eternities:aimee_zaferaan [Reference II]

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====== Aimee Zaferaan ======


//From The Grand Chronicle, page 20, Literature and Culture (Edition published 1st October, 2046)//

**EDITOR’S SPOTLIGHT: NOVEL OF THE WEEK**

**To Cast Eyes on IRIS: Exploring the Lived Experience of Alusia’s Final Days**

//by Verity Beaumont//

Ever since the disappearance of Alusia in 2045, the real stories of the events of the Exhibition, what happened to those within it, and the sudden subsequent loss of information have been playing on peoples’ minds. Only those who experienced it can tell us what they saw. //IRIS//, the new novel from up-and-coming author Aimee Zaferaan may shed light on some of those questions. 

//IRIS// follows the experiences of the titular character, lost wandering in an expansive desert. She appears in the midst of a sudden mirage, barren sands transforming into rolling green meadows, as she reflects on the memories she carries, patching together into an overarching story.

The narrative of the text switches between the real and surreal, contrasting dreamlike sequences and lifelike scenes. Each vignette is a departure from linear form or genre, setting expectations and proceeding to break them once they become overly familiar or anticipated, a disjointed narrative reflecting what could only be the chaos of her experiences. 

The focus gradually shifts through the text, initially focussing on what few memories Iris can find before they come flooding back, though she remains disconnected, an outsider to what she narrates. Her own thoughts develop through the text, from relatively sparse at the start, to overwhelming the narrative towards the end, the memories suddenly stopping as she reaches her final destination, a blooming garden of beautiful purple-coloured flowers. Here, she makes peace with herself, inspired, as the garden finally melts away, revealing nothing left except the barren desert from the start.

Imagery and allegory prove powerful devices for channelling the themes of the text. It seems the novel draws upon multiple things: the nature of all things coming to an end, ever-present in those final days; the disconnect between technology, agency, fantasy, and reality; the experiences of the individuals who attended the Exhibition, with Iris possibly even an allegory for the technology itself. After all, the double meaning of ‘Iris’ cannot be overlooked: the beauty of the namesake flowers; the vivid spectrum of colours; an eye, something that is always watching.

Presenting those experiences provides a novel challenge. Zaferaan, in interview, admits the novel deviates stylistically from her earlier work, but felt it was ‘ultimately important to tell such a strange tale of how the events truly happened, preferring to focus on how the experience left an impact on the individuals who were there – a truly personal story’. 

When so much has been irreparably lost, it is important that we are able to preserve what little remains – to know the truth, to remember, to reflect, and to learn from it. Hopefully, other stories like this will reveal more of what we are yet to know. In turn, //IRIS// stands to be a strong foundation for the rest of Zaferaan’s future literary career.

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//Excerpt from a Journal: Sunset over Vastsands Bay, near Spinalmouth//

‘I went for another stroll this early evening along the trail by the samphire-laden sand dunes, leading out towards the red-and-white lighthouse that stands at the edge of the harbour. I could see as far as the cliffs further round the bay, past the anvil-shaped stack, where there’s a little campsite, a faint stream of smoke rising up and out to sea from their evening bonfire.

A few seabirds bobbed on top of the waves, their dark heads periodically diving under, resurfacing a minute later, graceful like ribbon-dancers. The fishing boats many miles further out slowly drifted hither and thither, before the daily ferry yet again left the port at the mouth of the Spinal River.

I paused, staring out towards where the sun had painted the cloud-laden sky a series of fiery reds, oranges and pinks, meeting the sea at the deep indigo horizon. Perhaps this was how Violet felt, seeing it for the first time. Did she ever tire of it? 

A fresh breeze blew towards me from the water, tousling any loose hairs I’d missed, leaving a vaguely salty flavour in its wake. It’s peaceful here. It’s not the bustle of the intercommunal train I alighted five days ago, but neither is it as dull and empty as Herblein. It’s simple, and it’s enough.

I watched as the large ferry gradually diminished into nothing, as the sun, too, slowly trickled down into the periphery of the water below, sinking into its resting place. The last of it was a sudden flash of emerald green before shutting its eye once more, closing the chapter for today.’

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//Written by Danielle S//