Published by Pantheon on February 13, 2024
Sometimes, after the fifth or sixth time I’ve said to myself “I’m not sure I like this book,” I stop reading it. I persevered with Plastic. A mix of engaging moments and wtf moments convinced me that my continued attention was warranted, but in the end, my reaction remains: I’m not sure I like this book.
Erin seems to be living in a television show, or perhaps she views her life that way. Chapters start with “In this scene,” followed by a description of Erin’s activities, presumably narrated by Erin. She watches a popular television show (Nuclear Family, a show about post-apocalyptic teen angst in which some of the characters are waffles or robots) and talks to friends about their membership in the Church of Divine Acceptance, a pseudo-religion that equates faith with technology (“No God or weird stuff there.”).
Conjugations of “to be” and other bits of conventional sentence structure have disappeared in Erin’s post-apocalyptic world (“How Owen doing? He back home now?” is answered “He just get out hospital”), although Erin speaks fluidly when she narrates her life. The language change seems odd given that kids still play Marco Polo (words that seem more likely to disappear than “is” and “of”). But the kids are made of plastic, so any additional oddness is comparatively easy to accept.
Ah yes, the plastic. Perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier. Erin and her friends are plastic “figurines.” Maybe they only feel like they are plastic (a final scene suggests they might really have skin made of flesh), although they repair injuries to their bodies with Wound Glue. They seem human in most other respects, including the pleasure they take in alcohol, drugs, and sex. Erin sometimes orders a Hot Date when she wants to get laid, although her Smartbody can give her an equivalent experience with a virtual hookup.
Erin spent her inheritance on a Smartbody to help her avoid the reality of terrorism, global warming (the “heat leap”) caused by burning chicken bones as fuel, and the aftermath of a nuclear conflict. She escapes into a virtual reality called Smartworld.
Erin uses virtual reality to recreate Patrick, who died in front of her in a high school terrorism incident. She even gives herself a virtual pregnancy until she becomes angry and clicks the menu for a virtual abortion. Later in the story, Erin will develop a relationship with Jacob, a blind figurine.
Erin’s sister disappeared a terrorist bombing. Her father died of Brad Pitt disease (and perhaps of a broken heart after his boyfriend left him). In the virtual world, Erin receives unwanted warnings that caution her to avoid terrorist attacks. She suspects she knows the source of the warnings but doesn’t want to confirm her suspicions. On the other hand, not reporting the warnings will have its own consequences, including (at the least) being placed on a watch list by the oppressive government that tries to keep everyone under constant surveillance. That’s easy when people spend most of their lives getting high and living in a virtual world.
My impression is that Scott Guild excelled in creative writing classes. Plastic is certainly creative, but the novel feels like a series of gimmicks — interesting gimmicks, to be sure — that never quite cohere into a whole that is equal to, much less greater than, the sum of its parts. I didn’t become absorbed in the reality that Guild built, perhaps because I never quite saw its point. The metaphor of people living plastic lives seems a bit obvious. Still, Plastic might encourage readers to see quasi-religion, the risks of totalitarian government, terrorism, virtual reality, and the other topics that animate the story in a new light. Barring that, the story has some entertainment value, even if it doesn’t promote emotional engagement with its plastic characters.
RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS