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this one left me feeling pleasantly dazzled, thinking - she's just so smart. the ecological awareness, talking about the greenhouse effect and pollution and climate change and sea level rise and the private car economy - all in 1971. politically astute observations and commentary. emotional intelligence, empathy. the speculative premise as a way to examine human behavior and the nature of reality. she does it all. 

   of course the alternate history framework of the novel is compelling, an engaging thought exercise about the other possibilities of war, those moments of immense directional change. what brings the book alive is the role of the I Ching for the majority of the characters (all but the germans, those ‘cynics with utter faith’…) , the cosmological propulsion of plot and character development. it serves as a mirror for each character, bringing to focus their fears and hopes and desires, their own form of prayer, a call for succor. on another level it is the representation of the appropriation of culture, and its propagation through subjugation. the japanese take from the chinese, then sow amongst their american subjects. one of those subjects, a fictional white american author, literally uses the I Ching to write his popular alternate history novel. look again and a real white american author, pkd, uses the I Ching as a plot device to write his popular alternate history novel. these rippling rings of meaning lend the story a satisfying depth and meta-flair.  the psychospiritual compulsion for divination is contrasted with the baser obsession to collect and fetishize the artifacts of early american culture. the same energetic drive, for truth and knowledge and authenticity, juxtaposed. this search for meaning is juxtaposed again further with the stereotyped german ethos, the ‘potpourri of pointlessness’ and cosmic fatalism.  <spoiler> and then it ends with another neat trick of perspective fuckery. the characters flirt with the fourth wall, discover that they may in fact be living in the world of a novel. our characters are all wandering amongst the ‘chaos of light and dark, shadow and substance’,  our universal human condition to seek meaning. they catch a glimpse, but doubt is the shadow of truth, always near. as for the author(s) - ‘you should read my book and accept it on face value…without inquiring if its genuine underneath…’. i accept. </spoiler>

  i will be the first to admit that the writing does feel a bit gratuitous. maybe that’s a projection because i had to look up at least three of the words in a single sentence, but also, come on. at the same time though i cant help but feel enveloped by the words, the imagery yes but also the choice of words itself creates its own imagery, a distinct mouthfeel, arcane and primordial with the tarnish of something long forgotten. i read his words and am commanded to my knees before this wizard of strange philosophical tangents - no, strange is not the right word because they are not strange they are it seems to me the most basic, the most universal, and all the more powerful for the new light or rather new darkness they show under his care. yup, i’m a fanboy. still.    i thoroughly enjoyed the new book. among many things he is a master of dialogue, using it as a core mechanism to convey the interrogations at the heart of this story, flickering candlelight on grief and meaning and the very notion of reality, unwaveringly existential. it’s clear he’s deep into the world of advanced mathematics and physics and while the glossing of that territory set an interesting context for the main characters it did feel a bit hard to relate to and went over my head. which i am willing to believe may have been an intention. the setting of new orleans in 1980 furthers the feeling of disjunction with time, descriptions of the old streets and tangled cultures and an unfortunately unmentioned indigenous homeland and the reader’s own knowledge of the destruction of katrina and it all takes on a new light in the line : all of history a rehearsal for its own extinction. then there is the obvious metaphor of western’s profession as a salvage diver, perpetually descending into the unknown darkness to recover fragments of knowledge or glimpses of the internal machinations of this world. he is gifted when it comes to math and physics and the mental realm but he is unable to plumb the depths of his own emotions, forever at the mercy of his own grief over the loss of his sister and the seemingly unrequited love they shared for each other. <spoiler> he is cast at certain times as an actor of ancient tragedy, living yet dead inside from the mortal wound of love aggrieved, but the lack of emotional growth is somewhat galling by the end when many years later he is still living as an ascetic in an ancient grist mill and he attempts again to write another letter to her and he wanted to tell her what was in his heart but all he can manage is i miss you more than i can bear. </spoiler> the distillate of grief, pure and consuming and unyielding. perhaps there is little relatability because it is not possible to relate to the actual essence of a thing, only its permutations. as for the titular passenger and the loose thread of a plot around the sunken airplane and missing passenger and vague government menace - i’m honestly not quite sure. it feels strangely undeveloped as a plot line, the initial source of tension and intrigue that is perhaps just a ramp up to the higher ground of deep philosophy. yes yes, the theme of the missing person, whether physically absent or lost inside of one’s self, but i cant help but get the feeling that this is a literary muleta, enticing before it vanishes and the reader is left with the cold truths of the world piercing between the shoulder blades. ole, ole.