I remember reading this novel when I was about fifteen. I liked it, although I didn’t understand it one bit. I’d previously enjoyed Aldiss’ short stories and had read ‘Earthworks’. Thinking about it now, why, if Earthworks at the time had seemed a more satisfactory novel, can I remember very little about it, while ‘Report…’ hangs in my mind like a stubborn dream?These days, it makes a lot more sense to me, but the persistent dream element is still present.In some ways it is reminiscent of Ballard’s ‘Concrete Island’ in its minimalist setting and is one of those books that should have been a cult classic. If it ever was, it was a very minor one, which is a bit of a shame. As strange and surreal as it is, it’s a brave and oddly compelling novel which begins on an ordinary suburban setting, bordering on the banal, and grows steadily weirder.Written in the form of a report, it is composed in the main of a third person monologue of obsessive detail, following the movements of three men who inhabit various outhouses in the garden of a Mr Mary. These men are known respectively as G, S & C.They spend their day watching the house, each of them obsessed with observing the mysterious Mrs Mary.The report is being analysed by humans in a parallel universe, who themselves are being watched by another group who are also under observation. The chain, we are led to believe, continues into infinity.It is a tribute to Aldiss’ power of narrative that the very obsessiveness and banality of the observed ‘probability’ detailed (literally) in the report becomes an intriguing portrait of a world in which the process of Time has broken down. The various characters are trapped in their respective roles while the world decays around them. G is an ex-Gardener, bound to his garden shed where his clocks have wound down and stopped. S is Mr Mary’s dismissed Secretary, living in the attic of an old coach house and re-reading the same episode of a Boy’s magazine adventure serial; ‘The Secret of The Grey Mill’. C is a Chauffeur who lives out his dream of driving Mrs May about while sitting in his garage home, behind the wheel of a car which will never leave the garage again.Outside the grounds of the house, the world becomes even more surreal. The men in turn visit Mr Watt’s café across the street and engage in stilted conversations about – ironically – the price of fish and a possibly non-existent strike at a local factory. Mr Watt also watches Mr Mary’s house while his customers eat poached haddock.The link between them – which is a metaphor for the universe in which they exist – is the painting ‘The Hireling Shepherd’ by pre-Raphaelite artist, Holman Hunt, a copy of which hangs in each of their respective domiciles. It depicts an ambiguous relationship between a hired hand and what might be (as is suggested in the text) the wife or possibly daughter of the employer. It is obvious that the shepherd has an interest in the woman. He has his arm around her and is attempting to show her a deaths-head moth he has in the palm of his hand. She is not looking at the moth. She is looking at him, but whether with a look of romantic interest or amused contempt is not clear.The artist and painter, in differing forms, are also common to the other universes too, although the watchers do not recognise the painting’s significance.Like the painting, the universe of these people has become fixed at a point of potential. They are trapped in their roles, but unable to function or progress.The chauffeur does not drive, the secretary reads but does not write. The gardener sits watching from his shed while the asparagus beds sit empty.All the men seem to have been dismissed but cannot leave the environs of the house, and Mr Mary seems powerless to even attempt to make them leave.The chauffeur has a home-made periscope which gives him a view of the street from the garage, but the view is a disturbing one. Images of Death abound: hearses, people dressed in black, men carrying a mangled bicycle on a stretcher; men riding in cars with their hands over their eyes.The servants seem to be all waiting for Mrs Mary to initiate something, just as the Hireling Shepherd is waiting for the woman in the painting to give him some sort of sign.In the last few pages we discover that Mrs Mary herself is a watcher, employing a screen in her bedroom to view events in the next universe down the line.
M opened the review form and paused indecisively. Report On Probability A, by Brian Aldiss. He noted the date he had read it - some time in the mid 70s - and tentatively gave it one star. Two would evidently be excessive. "It's kinda weird," he wrote, then stopped, searching for further ideas. What else could he say about the book? He saved the review. Maybe something would come to him later.Moments later, M's text appeared on N's screen. She considered it thoughtfully for a second and added a question. "Weird in what way?" She closed her laptop and went to make herself a cup of tea.In Birmingham, S noted the interchange between M and N and tried to remember his impressions. "Yeah, it's weird alright," he typed. "Not much happens. And there's something about a Holman Hunt painting. The Hireling Shepherd." He italicized the name of the picture, then pressed the Comment button.On the other side of the Atlantic, W was following the conversation with moderate interest. "I haven't read it yet," he hazarded. "My edition has the Hunt painting on the cover. Except that there's a book by the shepherd's hand called Low Point X. Does that come into the story?""I can't remember," typed S."Me neither," typed M."I don't think I'll read this after all," typed N. She unchecked Email Me When People Comment, then took her empty cup of tea back to the kitchen.
What do You think about Report On Probability A (2005)?
I have read this book twice. The first time was when I was in my teens and I was working my way through all the sci fi I could get from the library. This was one of them. I had read other books by the author and thought I would give this one a try. It bored me and fascinated me in equal measure. I was glad it was short.I read it later in my 40s because I wanted to read it after reading Borges' "The Library of Babel". I also wanted to read it because I remembered it was about surveillance and I wondered if it is was predicting a modern dystopic reality of NSA and MI5 surveillance.It was an interesting experience to read it twice. I still think that it is about surveillance. So my memory of my first interpretation was reliable. Though now I think it was not a predictor of the modern surveillance society. So I would soften my interpretation to: it is about observers and the observed, more of a fable for the modern blogosphere of more writers than readers.However I now know - through other reviewers - that it was an experiment in a style called "noveau roman". And I think that is an awful thing to behold, though intellectually interesting, it is a boring thing to read. The first time I read it I found it boring, but thought the boring style "meant" something and as a teenager tried to work out the puzzle. As an adult I understand it was a literary experiment and can accept that, but both times it bored me.I would only recommend you read the book if you want to understand "noveau roman". And if you are the reflective type why you didn't enjoy it and why you enjoy other more mainstream styles of writing. And for that reason only.I gave it four starts because the book has made a strong impression on me and I have learnt from it.
—Nick
Not a lot of action, but a lot of character introspection. This is a good book for s omeone who wants to learn about writing different perspectives.
—John
