The concept of life unfolding in reverse presents a farcical and even grotesque view of existence. Envisioning a child tumbling into a tree, a sandwich being regurgitated bite by bite, or a doctor meticulously stitching up a wound paints a surreal picture of reality. While life is inherently strange, reversing its order accentuates the absurdities of the mundane.
Novels that challenge the linear progression of time often embrace this absurdity. In Ian McEwan’s “The Cockroach” (2019), a satirical tale emerges around Brexit, exposing a sense of political nostalgia. If the electorate wishes to revert to the past, McEwan suggests, why not let them? He introduces the notion of “Economic Reversalism,” where workers must pay for the right to be employed, and all money is funneled back to its origin. Similarly, Martin Amis’s “Time’s Arrow” (1991) presents a twisted take on the Holocaust, imagining a world where healing facilities replace death camps, and a benevolent regime of Nazis oversees a vast reparation process. Such ideas, while dark, induce a grotesque humor.
Chloe Benjamin joins this unique literary tradition with her third novel, “Under Story.” This work introduces a parallel universe—a “duoverse”—inhabited by doppelgängers where the past is malleable, as it has yet to unfold.
In this fictional realm, human existence begins below ground. Mycelium cultivates a body from decay, akin to a 3D printer producing human forms. A heart begins to beat for unclear reasons, resulting in a fully developed individual emerging from the earth, albeit burdened with age-related ailments yet possessing a fresh mind. After being cleaned and DNA profiled by “overtakers,” these new/old beings are delivered to their offspring—not through childbirth, but as a package would arrive at a door.
In this inverted reality, the aging process is reversed; illnesses dissipate, and children nurture their parents until they regain enough vitality to be independent. Nursing homes transform into playful environments for the elderly, while kindergartens serve as care centers for aging toddlers. The cycle of life and death becomes intertwined, as births occur in a manner that resembles death—infants emerge from their mothers in a surreal process.
This unsettling premise ventures into body horror territory, depicting women in grotesque scenarios of forced consumption of their offspring. One might expect a narrative steeped in depravity, reminiscent of works by William Burroughs or Agustina Bazterrica. However, “Under Story” unfolds as a tale of love, centering on Laurel and Eli, a couple grappling with the loss of their son, Silas. Could a journey to the duoverse bring him back? Might it also facilitate their reconciliation? The result is a sweeping melodrama of parental love interwoven with speculative science.
Utilizing a mix of speculative physics and prophetic visions, Laurel and Eli discover a portal beneath Antarctica, leading them into the duoverse. They quickly acclimate to its peculiar logic: months and years unfold in reverse order, and the climate is rejuvenating, with extinct species reappearing as if they had never vanished.
The underlying principle here is entropy, as Eli, a physicist, elucidates: “this universe moves toward the Big Bang, and entropy is reversed.” Laurel, a mycologist, provides further insights, and the two engage in extensive explanations throughout their journey.
While life cannot exist without entropy, the issue lies not within the concept itself. Many fantastical worlds thrive on absurdity, but Benjamin’s narrative occasionally draws attention to its own inconsistencies. She poses questions we may not have contemplated, such as how “Christmas can exist here, even though Jesus won’t be born for two thousand years,” and how beings in reverse cannot choose to reproduce, as those decisions are preordained.
Benjamin’s previous work, “The Immortalists” (2018), explored themes of predetermined destinies through four siblings who learn the dates of their deaths from a fortune teller. The intrigue of that novel stemmed from the ambiguity surrounding the prophecy’s authenticity. In “Under Story,” however, Benjamin appears uncertain if her cosmic framework can sustain its own mysteries. As the narrative progresses, our focus shifts, particularly when the story introduces dramatic elements like mystical symbols and fortuitous devices, further complicating the experience.
Length poses another challenge. The concept of life in reverse can be perceived as a gimmick or mere thought experiment. Shorter works tend to handle such ideas with more finesse, as seen in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” which succinctly conveys its narrative in just forty pages. The extended duration that Laurel and Eli remain in the duoverse renders the plot increasingly contrived, as the narrative mechanics become more forced. Benjamin skillfully selects which biological functions operate in reverse, allowing characters to walk, talk, and engage in normal activities while disregarding the cyclical nature of life.
While there are simpler methods to explore themes of grief and the past, as seen in works by authors like Scott Alexander Howard and Aja Gabel, Benjamin’s selective approach feels particularly jarring. Her duoverse seems meticulously constructed to facilitate a reunion scene, raising ethical questions about her manipulation of life and death, all to explore the depths of parental grief.
The narrative is designed to provoke an emotional response, prompting profound reflections on timeless love, free will, and the intricacies of human connection.
