Spatiality Book 3 Excerpt

The following is an excerpt from the third book of my scifi/fantasy series Spatiality. It is drawn directly from my short story the "Memory Ruin," which served as the genesis of my entire saga. it is the most architectonic part of the book and synthesized my ideas of the intertwining of memory and space and its effect on the psyche.

He stopped in the fourth chamber and looked about, absorbing the disquieting sense of it.  He felt oddly small and disoriented within it, the large bulging space pushing against him on all sides. He felt constrained and suffocated. And yet they seemed somehow familiar to him. He felt as if he had seen something like them before. At the same time, he felt a sense of fear tied to a distant pain; he wasn’t certain what it meant.  The more he stared up at the surfaces around him, the more removed he felt from his consciousness. He felt as if his physical being was dissolving into the confines of the space.  There was an overwhelming sense of distancing from himself.  His own consciousness had begun to feel foreign to him.  He felt dislocated and confused, the fear becoming palpable. He felt himself half-stumbling, half-running from the ovoid chamber, desperately, as if in a panicked state. 

He rushed through twisting tunnel after twisting tunnel of decayed metal, through rooms of stone containing jagged, chaotic constructs forming spaces within spaces, breaking through the ceilings and walls.  He climbed stairs, barely clinging to their supports to narrow walkways and parapets and roof terraces.  He walked through rooms open to the sky, their roofs ruptured, but always there was the scabrous parasite of decayed metal plates partially enveloping the rupture. He entered vast spaces with huge pillars and great domes fractured and split, dazzling light falling onto great flagstone floors. There were rooms littered with debris, bits of wall, broken hulks of metal, their function he could not guess. He entered curved and jagged volumes of space clinging to the edge of another broken stone room, the edges of the spaces, silent tensions pushing against one another.  

He entered plazas and courtyards, their space suggested only by a broken statue or lone fragment of metal standing naked in the wan light. Spaces flowed into the next, room after room, one construct to the next, each suggesting or possessing a fragment of the next, all woven together. Sometimes smooth and seamless, sometimes jarring and violent.  All the while he carried out conversations with himself, trying to remember, trying to make sense of all that was happening to him. He didn’t even know if they were voiced aloud or not.  All he could hear was the silent echo of his footsteps, the creak of metal or the whistling of the wind through an opening. 

The loneliness and desolation of the place and the unnamed fear that lingered over him threatened to undo him altogether. The gap that was forming within him was as cold and empty as the spaces he now occupied.  As he struggled with these thoughts and feelings and the dislocating foreignness of his surroundings, his awareness erupted, blinding him with a burst of blue light. Everything around him seemed to become part of his consciousness, the thoughts melding with his senses.  

The walls, the surfaces, the space, the emptiness, the light, the colors, it all became vivid beyond all those senses.  His self was everywhere. He could feel it flowing inward and out, through everything around him.  It all began to enter his consciousness, down to the elemental frameworks. His self was becoming fused with the surrounding environment and it with him.  He could not perceive his own movement, or his own body. He knew he was moving; he was not in the same space, the same instance. His movement was continuous, instantaneous.  He could not perceive the empty space where his mind spoke to him.  It was now everywhere. 

And then there was a flicker of an image from within, cutting at him, then receding back.  He pushed it away, forcibly.  The flood of inputs and stimuli from the changing self surged back to fill the void where it attempted to inject itself.  And then there it was again, a fleeting image and, in its wake, a palpable sensory and emotional torrent.  Again he thrust it away.  He was so close.  He could almost perceive the strands of his awareness stretching outward past the confines of his surroundings, beyond what his eyes could see.  The perceptions continued to fill him, and they were all there, immediate, and continuous.  He felt as if his body could no longer contain this new self, as if it could tear through the confines of his flesh.  

And suddenly, piercing through all of this was an image, a memory.  It was so strong and achingly familiar. He collapsed to his knees, overwhelmed by the astonishing sharpness of it. It filled his mind, replacing that tantalizing, infinite awareness. 

Before him stood a sharp, jutting slab of basalt, a shining, smooth blackness piercing the edge of the space. The ceiling above dropped violently towards him, then receded sharply back up in draping folds of encrusted metal, folds upon folds, pushing outward from the walls into the space.  The remnants of the day's light cascaded into the space, delineating and rendering sharply the folds of the roof, revealing the network of cracks and lines in the broken black tile of the floor. He could see all of these forces colliding dynamically through the space, and resonating through him. 

And yet, there it was, layered across this perception, in a thickened veil of sensations.  It was a face, a gentle smiling face, a face he sensed he had come to know better than his own.  A face and a spirit he had left behind. But he couldn’t remember her no matter how much he tried. Staring into those eyes now, he felt a powerful sense of loss and he could feel tears forming and running down his cheeks. Suddenly he was overwhelmed with emptiness and despair at all that he had left behind. 

And now he felt blind, drifting in uncertainty. He got to his feet and wiped his dirty and tear-stained face. As he stood there he tried to remember her again, but could not even conjure up the image. Who was she, why did she feel so important to him? Why couldn’t he remember her? Here he stood in this vessel, this construct of space and matter, the forces that had brought him to this point were within him; they were a part of him. The complexity of these forces was beyond his grasp, and yet here he was. 

 He felt as if he couldn’t take another step forward or back. He was there, and it didn’t matter. His past was lost to him, carried in a distant, unknowable fibrous current of memory. This memory, this woman he wanted so much to remember, was all he had remaining to him. How could he go on? How could he continue? He wanted so much to remember her. He wanted to be with her. 

Exhausted and emotionally drained he collapsed against the black stone wall and stared listlessly into space. Then he lay down in the dust and went to sleep.

Spatiality Excerpt

Thought I'd share an excerpt from the second book of my Scifi/Fantasy series Spatiality:

A cold wind began to blow across the open landscape and Hannah pulled herself deeply into her tattered cloak.  She had lost herself in her thoughts, despair hung heavily over her. She didn’t realize her danger until it was nearly too late.  Out across the rocky field a small group of Gol-Het scouts and a handful of native men gathered. She saw them too late as one motioned to the others, pointing in her direction.

Hannah turned and looked about desperately for a place to hide herself or for somewhere to run.  At once they ran towards her and began to fire.  She saw no alternative but to climb up into the rocks on her right.  She fired back, the precise weapon finding its mark and a mercenary fell to the ground.  The Gol-Het scouts immediately dropped to the ground, taking tactical positions, the native men were not as deft and she was able to kill another. The wound in her back nearly caused her to cry out as she crawled up the steep slope, firing back as she climbed.  A blast struck near her, sending up a shower of debris.  Hannah scrambled up to the top, pulling herself over the ledge as another blast nearly found its mark.  She fired again and again, trying to keep the Gol-Het from advancing.  The mercenaries neared the bottom of the rocky ledge she now defended.  She knew there was little hope in keeping them at bay.  They would no doubt overrun her, particularly when the charge gave out on her weapon.  She fired nonetheless, killing another and another, but still they came.

And now the Gol-Het moved forward, carefully, crouched low to the ground. She could do nothing as several broke off and began to head north, clearly looking for a way to reach her position from above. 

She was trapped. 

She fired again and struck another mercenary. They soon gave up trying to climb up to her and moved out of range to let the Gol-Het deal with her. She leaned up and fired, hitting a Gol-Het scout this time. A blast landed near her and she realized instantly that it had come from the north. The Gol-Het were almost upon her!

 She braced herself for their arrival, crouching low under a rock, but a bolt of energy struck her, sending a searing shock through her leg. She nearly bit through her tongue to keep from crying out; she couldn’t let them know she had been hit.  She looked down at the black wound burned into her leg, almost unable to associate the pain and the wound with her own body.

She could see them coming over the narrow ridge, carefully edging their way down the rock towards her.  She quickly fired and the nearest one fell with a cry into the rocks below.  She fired desperately again and again. She was fighting on two fronts and her chances for surviving were diminishing by the second. And then they dropped to nil as she pressed the firing pad, and nothing happened.  The charge was empty. 

She felt fear and despair overtake her—she was finished. It had all been for nothing. Another blast slammed into the ground nearby, then another. The third found its target, striking her shoulder, knocking her back against the rock. This time she cried out despite herself and she dropped the weapon.  She was now utterly defenseless, and they knew it.  As the Gol-Het approached, she could almost see the predatory grins, their weapons prepared for the kill. 

Cover Story

My cover for Spatiality began as a line of light.

I wanted a symbol or icon that would carry through all the books. I imagined a vivid slash slicing through the page like a blade. I imagined this as folded line, a line of light—an architectural gesture, enigmatic and ephemeral. It could be the edge of a structure or an aperture.

It also represents the fabric of space, the folding between space—the way that the Heliod manipulate space, make use of it, control it—exist within it.

The line is also a portal, a threshold or a rift.

The rift is the element that looms heavily over all the books; the rift the antagonist seeks to tear into space, to breach into another space, to free his brethren, to avenge their imprisonment.

It is also a line that both divides the characters from one another and at the same time binds them to each other, a demarcation of their fates.

Following the line of light, I imagined silhouettes etched into the stars.

I wanted to avoid direct representation. I wanted a shadow, an impression of the main characters without conveying exactly what they looked like. I deliberately eschewed that direct representation as I felt it would prevent the reader from imagining them themselves. Again, I wanted a symbolic iconography, something not unlike like an 18^th or 19^th century portraiture of silhouettes.

I knew she should be sad, not unlike the character of Hannah as you meet her initially. I knew he should be proud in a way, looking out into the distance, meeting his fate directly as Ethien perhaps wants to, but may not actually be capable of.

And then more pragmatically I knew I wanted there to be space between the letters as the letters in the title fill the negative space of the slash, the line of light bisecting the main characters. My hope was the symbol, the silhouettes, the very placement of the title and the nature of the font and text would convey the key concepts of the books in an indirect way, and convey some aspect of the characters’ personalities.

So, Love

Aside from the somewhat esoteric architectural and philosophical ideas, the other genesis for Spatiality was the desire to write a love story, one that felt genuine and true. I found myself frustrated by the lack of a representation of love that I felt any kinship with, that resonated with me in any meaningful way.  I wanted to represent love between two people who were careful and guarded with their emotions, not likely to express their feelings openly. Not necessary damaged in any way, but unwilling to risk anything for fear of undoing their relationship. If I had any inspiration for this, it was the X-Files. I can think of no more compelling love story between two people who genuinely respected and loved one another. But because of their close friendship, their professional relationship, they could never cross the line beyond friendship in any direct way, really until they were parted from one another. Some of that was likely the desire on part of the show’s creators to tease it out as long as possible, to come close but never quite giving the audience what they wanted, because once they did what was left to tell?

           

I found myself faced with a similar dilemma. My two heroes meet under similar inauspicious beginnings as Mulder and Scully. Scully was essentially placed to spy on Mulder, in Spatiality Hannah encounters Ethien while tasked with completing a mission that ultimately involves capturing him, taking him prisoner until a terrible moment of tragedy compels her to give up this mission and he, moved by her sorrow chooses to comfort her instead of fleeing or even killing her.

I found almost at once I didn’t want their relationship to devolve into the usual conflict, of hating one another and slowly softening to friendship to love. I found I wanted both to be motivated by their terrible fear of being alone, both lost in their own way, asked to do something neither is particularly capable of or prepared to do. That motivation is so powerful they quickly abandon any antipathy one might expect them to have towards one another as they are forced to flee an enemy bent on their destruction. And like Mulder and Scully they begin to form a bond based on mutual respect and admiration for one another.

           

Putting two people in close proximity to one another, day after day, fighting for their lives, one would expect them to fall in love as so often happens. And at first I resisted this, wondering if it were possible to avoid that course, to find another path. But ultimately this was not the right story for that sort of exploration. I wanted them to fall in love, but it had to be the right way, the right time and it had to sustain itself for several books. And so certainly I needed to place obstacles in their path, the most significant of which is their own timid and wary personalities, their continuous questioning of their own motives and worth, crippled with an uncertainty of not quite knowing what the other feels. They both find themselves questioning their dependency on one another, not willing to believe in their own relationship. And then there are externalities, conflicts, other possible loves, terrible errors in judgment that nearly cost them their lives. These things act to both separate them and bring them together, their bond tested to its limits, neither prepared to recognize their true feelings for one another until it is too late.

Love is a funny subject, as it is the most profound thing in all our lives and yet it can be represented so tritely in a million and one pop songs or romantic comedies. And yet there is a will to love that those things represent, there is a craving for it, no matter the form. And it is hard to capture, hard to put into words, it is elusive and ephemeral, and yet you feel it through every part of you, it is inescapable. I know I’ve never seen, read or heard it represented perfectly, but art forever attempts to capture it, and that striving to encapsulate what love is, makes us yearn for it ever more.

And so I have made my own small contribution to that project and I hope you may feel some kinship with what I have attempted to do in my writings.

Greetings and Salutations

I'm Jacob Deemer, a writer and architect who recently published the first book of his sci-fi/fantasy series Spatiality  on Amazon. My Spatiality series is a labor of love I've been working on and off for the last 10 years. Originally begun as a way to examine certain architectural ideas I was exploring at the time, it took on a life of its own and spawned a six book epic that ranges from world-spanning science fiction to classic fantasy elements to philosophical ideas about space, architecture, memory and the body. At its heart is a love story between two people brought together under somewhat fantastical circumstances but I hope it will ring true and honest for most. I set out to write a human drama that happened to take place in a far-flung future.

This blog will serve mostly as a forum to touch on the spheres of influences on my books whether direct or tangential from architecture, art and philosophy.