erhaps you know the SF writer named John Barnes, author of such fine novels as Mother of Storms (1994) and Kaleidoscope Century (1995). But do you know "John Barnes," the Colorado-dwelling SF writer who is the amanuensis for an off-the-wall private eye named Travis Bismarck? This latter "John Barnes"—who overlaps to some greater or lesser degree with the formerly cited, "real" John Barnes—is the narrator of the novel under discussion today. And it's this figure to which we'll be referring below.
John Barnes is sitting at home early one morning in the month of October 1997 when his doorbell rings. Barnes has just spent an enjoyable few minutes visiting the cult Web site named "Gaudeamus"—a fact that will prove to be surprisingly relevant to what follows. When he answers his door, he discovers his old college buddy Travis Bismarck, looking worn and harried. Travis enters and proceeds to lay an incredible story on Barnes. Hired by the mysterious Xegon Corporation, by its security chief, Nathan Hale, to investigate a seemingly simple case of industrial espionage, Travis has stumbled upon a far-reaching conspiracy involving aliens, teleportation devices, telepathy-inducing drugs, a cabal of female geniuses (one of whom is a high-priced call girl), Amerindian punk rockers, time travel, an overzealous eco-warrior and imminent doom for all mankind.
As Travis talks his way through this still-unfolding tale, Barnes finds himself agreeing to drive Travis to Denver that night for a mysterious meeting. But on the way they are ambushed and separated. Barnes returns home unharmed, while Travis disappears. Over the next several months, until a climactic visit around New Year's Day, Travis will pop in and out of Barnes' life, regaling him with further developments in the vast subterranean stew of plots and counterplots. Disbelieving at first, Barnes eventually comes to accept Travis' mad tale, especially when the real world—and the Gaudeamus Web site—begin to corroborate the story.
Now comes the dilemma: How can a humble SF writer help to save the world?
A literal Web of intrigue
In 1999 a book appeared by Rudy Rucker titled Saucer Wisdom, in which a narrator named "Rudy Rucker" received regular visits from a madman named Frank Shook, who seemed to have inside dope on aliens and various forms of quantum weirdness. The resulting manuscript was a wonderful blend of fact, fiction and speculation, hovering like a UFO at some interface of tall tale, practical joke and experimental novel. I can't say whether John Barnes was inspired by Rucker's book to create his latest. Quite possibly, Barnes' work is a case of spontaneous parallel development. But origins and influences hardly matter, since Barnes has done a superb job, equalling Rucker's foray into this borderland kind of narrative. And in fact, the notion of a writer inserting himself into a strange adventure tale is older than both men, going back at least as far as all those Victorian stories passed off as real incidents dictated to lucky scribes.
Whatever the genesis of his tale, Barnes has done a bang-up job creating a rich air of verisimilitude and a thickness of believable details. His self-portrait is unsparing and modest, even self-abasing, and the humility and skepticism of the narrator allow us easy entrance into the wacky doings described by Travis. Generous dollops of humor and satire—Barnes and Travis have a lot of wry opinions about academia, entertainment and other demented aspects of our culture—grease the telling as well.
Barnes exhibits a sure hand at bopping back and forth between his frametale and the flashbacks that constitute Travis' monologues. The reader is never at sea about what's happening when to whom. At the same time, enough enigmas and conundrums are kept aloft to maintain a pleasant buzz of disorientation and wonderment and suspense. Nor does Barnes skimp on eventual solutions. Everything is explained cleverly to our satisfaction by the book's end.
Moreover, Barnes' ideas and speculations are hip and exciting. This isn't just a warmed-over version of Men in Black (1997) or the Illuminatus! trilogy (1975). Barnes has genuine points to make about the present self-destructive course humanity is on—and reasons why we could be cautiously optimistic about our future. As with all comedy, beneath this tale is a serious message.
But of course Barnes is too savvy to sell his writer's soul for a pot of message. The main attractions of this book are its brio, zest, clarity and excitement. "Gaudeamus" translates loosely as "Let the good times roll," and that's just what Barnes does.
