Review: Sigh low
Rating: 5 out of 5
Date: 05 6, 2013
I read books for books like Cleaning Up. Independent publishing is a game changer: interesting and original ideas that are actually meant to meet readers' tastes, amazing availability (thanks e-books, bless you Ipad), formats that fit today's lifestyle: fast, efficient, meaningful and thrilling. I'm so glad to be living this revolution. Literature 2.0 is quite sexy.It's even sexier when its representatives don't forget their elders and quote such greats as George Orwell, as Fitzgerald does on the opening page:"Who controls the past controls the Future. Who controls the present controls the past."This quote is highly relevant when you discover the story, but expect no spoiler here. Let's just say that, as in any good anticipation novel, it's always quite risky to stand out of the crowd and think too much. As Maya points out:"Playing dumb was a requirement for everyone in the silo, especially those of us who remembered the past..."Highly notable: in this second installment, Fitzgerald seems liberated, wilder somehow. While still respecting Hugh Howey's original universe, she has found her own voice, and does not hesitate to instill a little romance here and there, a little sex too - always tastily. And there's a terrible, unbearable moment involving a toe that will have you cringe as you read. If you have children, prepare to feel something.In other words, Cleaning Up is a creative story - that is to say a potentially dangerous endeavour, since "arts are frowned upon down here. No surprise. Creativity leads to Freedom of Thought." Wool spawned an impressive amount of creative stories, like a stone cast in a pond forming infinite ripples. Even its spin-offs could engender spin-offs of their own. As a Frenchman, I wish someone would use one of Cleaning Up's passages as a springboard for a "Fench silo":"The Eiffel Tower could be sitting under a sunny sky surrounded by cafés peopled by Fenchmen enjoying croissants and crpes - just as it was on my honeymoon - on the other side of an ocean that might still exist. Or it could be a former tower turned into melted steel, twisted out of recognition, buffeted by the same toxic clouds visible from our wallscreen. We just don't know."Call me mad, but such beautifully written post-apocalyptic descriptions make my mind wander, and just beg for more. So just give us some more, Patrice.