The Doloriad by Missouri Williams

Published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux (MCD x FSG Originals) on March 1, 2022

The Doloriad is an ugly story told in beautiful but bewildering prose. My reaction to much of The Doloriad was “ick.” My reaction to the rest of the story was “WTF?” More patient and intelligent readers might take more value from The Doloriad than I mined from it.

The characters believe themselves to be “the last humans ever,” although some suspect, with no real evidence, that other humans have survived whatever apocalyptic catastrophe has destroyed civilization and contaminated the environment. No other people have been seen for at least a couple of generations. The characters live in an encampment on the edge of an empty Prague from which they scavenge. A woman known as The Matriarch has made it her mission to repopulate the planet, a mission that must be based on incest in the absence of abundant breeding stock. Incest produced Dolores, a sad creature with no legs and obvious cognitive deficits. When the Matriarch leaves Dolores in the forest, either as a sacrifice or in the hope that unseen neighbors will find her and breed with her, the community sees it as a sign when Dolores rolls or uses her pudgy arms to crawl back home. Whether Dolores encountered other humans and was rejected, whether her return portends an invasion by outsiders, whether Dolores is simply tenacious, is the subject of unresolved debate.

One of the Matriarch’s brothers is a schoolmaster who lives apart from the family. A large man with no legs (a trait that runs in the family), the schoolmaster believes that “the history of the world is the history of cruelty.” He wants to cocoon himself in a mound with moths. His reasoning is obscure (it has something to do with rebirth), although few of the characters are capable of rational thought. Believing himself guided by a “mysterious power,” the schoolmaster makes a discovery that renews conjecture that the encampment’s residents are not alone in the world. Whether that is true, like most other questions a reader might have, is left unanswered.

The lack of any explanation for the novel’s central events is frustrating. Perhaps Missouri Williams intended to make a point by creating so much bewilderment, or perhaps she was too lazy to invent answers to obvious questions. Since the novel’s twisty (and sometimes nearly impenetrable) prose does not suggest laziness, I suspect Williams intended to leave the reader in the shoes filled by the characters, surrounded by circumstances and events that they cannot comprehend. If that was her intent, the absence of explanation is no less frustrating to readers who know that writers, unlike characters, have the godlike power to explain things, even if they choose to keep “but why?” a secret.

Some of the characters ask whether survival has any point, if there is any reason to repopulate a world that humanity destroyed and will probably destroy again. This, I imagine, is the grim moral lesson of The Doloriad. If we destroy humanity’s home, humanity does not deserve a second chance.

One of the girls is learning to be a storyteller but her stories are modern fairytales of Ivy League schools and incest. In the ugliest scene, Dolores is raped and repeatedly kicked by her brother Jan, who doesn’t seem to need the release since he’s been having (more or less) consensual sex with his other sisters. The siblings worry that Jan will take charge as the Matriarch grows weak. Whether that will happen is another unanswered question.

The characters seem to have television (although how they are finding usable fuel for their generator after two generations without refineries or gas stations is unclear); they watch videocassettes of an old show called Get Acquinas in Here in the Matriarch’s attempt to impose “some kind of order” on “their blank river of time.” The television version of Acquinas dispensed ethical wisdom on his show, but by the novel’s end he has apparently become a character in the book, or at least an observer of the other characters. Acquinas also argues with a philosophical sheep. I’m not sure what that was all about.

In fact, I’m not sure what most of the novel is about. To be fair, I lost interest long before the sheep and Acquinas began to converse. The novel’s long, rambling, dense paragraphs will put off some readers. They did nothing to enhance my appreciation of the story. I must admit that my mind kept wandering. Maybe I was distracted by Russia’s war with Ukraine and other dismal world events of the sort that might lead to the post-apocalyptic setting that Williams creates. At least at this moment, I would rather escape dark reality than read about an even darker fictional future, particularly a future with philosophical sheep. Since I might not have given the book fair consideration, I am tempted to recommend it with reservations, but I can’t find that degree of fairness in my heart. Literary and ancient historical allusions abound for those who wish to decode them. Readers with strong stomachs and infinite patience might find Williams’ unfinished ideas and evocative prose sufficient to make the novel worthwhile.

NOT RECOMMENDED