The Backstory
The narrator/protagonist quickly jumps back in time to relate the backstory which has brought him into the present. It is the dawn of the Velvet Revolution in which the Soviet communist rule of the Czechs would be brought to an end. His grandfather is peering into that future. “Twenty years from now, you will call yourself a child of the revolution.” That is a metaphor generally reserved for the young who will benefit from the overthrow of the oppressive regime. The grandfather neglects to mention that the young boy’s father has been a collaborator with that regime and that he is really destined to become a metaphorical orphan of the revolution who will be haunted by its specter.
Elvis
The narrator’s father is a collaborator with the Soviets, not just another of many who were simply accused. Collaboration does not necessarily imply being a true believer, however, nor does it prohibit hypocrisy. “Don’t tell anyone about Elvis.” This warning is identified by the narrator as his father’s breakfast ritual because he had managed over the years to build an impressive collection of Elvis records a blacklisted German actor had smuggled through the Berlin Wall. The advisory against letting anyone know about his secret passion for decadent American rock and roll situates the King of that musical style as a recurring metaphor for his father’s hypocrisy and the narrator’s shame.
Outdated Allusion
At one point the narrator creates a simile from an allusion that has become outdated to the point of mystery for many younger readers. “Time became choppy, like a scratched cassette tape.” The explanation of this comparison lies in the inevitable degradation of a cassette tape. Unlike digital music housed on a drive that can literally be accessed millions of times with no impact on playback, with literally every single use of the tape in a cassette, the playback would deteriorate a little more. If the tape managed to get old enough without actually jamming or breaking, one of the weird consequences of this damage was that some songs might start playing a little faster—and thus at a higher pitcher—than normal. The more usual effect, however, was that songs began playing a little slower—and at a lower pitcher—with the result becoming a sort of time warp in which the familiarity of a song became choppy as parts of it sounded normal while other parts sounded strangely new.
The Orphan
The Velvet Revolution does continue to haunt the narrator with its constant reminder of his father’s role in the oppressive predecessor to the arrival of democracy. Although, one is tempted to wonder if this haunting exists mostly in the narrator’s own mind. “I was a slogan left on the side of an abandoned building, a mum witness to changes in weather patterns, moods.” The evidence forwarded to the plight of isolation and alienation is paltry and seems the effluence of his own shame and guilt than the contribution of external players.
Philosophy in Space
The alienation of space is the ultimate engine of philosophical thought. What else can one expect from prolonged periods of time spent so far from human contact while looking out into the infinite void of the galaxy except think deep thoughts? When not trying desperately to distract one from this very thing, of course. Because philosophical thoughts engineered under such conditions are almost bound to turn dark. “I passed through the knot of time like sand slipping away inside an hourglass, grain by grain, atom by atom.” Despite the companionship of the strange spider-like alien creature known as Hanuš, the narrator is infinitely alone as no other human can or has ever been. Nihilistic acceptance of the self as little more than a collection of elements and existence as relentlessly moving toward disassembly seems to be a rational prediction of the likely impact of human exploration of space beyond the orbit of the moon. Humanity itself becomes a metaphor for a single example of atomic construction.
