We’re gonna find people!’ I yell from our neon chariot.”
In an at-times-baffling rush of a quest through abandoned malls, eerie suburbs, warehouses and bird-filled forest, Arto and Indi find their way to where humans are still living. Journeying through these in-between spaces that Bell conjures so well, the first people the robots encounter are two semi-survivalist clans – a religious cult who hate robots and their more enlightened and inclusive rivals. At this point, the novel shifts in pace and tone and becomes like a more familiar dystopian thriller, with notes of Fallout, The Last of Us and Snowpiercer. Characters emerge left and right and the plot thickens and quickens to an is-this-the-end-of-the-world crescendo.
Through the novel, Bell, also a writer for television and film, appears to be responding to the endless discussions about science fiction as writers try to distinguish themselves from the golden age and Trekkie stereotypes. She is part of the new wave alongside the likes of Becky Chambers and Martha Wells. Why write a woman character who behaves like a man when you can write a robot who behaves like your cringe-but-loveable tween cousin who’s had too much purple V?
As a debut, it’s sharp and singular, though perhaps something of a marmite and chippie sandwich of a book. The mix of hyper dialogue, touches of twee and high-end tech speak can be jarring, but then Bell is not writing a straightforward sci fi story. She’s cramming a lot into one novel and drawing parallels between robots and dystopian living and the experiences of being queer and autistic. Alongside those questions of identity are the challenges of being on a quest to find one’s chosen family.
This is probably one for the role-players, the fandom fanatics and coders – the fun-loving outsiders who have big thoughts and think them all at the same time in a rush of wonder and insight.
Letters To Our Robot Son, by Cadance Bell (Ultimo Press, $34.99), is out now.
