A review by mschlat
Version Control by Dexter Palmer
4.0
I've always liked time travel stories. I grew up watching Dr. Who, read and reread [a:James P. Hogan|22652|James P. Hogan|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1340927576p2/22652.jpg]'s [b:Thrice Upon a Time|849488|Thrice Upon a Time|James P. Hogan|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1178892312s/849488.jpg|74625], and had a special fondness for the time travel romance sub-genre (especially [b:Time After Time|2857588|Time After Time|Karl Alexander|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1309640655s/2857588.jpg|2883723] and [b:To Say Nothing of the Dog|77773|To Say Nothing of the Dog (Oxford Time Travel, #2)|Connie Willis|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1469410460s/77773.jpg|696]). But this year has been a good one for time travel novels with a more literary bent. There's been the punk gonzo take of [a:Mo Daviau|14056216|Mo Daviau|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1440658521p2/14056216.jpg]'s [b:Every Anxious Wave|26546573|Every Anxious Wave|Mo Daviau|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1455217566s/26546573.jpg|45486770], the distressing morality and trippiness of [a:Daniel Clowes|5129|Daniel Clowes|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1206732618p2/5129.jpg]'s [b:Patience|25652706|Patience|Daniel Clowes|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1434480981s/25652706.jpg|45472855], and the weird mashup of YA sensibility, monster fighting, and time travel paradoxes explored in [a:Brian K. Vaughan|24514|Brian K. Vaughan|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1204664235p2/24514.jpg]'s and [a:Cliff Chiang|674079|Cliff Chiang|https://s.gr-assets.com/assets/nophoto/user/u_50x66-632230dc9882b4352d753eedf9396530.png]'s ongoing series [b:Paper Girls|28204534|Paper Girls, Vol. 1|Brian K. Vaughan|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1458578587s/28204534.jpg|49449510]. All of them use the trappings of the time travel genre, but they examine the personal and not the historical.
None of them go so far as Version Control. In fact, at times, I wasn't sure I was reading a time travel novel as much as a piece of literary fiction with a slight sci-fi sheen. That's not the case, as Palmer does eventually deliver the time travel goods, but he does so slowly and only after building and building his two protagonists: Philip, the physicist spearheading the work on the "causality violation device", and his wife Rebecca, who thinks something is wrong with her life, but can't identify the cause. Even with the hints of an alternate world (Rebecca and Philip live in an United States where the President introduces every TV show and talks of doing empire "right"), at least half of the book is about the struggles of domestic life: the falling in and out of love, the battles of alcoholism, the blankness of life after college graduation, the pain and rituals of grief.
Version Control is very much a minimalist time travel story. It's about the ramifications of time travel more than the mechanics, and much more about the personal ramifications than the historical. It wants to explore how you might react to time travel, not as the heroic protagonist who travels in time, but as the bystander who might start to understand how their life has been altered. (It is to time travel what [a:Colson Whitehead|10029|Colson Whitehead|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1399317975p2/10029.jpg]'s [b:Zone One|10365343|Zone One|Colson Whitehead|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1327888785s/10365343.jpg|15268500] is to zombies.)
Throughout the book, Rebecca talks about, uses, and works for an online dating service called Loveability (a fictional counterpoint of eHarmony), and the service's presence in the book is not a digression. The title Version Control refers not only to the software meaning, but the different versions that all the characters present to different audiences (both online and off). It's not surprising to find one of Rebecca's friends using three different profiles of herself on Loveability, and both Rebecca and Philip struggle with regular questions of identity and compromise.
It's an expansive book, and I haven't even covered the discussions of autonomous vehicles, the perils of academic research, the grappling with African American identity, and the emergence of the "silent world" (a term Rebecca uses to describe an outside environment where everyone is gathered inward on their devices). There's a lot to take in, and Palmer tends to write in monologues (both internal and external). That style can be a bit frustrating, but Palmer gets away with it often by having his socially awkward physicists monopolize the conversation. There's one gorgeous bit during Philip's and Rebecca's second date where Philip screens Blade Runner for her, stops the film, and starts discussing the five different cuts and where each one stands on the "Decker is a replicant" issue. (My inner geek cringed and jumped for joy at the same time.) Palmer never hits full info dump mode, but he gets close.
It's one of the more thought provoking books I've read this year and almost impossible to classify. I want to recommend it to both time travel fans and literary fiction readers (and especially anyone in the overlap), but with the understanding that an open mind and a sense of patience may be needed to get the rewards.
None of them go so far as Version Control. In fact, at times, I wasn't sure I was reading a time travel novel as much as a piece of literary fiction with a slight sci-fi sheen. That's not the case, as Palmer does eventually deliver the time travel goods, but he does so slowly and only after building and building his two protagonists: Philip, the physicist spearheading the work on the "causality violation device", and his wife Rebecca, who thinks something is wrong with her life, but can't identify the cause. Even with the hints of an alternate world (Rebecca and Philip live in an United States where the President introduces every TV show and talks of doing empire "right"), at least half of the book is about the struggles of domestic life: the falling in and out of love, the battles of alcoholism, the blankness of life after college graduation, the pain and rituals of grief.
Version Control is very much a minimalist time travel story. It's about the ramifications of time travel more than the mechanics, and much more about the personal ramifications than the historical. It wants to explore how you might react to time travel, not as the heroic protagonist who travels in time, but as the bystander who might start to understand how their life has been altered. (It is to time travel what [a:Colson Whitehead|10029|Colson Whitehead|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1399317975p2/10029.jpg]'s [b:Zone One|10365343|Zone One|Colson Whitehead|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1327888785s/10365343.jpg|15268500] is to zombies.)
Throughout the book, Rebecca talks about, uses, and works for an online dating service called Loveability (a fictional counterpoint of eHarmony), and the service's presence in the book is not a digression. The title Version Control refers not only to the software meaning, but the different versions that all the characters present to different audiences (both online and off). It's not surprising to find one of Rebecca's friends using three different profiles of herself on Loveability, and both Rebecca and Philip struggle with regular questions of identity and compromise.
It's an expansive book, and I haven't even covered the discussions of autonomous vehicles, the perils of academic research, the grappling with African American identity, and the emergence of the "silent world" (a term Rebecca uses to describe an outside environment where everyone is gathered inward on their devices). There's a lot to take in, and Palmer tends to write in monologues (both internal and external). That style can be a bit frustrating, but Palmer gets away with it often by having his socially awkward physicists monopolize the conversation. There's one gorgeous bit during Philip's and Rebecca's second date where Philip screens Blade Runner for her, stops the film, and starts discussing the five different cuts and where each one stands on the "Decker is a replicant" issue. (My inner geek cringed and jumped for joy at the same time.) Palmer never hits full info dump mode, but he gets close.
It's one of the more thought provoking books I've read this year and almost impossible to classify. I want to recommend it to both time travel fans and literary fiction readers (and especially anyone in the overlap), but with the understanding that an open mind and a sense of patience may be needed to get the rewards.