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Ian Watson's brilliant debut novel was one of the most significant publications in British sf in the 1970s. Intellectually bracing and grippingly written, it is the story of three experiments in linguistics, and is driven by a searching analysis of the nature of communication. Fiercely intelligent, energetic and challenging, it immediately established Watson as a writer of rare power and vision, and is now recognized as a modern classic.
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THE Embedding
IAN WATSON
Copywrite Ian Watson 1973
# Paperback: 256 pages # Publisher: Gollancz; New Ed edition (July 1, 1990) # ISBN-10: 0575047844 # ISBN-13: 978-0575047846
# Paperback # Publisher: Carroll & Graf Pub (December 1989) # Language: English # ISBN-10: 088184554X # ISBN-13: 978-0881845549
# Paperback # Publisher: Bantam (1977) # ISBN-10: 055302311X # ISBN-13: 978-0553023114
# Hardcover # Publisher: Scribner (April 1975) # ISBN-10: 0684142058 # ISBN-13: 978-0684142050
Ian Watson's brilliant debut novel was one of the most significant publications in British Science Fiction in the 1970s. Intellectually bracing and grippingly written, it is the story of three experiments in linguistics, and is driven by a searching analysis of the nature of communication. Fiercely intelligent, energetic and challenging, it immediately established Watson as a writer of rare power and vision, and is now recognized as a modern classic. -This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
ONE
CHRIS SOLE DRESSED quickly. Eileen had already called him once. The second time she called him, the postman had been to the door. "There's a letter from Brazil," she shouted from the foot of the stairs. "It's from Pierre-" Pierre? What was he writing for? The news bothered him. Eileen had been so distant and detached since their boy was born-involved in herself and Peter and memories. It wasn't a detachment he found it particularly easy to break through any more-or, to be frank, that he cared to. So what effect would this letter from her one-time lover have on her? He hoped it wouldn't be too troublesome. The landing window gave a quick hint of black fields, other staff houses, the Hospital half a mile away on top of the hill. He glanced momentarily-and shivered with morning misgivings. They often attacked him between waking up and getting to the Hospital.
In the kitchen, three-year-old Peter was making a noisy mess of his breakfast-mashing cornflakes and milk in his bowl, while Eileen stood skimming through the letter.
Sole sat down opposite Peter and buttered a slice of toast. Casually he examined the boy's face. Didn't these thin foxy features add up to an image of the Pierre who so many years ago had been photographed as a small boy in a field of marguerites somewhere in France? Already the boy had the same pointed urgency as Pierre, and the glossy brown eyes of a dog fox on the prowl. Sole's own face had a sort of phoney distinction about it. It was too well balanced. Slide a mirror up against his nose and he wasn't split into two different faces, like most people, but a pair of identical twins. This balance of the features was initially impressive, but the end result was a cancelling out of one side of the man by the other, more visible as the years went by. He glanced at Eileen as she read. She was slightly taller than he was and her eyes had an in-between colour that her last passport described as grey, but which could easily be blue. They'd seemed bluer in Africa-the blue of swimming pools and open skies, which the airmail paper now briefly reflected. Africa. Those hot still evenings when the open louvres brought no air into their flat and the beer came warm from the overloaded icebox. The brightly-lit university buildings there on the hill, and the yellow glow of the city a do