“S”, conceived by JJ Abrams and written by Doug Dorst, is by far the coolest book I read this summer. I’m a big reader with high standards, so what made “S” so much more notable than the other literary delights I enjoyed? The complex, story-within-a-story framing, mystery and suspense, compelling relationship between Jen and Eric, and physical, removable objects within the book, all come to mind.
Stories-within-stories, or nested stories, aren’t exactly uncommon –think of “Arabian Nights” or specific flashbacks from “How I Met Your Mother”– but their multidimensional storytelling techniques make them more complex than the average read. “S” presents the story of two students, Jen and Eric, writing in the margins of a stolen library book, “Ship of Theseus.” The primary text, “Ship of Theseus”, is compelling enough: an amnesiac attempts to rediscover his forgotten past as he is swept up on a fantastical journey; with the addition of Jen and Eric’s comments, questions, and tangential conversation, the story becomes not only the story of the forgotten man (aptly named “S–”), but also the story of the duo’s attempt to understand “Ship of Theseus” and the controversy that surrounds it.
The controversy I’m referencing is about the identity of the author of “Ship of Theseus”, V. M. Straka. Who are they, and how much of the author’s real story is reflected in the novel? Eric, a graduate student, has spent his academic career studying Straka and preparing research that was ultimately stolen by his graduate professor, who prepares to publish the research as his own. To turn up the heat, the mystery around Straka’s real identity has severe, real-life consequences–in both the past and present.
Under these strange circumstances, Jen and Eric bond quickly. They document their growing friendship between the pages using clearly established, differentiated colors and handwriting styles, leaving relics of their conversations from many different timelines on any given page. This means that to read a page, one will balance both the story unfolding in “Ship of Theseus” (including the story encoded in the footnotes by the book’s editor), and the conversations between Jen and Eric–when chronologically they happened, what they are referencing, what moods, ideas, or emotions their words communicate, and the each development in the mystery. This is challenging, but intriguing and extremely satisfying as you keep up with (or even discover elements ahead of) Jen and Eric. In addition, this book is especially poignant to read as an undergrad student: just one academic year behind Jen’s senior status, I found her frustration at or procrastination of certain papers understandably relatable.
In addition to their notes in the margins, the two leave all sorts of removable ephemera in the book: napkins, photos, photocopied articles, handwritten letters, postcards, etc. (Be careful, as you’re reading, that these things don’t fall out of their specific pages!) These elements are detailed and lifelike, and complete the illusion that you, lucky reader, have stumbled upon this incredible tome and the secret conversations it documents. Each piece adds context, credibility, and value to both the story and the physical book I held in my hands; “S” presents a phenomenal argument for the physical book. There is simply no way to reproduce this work for an audio format, making the written artistry that much more valuable.
Interested readers may look to buy the book on online platforms like Amazon, Target, or Ebay, and may also be interested in similar puzzle books such as “Cain’s Jawbone” or “House of Leaves”—to read while waiting to get their hands on “S”.
