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64 pages 2 hours read

Ray Nayler

The Mountain in the Sea

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2022

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Themes

The Role of Technology and Corporate Greed in Alienation

Content Warning: This section of the book and the guide discusses enslavement and death by suicide.

The novel takes place in a near-future where transnational capitalism and AI technology are woven into everyday human life. Nation-states are indistinguishable from corporations, and industries rely on enhanced drone weaponry, micro-surveillance, and AI-captained fishing trawlers to make a profit. Individuals depend on automated vehicles and artificial companions aptly called “point-fives” because they fulfill people’s desire to have a relationship without dealing with a whole person. Each of the novel’s characters exist in this world where advanced technology and corporate greed contribute to or directly cause their experiences of alienation. For Ha, Kamran is a literal projection of her isolation and insularity. Most tragically, Eiko is enslaved by an AI system that upholds the inhumanity of capitalist logic.

Ha’s feelings of alienation are rooted in a past where loneliness, unrequited love, and repressed guilt lead her to depend on technology to dull her pain and awareness. One of the novel’s ironic twists is the revelation that Kamran, Ha’s trusted companion with whom she spent “long, comforting evenings in conversation […] sealed off from the world” (122), is a point-five construct. The popularity of point-five companions illustrates a world in which people regress further into their own narrow world view, selectively filtered to allow only familiar experiences rather than differences. Kamran enables Ha to seclude herself in a self-affirming cycle. Her detachment from the world around her is so seamless and naturalized that she assumes Kamran is a living person. In the novel’s climax, Ha resists technology’s role in enabling her insularity and destroys her terminal. She realizes that Kamran has been “a crutch. An addiction” (320) that prevented her personal growth and self-awareness. She proclaims, “I don’t need agreement: I need resistance” (311). Her destruction of Kamran further motivates Ha to see outside her own perspective, a necessary skill to achieve her goal of communicating with a radically different species.

Eiko’s storyline draws a wider picture of the novel’s profit-driven, ruthless world where corporations use technology to degrade the environment and destroy human dignity. The fishing industry has depleted the ocean’s marine populations, and corporate greed dictates that human slaves rather than robots will increase profits. DIANIMA is responsible for evacuating Con Dao residents and creating a population of refugees. The locals are alienated from their homeland under the guise of having a choice to accept DIANIMA’s compensation package. Eiko learns during his time on the Sea Wolf that human lives are nothing more than commodities in a capitalist exchange tuned toward profit. He hears a chilling story about the extreme commodification of humans who were converted into food. From the point of view of the ship’s AI, “protein was protein” (169), and the atrocity was a logical solution for recouping losses. At the novel’s end, Eiko’s escape from the Sea Wolf and sanctuary on Con Dao demonstrates an alternative world where not everything is transactional. The sinking of the Sea Wolf, the death of Dr. Mínervudóttir-Chan, and the Tibetan takeover of DIANIMA offers a vision where technology harbors and heals all forms of life and states use their power to preserve nature and ensure rights.

Empathy as a Key to Communication

The central theme throughout the novel is the crucial role of empathy in successful communication. To successfully make first contact with the octopus species, Ha must decipher their language and thereby understand how they see the world. Semiotics and consciousness theories frame Ha’s task, exploring the conundrum that empathy allows one to understand another, yet different perspectives and consciousnesses are subjective and never fully knowable. Rather than assume to know what the octopuses experience or appropriate their perspective to fit her models, Ha respects difference and seeks common ground.

Ha’s main struggle with the octopuses’ language, and one of the novel’s philosophical questions, is whether humans can find any common ground with creatures whose perspective vastly differs or whether the differences are impenetrable. Ha likewise asks in her book, “[C]ould we ever hope to understand such a point of view?” (173). The question applies to the octopuses but also implies a more basic question: whether humans can ever successfully communicate with each other, which is crucial before they can hope to communicate with another species. The novel emphasizes how communication is bidirectional and most effective when grounded in mutual empathy. Ha not only must interpret what the octopuses are saying but also must effectively convey to them who humans are and who she is: “How we see the world matters—but knowing how the world sees us also matters” (95). Ha understands that to truly understand the octopuses’ symbols, she must learn how they perceive the world instead of imposing her own meanings and contexts onto their symbols. She acknowledges that her human perspective is limiting because humans operate in “a world of rigid boundaries and binaries” where “hierarchy rules” (65). To speak with the octopuses requires viewing them as equals and on their own terms.

Learning a new language requires patience, empathy, and attention to the nuances of intention. The task is an iterative process that requires trial and error, consideration of multiple variables and contexts, and acknowledgement of unknowns. In Rustem’s explanation of how he hacks into AI systems, he describes his mapping and navigation of neural networks as akin to translation, explaining to Aynur, “At every intersection, I have to stop and reorient myself, make sure I haven’t gotten turned around” (188). His mental map is always an approximation, just like translation is never completely transparent. Ha likewise takes a cautious approach to her interpretations of the octopuses’ signs, acknowledging the complexity of genuinely capturing meaning. She tells Evrim, “There may be a thousand false starts and misinterpretations before we are able to pass a meaningful sentence between us” (371). Ha believes it may take a lifetime before she even approaches basic translation, but she firmly believes that empathy is essential for providing context to meaning.

Despite the overwhelming challenges of interspecies communication, the novel posits that successful communication is possible. The octopuses’ symbols for an opening eye are optimistic icons that connote discovery and communication. The eye is the “common ground” that humans and octopuses physically share, and the organ becomes a metaphor for mutual empathy—seeing and being seen. Ha and the Shapesinger are two individuals who cross boundaries to look each other in the eye and make themselves intelligible to the other. They represent an optimistic potential that radically different species can coexist in a nonhierarchical relationship if they comprehend the other’s worldview.

Memory and Forgetting in Identity Formation

The novel explores the tension between memory and forgetting to highlight the different ways the characters cope with trauma and form their identities in the interstices of the past and present. Eiko contends that memory shapes one’s identity, whereas Indra believes that forgetting is a mode of survival. In a parallel fashion, Rustem extols Evrim’s perfect recall, while Ha believes that a persistent past obstructs personal growth.

Eiko’s mind palaces, both in the forms of the Minaguchi-ya inn and the humble cabin, are places of refuge and conscience. In the inn, he stores the details of the ship’s components, which gives him hope that he may one day recall the information to free himself. In addition, he stores the names of Thomas, a crew member who died, and Con Dao as reminders to never again be indifferent to the lives of others and the meaning of home. As his situation becomes more dire, he builds the cabin to hold even more personal and intimate memories of people’s emotions and facial expressions. For Eiko, memory restores his humanity and helps him define himself. He tells Indra, “It’s important to remember things. It is who we are” (279). As he fills the inn and cabin, he thinks “[t]here had been something broken in him, until then. Maybe now it was getting fixed” (73). Eiko’s memory allows him to look back at his past to improve his present and future.

By contrast, Indra desires “a forgetting palace” (279) to move beyond the horrors of his enslavement and the violence of the mutiny. Memory traps him in a cyclic reminder of brutality, both at his hands and those of others. He agrees with Eiko that memories shape a person’s identity, and that is exactly what burdens him: “I don’t want to be the person carrying these memories around anymore” (280). Indra no longer recognizes himself, and the inability to forget prevents him from healing. Whereas Eiko needs his memories to give him the will to live, Indra’s inability to forget drives him to die by suicide.

In a parallel narrative, Rustem and Ha regard Evrim’s perfect memory from contrasting viewpoints that mirror Eiko’s and Indra’s, respectively. To Rustem, Evrim’s flawless memory is a gift of superior intelligence and near omniscience: “Imagine how much you could learn about the world, with that kind of mind. How much you could grow” (399-400). The inability to forget is a potential that combats ignorance and insularity. Whereas Eiko values memory to reassert his humanity, Rustem regards the ability to remember everything as transcending human limitations. Conversely, Ha regards perfect recall as the very trait that makes Evrim “most inhuman” and “abnormal” (244). Like Indra, Ha believes that remembering everything locks one in an immutable past, burdening one with reliving intrusive, painful memories repeatedly and with vivid clarity. She contends that “through forgetting, we reorganize our world, replace our old selves with new ones” (245). Both Indra and Ha want to disassociate from their pasts for their mental health. Indra wants to bury who he was when he killed the guards, and Ha wishes to forget her younger, insecure self, the “thing that she had been” (91). Forgetting allowed Ha to cope with the pain of unrequited love and redefine herself with more strength and security. However, she also used willful forgetting to deny her poor treatment of struggling villagers and her culpability in the death of the cuttlefish. In remembering this part of her past and confronting it, Ha became self-aware of her values and her flaws.

For all the characters, the balance of remembering and forgetting operates as a type of storytelling that helps them define who they are and who they wish to be. The novel illustrates the complexity of memory and forgetting as both formative and destructive forces to achieving a sense of an authentic self.

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