Gliff by Ali Smith
Ali Smith's latest novel Gliff is a natural dystopian progression from her Seasonal Quartet, following two siblings in a near-future world
In Ali Smith’s Gliff, the sublime is described as ‘something that elevates you, fills you with wonder because it’s amazing and terrifying… at the same time.’ It’s something that fills you with awe, but unsettles you to the core. Smith’s latest book – a natural dystopian progression from her Seasonal Quartet – is something of the sublime itself. Every sentence in Gliff is perfectly calculated so that it’s laced with meaning, metaphor, and story. It’s incredible to read, but also, on a profound level, filled with horror.
It follows the story of two young people, non-binary Briar and their sister Rose, through a world where they have become ‘unverifiables.’ This is a new subclass of society, where Smith never fully explains the characteristics of its inhabitants: many are dissidents, but many could have been consigned for reasons of race, gender, class, or parentage. The State encircles the homes of the unverifiables with red paint, and their inhabitants are taken to re-education camps and forced to undertake dangerous labour. It’s not uncommon for children, who are stripping batteries, to be severely burned or lose a hand.
Although set in a near future, the horror of Gliff comes in its realism. In a post-Brexit, capitalist and hyper-productive Britain, it’s not outwith the realm of our imaginations for Gliff to become our world, and soon. Gliff is a remarkable read; poignant, perfect, and utterly terrifying.