Smugkig #2: "Kraken"

Jeg er ved at læse China Miévilles sci-fi roman ”Embassytown”, og der bygger han et meget fascinerende univers op. Og det har givet mig lyst til at dele den herligt syrede og inderlige bizarre måde hans hjerne fungerer på med jer, så derfor bringer jeg her et (lidt langt) citat fra hans bog ”Kraken”, som udkom i 2010. Det Miéville gør bedre end nogen anden, jeg er stødt på, er, at han giver lods for sin fantasi, der får frit spil til at skabe væsner og situationer er altid er forunderlige og som regel også temmelig foruroligende.

”Kraken” handler om Billy, der til daglig arbejder på Londons naturhistoriske museum. En dag bliver kæmpeblæksprutten fra samlingen bortført og en mand findes død i den beholder, hvor blæksprutten før var i. Billy bliver hurtigt hvirvlet ind i opklaringen af forbrydelsen, idet alle (bortset fra Billy) tilsyneladende gerne vil involvere ham.

Den følgende passage viser til fulde Miévilles intuitive forståelse af en uhygge, der ligger på grænsen mellem det hverdagsagtige og det fantastiske. Læs og nyd:

‘Billy looked at the mail that Leon had brought from downstairs. Two bills and a card and a heavy package in brown paper, tied up old-style with hairy string. He put on his glasses and cut the string.

[…] He frowned. He did not understand what he was unwrapping. Inside the package was a rectangle of black cotton. […] He prodded the cloth.

The package moved.

“Fuck…”

"What? What? What?”

They were both standing. Billy stared at the package, unmoving on the table where he had dropped it. There was a silence. Billy took a pen from his pocket and poked the cotton gently.

The cloth gave. The package opened.

It bloomed. With a gasp of air it concertinaed, expanding, outflicking and filling out, and what reached from its end was a hand. A man’s arm, in a dark jacket sleeve. The flash of white shirt at its end. The emergent hand grabbed Billy by the neck.

"Jesus –“ Leon pulled Billy away, and the package, still gripping, pulled back, braced against nothing.

Billy was held, and the package continued to unfold. Tongues of cotton flap-flapped open, black and blue and shoes now at the end of limbs bulking into presence, as if the matter of them was uncramping. More arms unrolled clumsy as fire hoses and shoved Leon hard away.

Like plants in sped-up motion, emitting grunts of release, a stale sweat-and-fart smell, and a man and a boy stood suddenly on Billy’s table. The boy stared at Leon staggering to rise. The man still gripped Billy’s throat.’