In More Than Human, Theodore Sturgeon gave us a world in which humans progress towards a gestalt  consciousness, where individuals blend together to become more than the sum of their parts. It’s a fascinating idea, and savvy readers would know that the toying with humanity’s role and place as a species, as well as the inevitably destructive results of our progress-oriented hubris, has long been examined in speculative fiction. It’s a trope that appears throughout both the classics and contemporary fiction, with famous works such as Frankenstein examining the forces of science and the relentless push for knowledge; those such as The Day of the Triffids, with a milieu arising from humanity’s arrogance and yet turning full circle with a desire to conquer and better themselves once more; and even in eerie allegorical invasion works such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

But in 0.4 Mike Lancaster gives us something else again. It’s a nod to all of the above, and draws on the by now familiar narrative format of the diary, seen in works such as Flowers for Algernon, 1984, and Zamyatin’s We–albeit in this case the diary is in audio cassette format. The novel briefly chronicles a few months in the life of Kyle Straker, a young boy whose presence is now purely historical. Kyle’s story is at first mundane, focused on those unmemorable but omnipresent issues concerning most teenaged boys: family woes, tension over a girl, academic responsibilities. But things abruptly take a turn during the annual school talent show, during which Kyle is briefly hypnotised. And just like Bill Masen in the Triffids, he awakes to find himself in an entirely alien world. Only in Kyle’s case, it’s he who becomes the alien…

My thoughts

0.4 is not a flawless work, but it’s an ambitious one that draws carefully on many of the classic speculative works, and I could see it being used as a springboard into some more challenging fare. Perhaps the weakness of the book is its slightness: despite running at 300 pages, the actual content is minimal, with probably more time than necessary being spent on the pre-invasion elements. This unfortunately means that the meaty existential and philosophical questions raised later on are only touched on (the novel of course is part of a series, so perhaps this one is marketing’s way of testing the waters before launching right in?).

Still, Lancaster does a commendable job of creating a scenario that is utterly believable, and although superficially less chilling than something like Bodysnatchers, is equally as arresting. Where Bodysnatchers involves the relentless seeking out, and subsequent snuffing out, of humans, 0.4‘s heroes are bypassed, overlooked: they are a minority group who fail to meet the norms of a new dominant group, and are thus simply set aside until they cease to exist. What’s fascinating about Lancaster’s narrative, though, is that the eponymous 0.4 are given a choice in the type of existence they wish to lead, and having declined it they’re not subjected to a punishment as such–their punishment is their chilling redundancy in a world that no longer needs them. While I’m loath to give away the clever twist Lancaster employs, it’s reminiscent of the relationship between historical invasions: the supraordinate culture gradually dominating the minority culture until it becomes a mere figment.

Lancaster’s take on the reason behind the invasion–and not to mention the purpose of it–is also interesting food for thought, and raises the question of humanity’s value as a whole, but also its place within a wider microcosm. Our bent towards (unfounded) hubris and arrogance is touched upon, as is our notion of agency, and how easily this can be undermined–and in such a variety of ways. It’s a sign of our times, one supposes, that rather than the fear of invasion, worked over so constantly during the myriad Cold War era novels mentioned above, today’s underlying societal fear is one of obsolescence, of being made redundant, or even usurped by some scarcely considered force (certain developing world powers come to mind here).

While the concept is a striking one, the book does suffer a little in execution. The cassette tape narrative for the most part works well, but the frequently interspersed editorial notes, though often witty (and winning bonus points for referencing Stargate SG 1), detract a little from the otherwise eerie tone of the book. Lancaster is evidently attempting to inject a little levity, but given his likeable everyman main character and his laid-back narrative voice, I’m not sure that this was needed, and feel that it will ultimately date an otherwise strong book. The pacing, too, is an issue, with things starting slowly before speeding up to a rip-snorting speed for the climax, which actually occurs right where the book should truly begin. This abrupt ending makes the book feel rather as though it has been snipped in half to meet an arbitrary page count rather than to serve any true narrative need, and it weakens the novel’s strength somewhat. The characterisation is a little on the weak side, too–a common issue when such a likeable everyday character with little inclination towards self-examination or towards the assessment of others around him takes up the leading role–and there are a few painful cliches (such as Mr Peterson’s sob-story past) that rather blatantly toy with the audience’s emotions.

Conclusions

0.4 is a smart debut that brings with it all of the classic tropes, as well as some novel thoughts of its own. This genre is clearly one with which Lancaster is familiar, and it shows in his approach to the subject matter. After a slow beginning, the novel zips along at a decent clip, so if you’re an impatient reader, hold in there while things get going. While it’s true that the characterisation and prose style are a little on the weak side, the ideas here make this slim novel a worthy read.

Rating: (very good)

With thanks to Hardie Grant Egmont Australia for the review copy

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