Quarter 3 (Pages 239-387): Meaning of the work as a whole

After completing five out of the six stories in Cloud Atlas, I am in awe of how David Mitchell has woven numerous themes through each of the stories. Although the novel as a whole travels through time, the problems that plague the world of Adam Ewing persist through each tale. Cloud shows how racism morphs over the course of time; however, it never disappears.

The section titled “Sloosha’s Crossin’ an’ Ev’rythin’ After” brings the reader back to a setting similar to that of Adam Ewing’s tale; yet, it is set hundreds of years in the future. Society has reverted to its simple roots after an event known as the fall. The peaceful Valleysmen live in fear of the “[…] painted savages […]” (240) the Kona. In the Valleysmen society, “[…] if you stole another’s life no un’d barter nothin’ with you nor see your nor nothin’ ‘cos your soil was so poisned you may give ‘em a sickness” (301). The similarities between: the conflict between Valleysmen and the Kona and the conflict between the Moriori and the Maori, in the “Pacific Journal of Adam Ewing, are striking. Through this parallel, Mitchell suggests that time truly does not bring an end to such problems. As long as there is a need for a ruling structure, societies will turn to both violent and peaceful solutions.

+The most rattling scene in the second section of the Orison of Sonmi-451 offers the reader an idea of how her corpocratic society has continued the reign of discrimination. Rather than forcing lower strata purebloods to “[…] work the factory line? Process the sewage? Feed the fish farms? Xtract oil and coal […]” (326), Unanimity manufactures fabricants designed for each task. They condition the fabricants to believe that Xultaion on the island paradise awaits them after their twelve years of service, but they do not fulfill this promise. Instead the expiring fabricants are destined for a “[…] slaughterhouse production line [...] manned by figures wielding scissors, sword saws, and various tools of cutting, snipping and grinding” (343). To prevent the opportunity of rebellion Unanimity breeds fabricants to work as mindless slaves. Unaware of the fact that they will eventually become the “[… the] liquefied biomatter” (343) used to create more fabricants and to feed the new fabricants and rest of the society. How Unanimity abuses the fabricants so mercilessly is shocking as they are basically a step away from becoming a “human” like Sonmi.

The end of the “Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish” gives the reader a startling perspective on our maltreatment of the elderly. Cavendish explains how the elderly “[…] commit two offenses just by existing. One is Lack of Velocity. [They] drive too slowly, walk too slowly, talk too slowly[… Their] second offense is being Everyman’s memento mori. The world can only get by comfy in shiny-eyed denial if we are out of sight” (361).  Cavendish’s depressing narrative about his time stuck in the Aurora house truly forces the reader to really question the depth of their offenses. Although their offenses may not be severe, their sentence is unwilling confinement. Mitchell’s use of Cavendish’s experience being held captive forces the reader to consider the way we treat our elderly.

Cloud Atlas clearly describes how issues such as discrimination will continue to plague societies forever. Mitchell allows the reader to consider how the problems appear in various societies and how they deal with them. Societies must continue to address discrimination in its various forms to prevent its harmful effects.

Quarter 2 (Pages 143-236): Style

The multitude of stylistic devices that David Mitchell uses in Cloud Atlas truly makes the novel one of a kind. In the section titled “The Ghastly Ordeal of Timothy Cavendish,” the main character, Tim Cavendish, directly addresses the reader throughout the section as well as sharing many of his sarcastic observations. This allows the reader to gain a more personal connection with Cavendish, causing the reader to feel greatly distraught when poor Tim finds himself trapped in a retirement home. When the story transitions to “An Orison of Sonmi-451,” the story is told through an interview. I was skeptical how the story could capture my interest, being told in such a flat format; surprisingly the interview allows the reader to explore each detail of Sonmi’s tale. Yet each section ends without a conclusion drawing the reader into the following section to discover new characters and connections.

The manner in which Cavendish directly addresses the reader allows for a personal connection to be developed with his character. Rather than attempting to hide embarrassing pieces of his “ghastly ordeal,” he discusses his embarrassments with a sarcastic tone trying to draw a laugh out of the reader. Even the title is sarcastic. Cavendish agrees that it“[…] is a sappy title,” (147) as his story is more unfortunate than it is ghastly. When Cavendish’s home is being invaded by only three men he says “[…] the door [flies] in off its hinges! I was thinking al-Qaeda, I was thinking ball lightning, but no” (153). His sarcasm is amusing as well as the manner in which he directly engages the reader by noting intriguing elements of his tale. He states how “(You’ll notice, I am always attacked in threes” (153). Mitchell’s use of these techniques draws the reader closer to Cavendish, which strengthens the reader’s reaction to his imprisonment in the Aurora home. The three angry men seek a piece of the fortune that Cavendish reaps after their brother murders a harsh critic. The murder draws a great deal of attention to his novel. In his flight from the three brothers Cavendish encounters a series of unfortunate events. The train that he is riding breaks down, forcing him to look for places to stay. He subsequently searcher for alternative ways to reach what he believes is a safe place his brother has found for him to stay. After reaching the “hotel” Cavendish collapses and immediately falls asleep; yet, he “[... awakes] to discover a not-so-young woman with a pageboy haircut rifling through [his] personal effects like a bargain hunter” (173). He exclaims “‘What the ruddy hell are you doing in my room, you pilfering warty sow” (173). The woman “[…] put[s] down [his] jacket without guilt. ‘Because you are new I will not have you eat soap powder. This time. Be warned. I do not stand for offensive language in Aurora House’” (173). Unfortunately, Cavendish finds himself stuck in a retirement home, where his attempts to escape cause him to be slapped and whipped. His tone transitions from sarcastic to depressed, as he tells the reader “You will not apply for membership, but the tribe of the elderly will claim you. Your present will not keep pace with the world’s. This slippage will stretch your skin, sag your skeleton, erode your hair and memory, make your skin turn opaque so your twitching organs and blue-cheese veins will be semivisible” (180). The harsh end to Cavendish’s story leaves the reader feeling dismayed but not hopeless, which drives the reader to read further into the Cloud Atlas.

Within the first question of Sonmi-451’s interview the reader is caught by her character. The archivist who is interviewing her to record her story before her execution simply states “On behalf of my ministry, this isn’t an interrogation, or a trial. Your version of the truth is the only one that matters;” yet Sonmi answers “Truth is singular. Its ‘versions’ are mistruths” (185). Sonmi’s bold response to a simple statement by the archivist draws the reader to explore her character. Sonmi’s distinction that “Truth is singular” (185) displays her confidence and it sets the tone for the section. Sonmi’s confidence may come from the fact that she is a fabricant, a clone designed to work in a restaurant. Her ascension allows her to develop strong opinions, which would likely conflict with the goals of the ruling body Unanimity. After the statement that “Popular wisdom has it that fabricants don’t have personalities. [Sonmi says] This fallacy is propagated for the comfort of purebloods” (187). In a society with the ability to engineer any type of human through coding of the genome, Sonmi threatens the hierarchal structure determined by the perfection of one’s genes. The archivist understands her significance and tries to draw a clear picture of her development into a sentient being through questions; however, many of Sonmi’s most powerful statements come in response to simple things the archivist states. Mitchell uses the archivist as a springboard for Sonmi’s story to begin from, but Sonmi’s deviations from the set questions display key qualities of her character. Sonmi’s internal conflicts confuse her but when she asks her friend Hae-Joo “[…] how [she] might remedy them. [Hae-Joo] replies ‘You don’t remedy them. You live through them’” (233). Sonmi’s struggle to understand what it means to be a human highlights key questions about the nature of humanity. The manner in which David Mitchell uses a nonhuman character to challenge what it means to be human truly displays the intricacy with which he took in constructing the novel.

Each section of Cloud Atlas has its own unique style. Cavendish’s sarcastic humor differs greatly from Sonmi’s serious tone. Yet, they are both trapped without any hope for escape. The division of the novel into sections causes the reader to see parallels between characters separated by time and location. Although Mitchell’s division of the novel into six separate stories is the most obvious stylistic technique, I felt it would be better to address the connections between the characters and their stories at a later point in the novel.

Quarter 1 (Pages 1-142): Characters

Cloud Atlas has an overwhelming number of characters who live throughout different periods of history. Although the novel lacks chapters, it is divided into sections. In the first 142 pages the reader is introduced to three different stories. The three main characters: Adam Ewing, Robert Frobisher, and Luisa Rey, all seem to share a key similarity. They all appear to have their own contradictions and could be described as hypocrites to a certain degree.

The novel begins with Adam Ewing, an American visiting Chatam Islands. The islands are what we now know as the New Zealand archipelago. Ewing observes the harsh relationship between the violent Maori who were brought to the island by the British and the peaceful, native Moriori, first hand when he watches a Maori master beating his Moriori slave. In a miraculous series of events the slave, named Autua, is snuck aboard the ship that Ewing is traveling upon. Ewing manages to save Autua from certain death by demonstrating to the Captain his worth as a hand aboard the ship. Ewing appears to believe in a certain degree of equality for all races. During a discussion of the goal of colonization he “‘[…] protest[s], to civilize the Black races by conversion should be our mission, not their extirpation, for God's hand had crafted them, too’” (16). The British men in the tavern respond properly to Ewing’s protest calling him out on the fact that “‘[… the British] abolished slavery in our empire-no American can say as much’” (16). Ewing shows pity for Autua and speak as though he believes in a state of partial equality, but his thoughts prove otherwise. While walking through a village on the island Ewing notes that a woman "[…] has a tinge of black blood & I fancy her mother is not far removed from the jungle breed" (6). It would be ridiculous to argue that Ewing truly believes in equality. Ewing reflects the actions of his country the United States. Ewing and the US may flaunt ideas such as the statement that all men are created equal, but in reality only rich white men are of acceptable status. Rich, white, men like Dr. Henry Goose who warns Ewing, “‘It’s one thing to throw a blackie a bone, but quite another to take him on for life! Friendships between races, Ewing, can never surpass the affection between a loyal gundog & its master’” (37). Advice that Ewing would abide by as it would be outrageous for him to consider the slave Autua a friend. Ewing is a perfect representation of the United States (in this time period) as he may act as though he believes in equality, yet, at his core it is clear that he is racist.

Robert Frobisher introduces himself as “[…] a Caius Man, teetering on the brink of destitution” (44). Yet, Frobisher manages to afford travel from England to Belgium where he seeks employment as an amanuensis for an aging composer. Along the way he declines an offer to sell cutlery kindly “[…] confess[ing] [he]’d rather swallow cutlery than ever have to sell the stuff” (46). He also buys a large batch of pastries, which he shares with a witch and “[…] another pastry with five thousand pigeons, to the envy of the beggar, so I had to give him one too” (48). Considering how Frobisher has stated that he is “[…] teetering on the brink of destitution” (44), it seems slightly suspicious that he would decline a promising job offer so quickly and would buy so many pastries and share them so generously. It becomes apparent that Frobisher is truly not like the “Whiskered mandarin ducks [that] honk for bread, exquisitely tailored beggars […]” (54) which he believes are “[…] rather like [him]self” (54). Frobisher manipulates his audience like he manipulates the people around him. He tries to win the reader’s sympathy; however, many of his thoughts make you question his true feelings. Frobisher is hired by Vyvyan Ayrs to work as his assistant, recording Ayrs new works onto paper allowing Ayrs to continue to compose. Yet, Frobisher is not satisfied with the credit Ayrs pays him. During a rant Frobisher says to himself “I’m his bloody general and he’s the fat old Turk reigning on the memory of faded glories” (83). Frobisher does not hold proper respect for Ayrs’s work as a composer, and he has betrays him by sleeping with his wife. The one thing about Frobisher that always holds true is that as he “Assure[s] [Ayrs’s wife] I’ve really never loved anyone except myself and have no intention of starting now […]” (85). Although Frobisher may say this in a joking manner to Jocasta, Ayrs’s wife, the statement is startlingly true. Frobisher acts as though he is deserving of the reader’s sympathy; however, he is truly a cunning manipulator who cares only for himself.

Luisa Rey is a reporter pursuing the cover up of a major design flaw in the Swannekke B nuclear reactor. Luisa is relentless in her questioning of the events surrounding the case. Even when her boss warns her that her “[…] article on this unsubstantiated cover-up at Seaboard will, frankly, leave [her] old, sick, and weak” (109), she does not let the case go. When Robert Sixsmith, the man who was going to give her his report on the reactor, is found dead and the police release a statement saying that it was suicide, Luisa refuses to believe such a claim. She says “He was getting ready to go public […] This is what the truth cost him” (114). Luisa’s uncompromising approach to her investigation of the Swannekke B reactor is valiant; however, I was surprised at how quickly she trusts the people she meets with during her investigation. After a late night with Isaac Sachs, one of the scientists who worked with Sixsmith, Luisa is very close to possessing a copy of Sixsmith’s report. Yet, the following morning Joe Napier says to Luisa “‘Isaac Sachs sends his sincere apologies, but he’s got to stand you up’” (133). Although Luisa is dismayed that Isaac is gone, she fails to realize the danger that she is in. She trusts that Joe Napier’s excuse for Isaac’s absence is legitimate. When Fay Li, a receptionist at Swannekke, says to Luisa “‘If there comes a time when you want to discuss matters weightier than how many French fries the Swannekke engineers consumer per annum […] such as the data on the HYDRA reactor as compiled by Dr. Sixsmith, purely for example, I guarantee you’ll find me much more cooperative than you think’” (137). Luisa believes Fay Li immediately and even wonders to herself “What level of deceit is permissible in journalism” (137). Clearly Fay Li is deceiving Luisa as she “[…] searches Luisa Rey’s room swiftly as the sun sets” (135) before she meets Luisa for dinner. Luisa’s refusal to believe the cover up of the Swannekke B reactor is admirable; however, her immediate trust in the people she meets during her investigation contradicts how critically she inspects the other elements of the case.

Cloud Atlas’s format forces the reader to consider the characters in a unique manner. Without knowing the conclusions to the stories of these three characters, it makes it difficult for the reader to understand how each character changes. It forces the reader to draw connections between the Ewing, Frobisher, and Rey, that would not be as apparent if all of the stories were told from start to finish.  Ewing, Frobisher, and Rey all appear to have their own contradictions. These contradictions could possibly disappear as they develop in the concluding part of their stories.