Dying Inside
By Robert Silverberg
Reviewed by Ted Gioia
In the final month of a turbulent decade, Robert Silverberg came up
with the title for his novel Dying Inside. “I found myself wondering,”
he recalls, “whether the phrase ‘dying inside,’
taken literally, might generate some useful
fictional idea.” This odd method was a proven
opening gambit for our author. In the past,
the prolific Silverberg—for a stretch in his
early twenties, he generated a million words
per year—often found that titles came before
the story, and paved the way for a plot.
The whole genre was struggling with plots at
the time. Much had changed during the 1960s,
but science fiction books had hardly budged—
most of them still were caught up in the pulp
fiction formulas that had been around since
before World War II. In this instance, Silverberg decided that his best
way of creating a vivid fictional future was by tapping into the raw
energy of the present moment. The result was one of this author’s
finest novels—a book that might have developed a cult following at the
time if it had been packaged and marketed with a little more panache.
Ballantine’s paperback edition featured a slimy monster on the cover—
an illustration that would puzzle anyone who read the book, and
dissuade many from buying it in the first place. Hidden inside the
binding was a story that defied most conventions of the genre. How
many other sci-fi books of the period serve up LSD trips gone bad,
student protests, racial tensions, muggings, the sexual revolution and
Richard Nixon? Silverberg aimed to enhance the verisimilitude of his
story by latching on to these contemporary elements. At the same
time, he wanted to build his story without relying on (in his words)
“science fiction’s customary gaudy trimmings.”
Silverberg completed this novel in nine weeks, which was a slow pace
for him during his younger years. He claims that he typically wrote a
novel in three or four weeks at the time, and his 1967 book Thorns was
actually finished in ten days (and was nominated for both a Hugo and a
Nebula). Dying Inside marked a turning point for Silverberg, and the
pace of work that seemed slow to the novelist at the time set the tone
for his future projects. “Never again, after writing Dying Inside,” he
admits, “did I write a full-length novel in as little as nine weeks. But it
was an abnormal skill in the first place.”
Strangely enough—or perhaps not—the protagonist of Dying Inside,
David Selig, is also on the brink of losing an abnormal power. Selig is a
telepath. He can read minds, sometimes grasping just a few words at
forefront of an acquaintance’s consciousness, at other moments
probing deep into their souls. He finds the experience exhilarating, yet
this skill has ironically crippled his social interactions, setting him
apart from the rest of humanity.
In mid-life, Selig starts to lose his special talent. At first, the process is
so slow that he hardly notices it. But in time, the decline becomes
unmistakable. His mind-reading is often blocked, and brief periods of
recovery cannot hide the overall trend. Silverberg draws out the
implications in a series of memorable interludes, and we see how Selig’
s plight impacts his friendships, his family ties, his romantic interests,
his livelihood and day-to-day experiences. Much of the allure of this
story stems from the author’s penetrating grasp of what such
superhuman power really does to its beneficiary, and how its loss
might impact the lifelong mind-reader.
The result is a novel that is more psychologically charged than your
typical sci-fi story. You might think that the subject of telepathy itself
would inspire this richness of inner detail, but the history of the genre
shows that this is far from the case. Even an often-praised novel such
as Alfred Bester’s The Demolished Man (1953)—usually cited as the
preeminent fictional account of mind-reading—comes across as hollow
and contrived by comparison to Dying Inside. Silverberg, in sharp
contrast to Bester (who developed his skills writing radio and TV
scripts), is aiming for a more consciously literary effect.
Sometimes he tries too hard. The frequent literary allusions in this
book—Beckett, Eliot, Yeats, Aeschylus, etc.—don’t always work. At
one point, the book devotes six pages to an exegesis of the novels of
Kafka, and though our author tries valiantly to connect this to the
overall story, both on the level of plot and symbolism, the effect
comes across as forced. Even so, Silverberg is mostly on the mark, and
his willingness to take chances in a genre that often settles for flashy
and obvious effects, sets this book apart.
This is most apparent in the equivocal response of Selig to his loss of
telepathic powers. Silverberg’s hero has mixed feelings, and the
prospect of “dying inside” is not without its promise of rebirth into
something purer and better. Issues of aging and decline, maturity and
grace—rarely dealt with in any popular fiction, and with a few
exceptions (such as Flowers for Algernon) almost completely
neglected in sci-fi—are the key themes at work here. They are handled
so deftly and vividly that one inevitably wonders about the
connections between David Selig the character and Robert Silverberg
the author.
Silverberg has played down the autobiographical angle. Yet when he
submitted the manuscript to Betty Ballantine, she expressed her
concern—based on her sense that the protagonist of the story was a
stand-in for the writer. "While I admire the book," she wrote, "I am
also worried about you." Certainly readers today will find it hard not to
link this story with at least some elements of the author's own personal
history.
Although Dying Inside did not recieve much acclaim at the time of its
first release, it has build an audience the hard way—slowly and over a
period of years. Its gradual recognition as a classic is well deserved.
Working in a genre that suffers from the curse of perpetual
adolescence, our author shows that senescence can also be the basis
for a gripping story. This was heavy stuff for sci-fi back in the day. It
still is now.
This article was originally published on www.blogcritics.org --
click here.
By Robert Silverberg
Reviewed by Ted Gioia
In the final month of a turbulent decade, Robert Silverberg came up
with the title for his novel Dying Inside. “I found myself wondering,”
he recalls, “whether the phrase ‘dying inside,’
taken literally, might generate some useful
fictional idea.” This odd method was a proven
opening gambit for our author. In the past,
the prolific Silverberg—for a stretch in his
early twenties, he generated a million words
per year—often found that titles came before
the story, and paved the way for a plot.
The whole genre was struggling with plots at
the time. Much had changed during the 1960s,
but science fiction books had hardly budged—
most of them still were caught up in the pulp
fiction formulas that had been around since
before World War II. In this instance, Silverberg decided that his best
way of creating a vivid fictional future was by tapping into the raw
energy of the present moment. The result was one of this author’s
finest novels—a book that might have developed a cult following at the
time if it had been packaged and marketed with a little more panache.
Ballantine’s paperback edition featured a slimy monster on the cover—
an illustration that would puzzle anyone who read the book, and
dissuade many from buying it in the first place. Hidden inside the
binding was a story that defied most conventions of the genre. How
many other sci-fi books of the period serve up LSD trips gone bad,
student protests, racial tensions, muggings, the sexual revolution and
Richard Nixon? Silverberg aimed to enhance the verisimilitude of his
story by latching on to these contemporary elements. At the same
time, he wanted to build his story without relying on (in his words)
“science fiction’s customary gaudy trimmings.”
Silverberg completed this novel in nine weeks, which was a slow pace
for him during his younger years. He claims that he typically wrote a
novel in three or four weeks at the time, and his 1967 book Thorns was
actually finished in ten days (and was nominated for both a Hugo and a
Nebula). Dying Inside marked a turning point for Silverberg, and the
pace of work that seemed slow to the novelist at the time set the tone
for his future projects. “Never again, after writing Dying Inside,” he
admits, “did I write a full-length novel in as little as nine weeks. But it
was an abnormal skill in the first place.”
Strangely enough—or perhaps not—the protagonist of Dying Inside,
David Selig, is also on the brink of losing an abnormal power. Selig is a
telepath. He can read minds, sometimes grasping just a few words at
forefront of an acquaintance’s consciousness, at other moments
probing deep into their souls. He finds the experience exhilarating, yet
this skill has ironically crippled his social interactions, setting him
apart from the rest of humanity.
In mid-life, Selig starts to lose his special talent. At first, the process is
so slow that he hardly notices it. But in time, the decline becomes
unmistakable. His mind-reading is often blocked, and brief periods of
recovery cannot hide the overall trend. Silverberg draws out the
implications in a series of memorable interludes, and we see how Selig’
s plight impacts his friendships, his family ties, his romantic interests,
his livelihood and day-to-day experiences. Much of the allure of this
story stems from the author’s penetrating grasp of what such
superhuman power really does to its beneficiary, and how its loss
might impact the lifelong mind-reader.
The result is a novel that is more psychologically charged than your
typical sci-fi story. You might think that the subject of telepathy itself
would inspire this richness of inner detail, but the history of the genre
shows that this is far from the case. Even an often-praised novel such
as Alfred Bester’s The Demolished Man (1953)—usually cited as the
preeminent fictional account of mind-reading—comes across as hollow
and contrived by comparison to Dying Inside. Silverberg, in sharp
contrast to Bester (who developed his skills writing radio and TV
scripts), is aiming for a more consciously literary effect.
Sometimes he tries too hard. The frequent literary allusions in this
book—Beckett, Eliot, Yeats, Aeschylus, etc.—don’t always work. At
one point, the book devotes six pages to an exegesis of the novels of
Kafka, and though our author tries valiantly to connect this to the
overall story, both on the level of plot and symbolism, the effect
comes across as forced. Even so, Silverberg is mostly on the mark, and
his willingness to take chances in a genre that often settles for flashy
and obvious effects, sets this book apart.
This is most apparent in the equivocal response of Selig to his loss of
telepathic powers. Silverberg’s hero has mixed feelings, and the
prospect of “dying inside” is not without its promise of rebirth into
something purer and better. Issues of aging and decline, maturity and
grace—rarely dealt with in any popular fiction, and with a few
exceptions (such as Flowers for Algernon) almost completely
neglected in sci-fi—are the key themes at work here. They are handled
so deftly and vividly that one inevitably wonders about the
connections between David Selig the character and Robert Silverberg
the author.
Silverberg has played down the autobiographical angle. Yet when he
submitted the manuscript to Betty Ballantine, she expressed her
concern—based on her sense that the protagonist of the story was a
stand-in for the writer. "While I admire the book," she wrote, "I am
also worried about you." Certainly readers today will find it hard not to
link this story with at least some elements of the author's own personal
history.
Although Dying Inside did not recieve much acclaim at the time of its
first release, it has build an audience the hard way—slowly and over a
period of years. Its gradual recognition as a classic is well deserved.
Working in a genre that suffers from the curse of perpetual
adolescence, our author shows that senescence can also be the basis
for a gripping story. This was heavy stuff for sci-fi back in the day. It
still is now.
This article was originally published on www.blogcritics.org --
click here.
| conceptual fiction |
Conceptual Fiction:
A Reading List
(with links to reviews)
Home Page
Abbott, Edwin A.
Flatland
Asimov, Isaac
The Foundation Trilogy
Asimov, Isaac
I, Robot
Atwood, Margaret
The Handmaid's Tale
Banks, Iain M.
The State of the Art
Ballard, J.G.
Crash
Ballard, J.G.
The Crystal World
Bradbury, Ray
Fahrenheit 451
Bradbury, Ray
The Illustrated Man
Bradbury, Ray
The Martian Chronicles
Bradbury, Ray
Something Wicked This Way
Comes
Burgess, Anthony
A Clockwork Orange
Chabon, Michael
The Yiddish Policemen's Union
Clarke, Arthur C.
Childhood's End
Clarke, Arthur C.
A Fall of Moondust
Clarke, Arthur C.
2001: A Space Odyssey
Danielewski, Mark Z.
House of Leaves
Dick, Philip K.
Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said
Dick, Philip K.
The Man in the High Castle
Dick, Philip K.
Ubik
Gaiman, Neil
American Gods
Gibson, William
Burning Chrome
Gibson, William
Neuromancer
Haldeman, Joe
The Forever War
Hall, Steven
The Raw Shark Texts
Heinlein, Robert
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress
Heinlein, Robert:
Stranger in a Strange Land
Heinlein, Robert
Time Enough for Love
Herbert, Frank
Dune
Huxley, Aldous
Brave New World
Le Guin, Ursula K.
The Lathe of Heaven
Le Guin, Ursula K.
The Left Hand of Darkness
Leiber, Fritz
Conjure Wife
Lem, Stanislaw
His Master's Voice
Lem, Stanislaw
Solaris
Lethem, Jonathan
The Fortress of Solitude
Lewis, C. S.
The Chronicles of Narnia
Márquez, Gabriel García
100 Years of Solitude
McCarthy, Cormac
The Road
Miller, Jr., Walter M.
A Canticle for Leibowitz
Mitchell, David
Cloud Atlas
Niffenegger, Audrey
The Time Traveler's Wife
Niven, Larry
Ringworld
Noon, Jeff
Vurt
Okri, Ben
The Famished Road
Pohl, Frederik
Gateway
Rowling, J.K.
Harry Potter & the Sorcerer's
Stone
Saramago, José
Blindness
Silverberg, Robert
Dying Inside
Silverberg, Robert
Nightwings
Simak, Clifford
City
Simak, Clifford
The Trouble with Tycho
Sturgeon, Theodore
More Than Human
Sturgeon, Theodore
Some of Your Blood
Verne, Jules:
Around the Moon
Verne, Jules:
From the Earth to the Moon
Verne, Jules:
Journey to the Center of the Earth
Wallace, David Foster
Infinite Jest
Wells, H.G.
The First Men in the Moon
Wells, H.G.
The Island of Dr. Moreau
Wells, H.G.
The Time Machine
Zelazny, Roger
Lord of Light
Special Features
Notes on Conceptual Fiction
Curse You, Neil Armstrong!
Links to related sites
The New Canon
Great Books Guide
Ted Gioia's personal web site
SF Site
Jospeh Peschel
The Misread City
Disclosure: Conceptual Fiction and
its sister sites may receive review
copies and promotional materials
from publishers, authors,
publicists or other parties.
A Reading List
(with links to reviews)
Home Page
Abbott, Edwin A.
Flatland
Asimov, Isaac
The Foundation Trilogy
Asimov, Isaac
I, Robot
Atwood, Margaret
The Handmaid's Tale
Banks, Iain M.
The State of the Art
Ballard, J.G.
Crash
Ballard, J.G.
The Crystal World
Bradbury, Ray
Fahrenheit 451
Bradbury, Ray
The Illustrated Man
Bradbury, Ray
The Martian Chronicles
Bradbury, Ray
Something Wicked This Way
Comes
Burgess, Anthony
A Clockwork Orange
Chabon, Michael
The Yiddish Policemen's Union
Clarke, Arthur C.
Childhood's End
Clarke, Arthur C.
A Fall of Moondust
Clarke, Arthur C.
2001: A Space Odyssey
Danielewski, Mark Z.
House of Leaves
Dick, Philip K.
Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said
Dick, Philip K.
The Man in the High Castle
Dick, Philip K.
Ubik
Gaiman, Neil
American Gods
Gibson, William
Burning Chrome
Gibson, William
Neuromancer
Haldeman, Joe
The Forever War
Hall, Steven
The Raw Shark Texts
Heinlein, Robert
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress
Heinlein, Robert:
Stranger in a Strange Land
Heinlein, Robert
Time Enough for Love
Herbert, Frank
Dune
Huxley, Aldous
Brave New World
Le Guin, Ursula K.
The Lathe of Heaven
Le Guin, Ursula K.
The Left Hand of Darkness
Leiber, Fritz
Conjure Wife
Lem, Stanislaw
His Master's Voice
Lem, Stanislaw
Solaris
Lethem, Jonathan
The Fortress of Solitude
Lewis, C. S.
The Chronicles of Narnia
Márquez, Gabriel García
100 Years of Solitude
McCarthy, Cormac
The Road
Miller, Jr., Walter M.
A Canticle for Leibowitz
Mitchell, David
Cloud Atlas
Niffenegger, Audrey
The Time Traveler's Wife
Niven, Larry
Ringworld
Noon, Jeff
Vurt
Okri, Ben
The Famished Road
Pohl, Frederik
Gateway
Rowling, J.K.
Harry Potter & the Sorcerer's
Stone
Saramago, José
Blindness
Silverberg, Robert
Dying Inside
Silverberg, Robert
Nightwings
Simak, Clifford
City
Simak, Clifford
The Trouble with Tycho
Sturgeon, Theodore
More Than Human
Sturgeon, Theodore
Some of Your Blood
Verne, Jules:
Around the Moon
Verne, Jules:
From the Earth to the Moon
Verne, Jules:
Journey to the Center of the Earth
Wallace, David Foster
Infinite Jest
Wells, H.G.
The First Men in the Moon
Wells, H.G.
The Island of Dr. Moreau
Wells, H.G.
The Time Machine
Zelazny, Roger
Lord of Light
Special Features
Notes on Conceptual Fiction
Curse You, Neil Armstrong!
Links to related sites
The New Canon
Great Books Guide
Ted Gioia's personal web site
SF Site
Jospeh Peschel
The Misread City
Disclosure: Conceptual Fiction and
its sister sites may receive review
copies and promotional materials
from publishers, authors,
publicists or other parties.