It’s still difficult to be sure I’ve properly understood Venomous Lumpsuckers by Ned Beauman and I say that after reading various press reviews of the book, re-reading parts of the text several times and talking it over with others who’ve also managed to soldier through to its bleakly depressing end.
Funny and witty
There was lots I admired; the satirical descriptions are excellent, funny and witty; there’s a real sense of prescience that accompanies the all-too-real description of extinction ‘credits’ that sink in a mire of corruption, misuse and bureaucracy, the author has a fantastic imagination that he deploys in an intelligent, enjoyable way. However, there are serious problems with the novel, chief of which is the thinly-drawn characters, a mining executive called Mark and a biologist named Karin, both of whom often come across as cardboard cut-outs bobbing along many miles from our hearts against the richly-imagined settings.
What was your name again?
I kept finding I’d forgotten their names, then having to backtrack through the pages to find out who they were, then forgetting them again within moments. The set-up throws the two of them together as they hunt the eponymous lumpsucker, seeming to hint at a possibility of romance but, unfortunately, these two don’t even come close to making sense as a couple, although Mark reveals a physical lust for the unfortunate Karin. Put it this way, I wasn’t exactly rooting for them to get together since they both seemed so shallow and empty.
Scared to leave
It may sound harsh, but the novel was so bad in places it was a struggle to make myself finish it, though I felt I’d already committed so much time to wading through its verbose pages that I couldn’t give up before the end. Like a bad relationship you’re scared to leave. In fairness, though, others rate the book highly. It won the prestigious Arthur C. Clarke award for science fiction novels.
Murderous mermaids
While some parts of the novel are wearyingly predictable, others are rather less so. I’m thinking here of the mermaid whose intentions turn out to go far, far beyond settling down and having children with a nice aquatically-minded guy. Her aims are alarming enough to include a spot of throat-slitting, perhaps proving that you never can tell with those pesky mermaids.
In-jokes?
There are lots of acronyms. Too many? I managed to pick up on one piece of gobbledegook about craft that take off and land vertically (VTOL) but felt myself mentally switch off after a while to the others.
Some of Venomous Lumpsucker has fallen into the trap of reading like a series of other people’s in-jokes, the type of stuff you can imagine them splitting their sides over, laughing hysterically long and late into the night until tears come to their eyes. Unfortunately, the jokes don’t quite come across to the reader, who’s left feeling isolated, not part of the ‘in’ group with the cool jokes. The discussion about a blindfold, a brown fish owl and a place called Manavgat is, I’m afraid, a case in point.
Helen Fowler Writer 