King of Xanadu by Machines Underneath
I was promised a pleasure dome. There is no pleasure dome. There’s a garden, yes, but the grass isn’t equal enough and, worst of all, nothing protects me from the rays of what in Dutch we call ‘de koperen ploert’ – hard to translate, something like ‘the copper asshole’ or ‘the copper scoundrel’ or something, but ‘ploert’ is deliciously old-fashioned yet strong sounding, I’d have to think of a way to render this in English; and in case you’re wondering why the Dutch came up with this phrase even though their country is not really known for being sunny, it originated in the colonies that are now Indonesia --, in other words, that malicious sun who is trying to usurp the divine right of kings that belongs only to me. So, no pleasure dome. I don’t care who Machines Underneath is, but I want them brought into my presence right now so that I can sculpt a new statue from their bones…
Yeah, let’s stop there. I don’t actually want to harm Machines Underneath! But of course they brought this outburst on themselves, having forced me – the word ‘forced’ is chosen advisedly – to inhabit a crazy, megalomaniac king whose most rational response to a crop blight is attacking the sun. (Among the less rational responses are giving a wing of the palace to a dog who has eaten a noble. Yes, we’re squarely into weird Caligula territory here.)
Many reviewers complain about the lack of choice, or the lack of responsiveness to choice, or the way that at the end the illusion of choice is completely stripped away, and then we’re just there to watch a bleak, nihilistic tale unfold. It’s nihilistic, not a morality tale, because the king’s evil is irrelevant to anything that happens. We’re just watching a disaster unfold, and we’re watching the effect that is has on our deluded god-king, who is, alas, no wiser than most deities from the world’s varied but almost always very imperfect pantheons.
It’s not a game. It’s an aesthetic experience. it also signals early on that it’s not a game, by flagrantly disregarding what you mean when choosing a particular option and turning it into something outrageous. You’re only along for the ride. And maybe that’s for the best, because it’s a swift downward ride into delusional hell. Rendered in – at its best, there are also less successful passages – delightfully delusional prose.