Time is perhaps the one thing we take for granted in this life. The fact that it is fixed, even as it moves, is the bedrock of our existence. It is the one certainty that guarantees all other certainties. But what if it weren’t? What if it were possible for three different versions of ourselves to exist simultaneously, one in the past, present and future? This is the premise of Scott Alexander Howard’s novel, The Other Valley, in which life exists in valleys separated not by distance, but by time. Each valley is set 20 years ahead of the one before it. So, in the valley to the east, you are 20 years older, and in the one to the west, you are 20 years younger.
The borders of each valley are heavily patrolled by the police force or the Gendarmerie, because if someone crosses to the west or east and changes something there, the whole flow of time is altered, and the ripple effects could be disastrous in your valley. The only body that can decide whether people can travel to other valleys is the Conseil, which assesses each petition to see if it has merit. The petitioners allowed to cross are only those who want a last glimpse of a loved one who is no more, but is still alive in another valley.
Sixteen-year-old Odile’s future as a Conseillere is all but a foregone conclusion, if only it were not for Edme, the boy she likes. A chance encounter with visitors from the east convinces her that something’s about to happen to him. Is any alternate reality that includes him still within reach? If so, to what lengths will she go to reach it?
The Other Valley’s greatest strength is its plausibility. Howard crafts his world with such meticulous care that one can almost forget that it does not exist. The dusty odor of the chalk in Odile’s classroom; the small fort in the backwoods behind her school where she meets Edme and the others; the conservatory where Edme practices his violin; the Grand Ecole, where classes are held for those vying for Conseil apprenticeships – all are described in brilliant detail.
Later, as a grown Odile’s life starts unravelling, it is almost as if the changes are not just happening inside her, but outside in the landscape as well, which turns dull, uncaring, soulless. Gone are the sun-pooled lakes and hilltops, the bluff’s edge where Edme plays for her, the promenade by the sea, suffused with the “summery smell of sunscreen and fried dough”.
Howard so skilfully builds up Odile’s character that in the end, her disillusionment is almost tangible. In one passage, as she sits in her ramshackle quarters and turns on the radio, she hears a composition by Edme, and its haunting beauty is the perfect counterfoil to her own emptiness. Howard poignantly describes her experience of listening to the music. “It did not sound like the work of a child,” he writes. “There were sections I had found sad when it was just his violin, but together with the other instruments, the piece acquired a wistfulness, sometimes even touches of sly humour. There was the rushing middle section he had struggled to perfect: this adult violinist did it effortlessly. The quickness crested and fell again, like flung leaves floating back to earth, and then it was over.”
After a slow build-up, the story tips into a climax that I did not see coming. It seemed to suggest that in the end of every story lies the beginning of another. And if there are cracks between the two, time will always find ways to paper them over.
BOOK DETAILS
The Other Valley
By Scott Alexander Howard
Published by Atlantic Books
Price Rs699; pages 290
