The Book (and Urth) of the New Sun

This is the third take I've had on this review. Every time I write my thoughts I find them woefully inadequate. There are concepts in this book I had no idea that I needed in order to understand myself, nevermind the world. And, now that I'm coming to the last fifty pages of The Urth of the New Sun, I find that I am terrified of ending the book. But end it must, and I must figure out what I will do from here.

The previous two iterations of this review became more and more grandiose as they progressed, to the point to where I found that the painful humanity of the book was lost. But when I tried to walk it back the grandeur was also lost in sweeping statements on how petty the main character could be. I could not focus on both, even though the book did.

The last few years of having PTSD have been some of the most rewarding and insanely painful of my already-painful life. I've seen highs and lows that I wouldn't have known that anyone else had experienced, were it not for this book. Reading Wolfe's thoughts on time travel and salvation left me speechless. There are things in this book that are so real that they can hardly be believed. But real they are. This man knew, he had done it. But when I try to write about it I destroy what it is that I love about the book. I cannot talk about them, even though the book did.

Ending The Urth of the New Sun is like driving to the airport with someone you love quite deeply. You hang on every word, you savor every last sight, smell, sound, them. You know they will not be there, with you, for much longer, and so you drink them in as much as you can, praying that it's an illusion, hoping against all hope that when you get to the airport they'll say "JUST KIDDING! I'm staying here". You hope that this is the time they stay and you will not have to be parted from them, ever again. Maybe, maybe this time, the dream will not end.

They get on the plane.

The book ends.

And you have to wake up.

It is over.

But the dream continued, this time, somehow. My friends and family will come back to me and in a real way they never left. I will finally be able to fully enjoy the family and friends I have now! The book is over but I will return to it, to enjoy it anew. Eventually that pleasant dream, where the world makes sense and I'm not fighting by the skin of my teeth to maintain even a facade of mental health, will become reality. Eventually I will triumph. Like all properly Christian works, I am left with hope, as Severian strides off into the unknown. Wherever he is going, whatever The Increate will require him to do, he has triumphed.

This is not typical to the types of reviews I write, and for that I apologize. This is a very deeply personal book to me, and I find that it's almost impossible to write about. If you like sci-fi and fantasy, and find yourself wanting something of a similar depth to Tolkien, Lewis, and Le Guinn, you will be not be disappointed here. Wolfe is a master, if not the master, of his craft. I cannot recommend this book enough.