“‘Sy,’ she said, going over to the table. ‘What’s this?’
He glanced at the paper.
‘It’s a circle of death,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘A circle of death?’
‘It goes around and around, even after you’re dead,’ he said.”
"Hum" is not for the faint of heart, as Helen Phillips's tale is marked by fatalism and foreboding. The short sentences, bizarre sex scenes, and persistently weird familial undertones create a jarring reading experience -- the prose equivalent of the uncanny valley.
Which is prescient, since artificial intelligence is a core theme of the novel. For good measure, a sprinkling of late-stage capitalism, global warming, and technological servitude (in both directions) permeate the book, making the bright moments difficult to find.
“There was a full instant between seeing the children and reaching for her phantom limb to document the children.”
Some balky rhythm made "Hum" difficult to get into initially. The slow pacing persists until the end of part two, when the story really seems to find its action. The novel finds its heart toward the end, when maternal protection and palpable connections combine to offer rays of hope.
“Their whole lives she had been telling them no, don’t roam, stay close. She had sold her face so she could bring them here so they could do just this.”
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