In Plastic, the collision of figurines and the apocalypse is timely, coming as it does on the heels of 'Barbenheimer.' It's a weird, sometimes puzzling and complicated book, to be sure, but an affecting one with way more depth and humanity than its title would let on.
The novel’s sustained W.T.F. brazenness deserves applause. While its debt to David Foster Wallace is apparent — and perhaps too much for some — Plastic also earns comparisons to works by Tom McCarthy, Kazuo Ishiguro and even Bertolt Brecht. Its rigorously superficial world manages to raise urgent questions about climate change, political violence and spirituality with high intelligence.
Alongside the novel’s inventive and humorous imagery, Plastic is deeply invested in questions of authenticity in the face of commercialized social pressures, and in the burden of responsibility—at individual and planetary scales—within that society. Also, there are dance numbers ... This is an immensely fun, engaging novel, and if I started reading it as though it were a puzzle—how is this world like this, why is this world like this—I finished it just deeply impressed with it qua novel, without needing my questions answered. The way that reality shifts throughout the story is really interesting, and compelling in its specifics, without feeling subordinated to some larger explanation. There’s a seamless, level-jumping fluidity to the imagery here: a sense that its ultimate objects and concerns are solid, underneath a vibrant and multifarious symbolism ... Where Plastic shines is in how it remains focused on humanity—no matter how superficial or hollow circumstances make us—and in its sheer inventive sense of play, even with such stakes.
... the caveman-ish diction of the new language, combined with the lack of quotation marks and gags like BPD, create an uneven reading experience. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be feeling empathy for the characters or keeping them at a satirical arm’s length ... I found myself wondering if the distancing was too effective. I’m glad I kept reading, but someone looking for a less bumpy experience might not ... threaded through this Technicolor weirdness is a compelling narrative about a young woman dealing with trauma whose chances of happiness are challenged by family secrets and external events ... I appreciated that the author was taking narrative risks but didn’t always know what to make of them. I found myself wanting to discuss the book with someone else to see what I might be missing.
With tones of Black Mirror’s ethical acuity and the quirkiness of Everything, Everywhere, All at Once, it mixes first- and third-person narrations with song lyrics, scenes from a TV show, and Erin’s flashbacks to her sister’s betrayal. Plastic’s figurines also communicate in destandardized English and play with religious imagery, challenging the boundaries of an already experimental genre. Despite its uncensored descriptions of violence, there remains a tenderness that is at times whimsical in the figurines’ demonstration of how trauma and grief are still entrenched in the human need for connection.
Guild shines in his impressions of a speculative world where waffles are viewed with suspicion in the plastic community for 'crav[ing] the syrup of power above all else.' It’s great fun watching Guild arrange the pieces of this inspired allegory.
Guild works the parody and pathos well in this thoughtful entertainment, expertly managing to extract concern and sympathy for the plights of these plastic characters, as human as we are despite their occasionally squeaking leg hinges. An amusing, kindhearted tale of a troubled alt-world.
