By Nolan Greenways
M.T Anderson’s latest work of science-fiction, Landscape with Invisible Hand, from 2017, is exactly what its title would suggest it is. The title alludes to the economic concept of the invisible hand, an intangible force driven by consumers that under proper conditions should right all wrongs in the market. Economics are central to Anderson’s depiction of a near-ish future Earth that faces widespread desolation as a result of alien arrival.
A titular reference to Adam Smith’s works on economic theory is not exactly typical for a book featuring an alien invasion, although works of science fiction can and have explored economic themes. The cyberpunk sub-genre is often involved in criticism of consumerism and economic inequality through futuristic worlds where those aspects of society are amplified, and one of Anderson’s other books, Feed, from 2002, uses a futuristic world to question the nature of today’s society.
The world of Landscape does diverge, though, from most other alien invasion media, which usually feature hostile, world-conquering empires, or benevolent and generous advanced societies, and produces a thought-provoking result. In a way, the alien “invasion” of Anderson’s Earth is a nuanced combination of those two tropes. The vuvv civilization that arrive on Earth in Landscape are table shaped, genderless, and entrepreneurial “businessthings” that arrive with promises of advanced technology and elimination of the strain of most work, provided world leaders sign a few trade agreements.
The trouble comes after all those agreements are signed. The strain of work is helpfully eliminated as the vuvv technology automates away most jobs. The few remaining jobs of the human economy pay little and are fought over by the unemployed masses. Only the very richest strata of humanity survive this economic transition and can meaningfully participate in the vuvv economy, and maintain their financial stability.
The middle class of workers in developed nations that managed to survive pre-vuvv waves of automation and make it into the post-industrial era are crushed by the economic reorganization of the first world. Suburbs become as desolate as coal towns, complete with cracked pavement and austerity measures that defund water treatment facilities in the name of economic responsibility.
Although the developing world and the decrepit primary-sector communities of the first world probably continue suffering in Landscape, the death of the American middle and managerial classes are the focus of the story. This carefully constructed world is explored through the point of view of the main character, Adam Costello, a teenage resident of a Rhode Island suburb and an aspiring artist, who lives through the economic collapse prompted by the vuvv.
Both of Adam’s parents are indefinitely between jobs, previously employed as a bank teller and a salesman. At the beginning of the story, the family’s only source of income is renting out the basement of their decaying suburban home to the Marsh family. Adam develops a relationship with Chloe, a member of the Marsh family, and eventually begin dating. Hoping to find some way to put rice and lentils on the table for their families, the couple set up a website to commercialize their relationship.
Important traits of the vuvv, which began observing humans in the 1950s, are that that they don’t understand cultural change, and as asexually reproducing beings, find human romance a foreign novelty. American popular culture and art from the 1950s—still life painting, finned cars, shows featuring drive-in theaters, “lovers’ lanes,” and outdated speech—is seen by the vuvv as only traditional and valid expressions of the entirety of humanity and are very popular with them. Their obsession with dramatic teen romance is what allows Adam and Chloe to capitalize on their relationship.
The cultural aspects of the story present very interesting themes of colonization that somewhat ironically relate to today’s world. For example, one character tries to make a living creating wooden sculptures to sell as souvenirs to the vuvv. To appease the vuvv fascination with the “primitive” and “spiritual” works of humanity and their desire to “get in touch with something they’ve lost,” the souvenirs are amalgamations of human deities. The Buddha is put on a cross, Mary cradles a baby with the head of an elephant, and human culture is simplified and augmented so that it can be sold.
How often are the cultures of post-colonial foreign societies sold to developed nations in today’s world? How often do the wealthiest of the first world marvel at the cultural richness of places that struggle through the violent effects of economic exploitation? How often is this cultural richness reduced and bastardized, in the style of putting the head of Ganesh on the infant Jesus, so that it is more appealing to the markets of the first world?
Paired with these cultural questions posed by Anderson, are the previously mentioned economic contexts of the story. While Earth is of interest to the colonizing vuvv as a destination for cultural tourism, economically, it is only important to them as a market and cheap labor force of some 10 billion people, and as a place to extract resources from. In presenting such an economic relationship, Anderson does almost everything but explicitly ask the audience whether it suggests any relationship between two nations of today’s Earth.
These cultural and economic themes reinforce a larger idea that is at play in the book, which is the question, “What if every part of the human economic hierarchy was moved down a rung?” The aliens are more of a plot device to allow this to make sense, and to amplify what Anderson sees as the stark differences between classes and between colonized societies and their colonizers. The genre of science fiction is used more as a vessel to explore these complex questions than to marvel at “cool new future stuff.”
Anderson’s answer to this larger question is the setting of Landscape, and this clear purpose of the world and story is what makes both so deep and interesting. Anderson has clear messages regarding the places that suffer economic hardship today, and to prompt thought, he brings those place’s hardships to their backyard. If readers would rather avoid what are the undoubtedly political implications of Anderson’s world, then maybe it isn’t for them.
Still, the story by itself, and especially the descriptive and evocative language, make their own case for a read of the novel. The book is partly told through descriptions of art produced by Adam, that depicts his and his family’s situation. These descriptions add a lot of depth to Adam, and do a lot to immerse the reader in his circumstances and the larger world.
Dialogue and character interactions, like most everything else in the book, are at their best when they reflect an element of the elaborately crafted setting, which is fairly often. There is one exchange of dialogue towards the beginning of the book, when Adam’s mother is applying to a job, that is particularly unique and surprising. The book, while it might be described as satirical, is only sometimes actually funny, but that’s not its focus.
A notable aspect of the plot is that it is split into thirds, in a more distinct way than stories are split in many other books. These clearer divisions of the acts of the story have a purpose and set the book apart from many other young-adult novels, but the pacing of the story near the act transitions does feel a little weird. The ending does feel kind of abrupt, but it works in the context it has to work in, and is earned by the preceding story. The most unique part of the story is probably the lead up to the climax, in which the delirium of the protagonist grows and grows, until it finally, insignificantly, reaches its conclusion.
Overall, Landscape with Invisible Hand is a highly recommendable book that explores complex economic and cultural themes of class and colonization through an enjoyable story and immersive, bleak world. Its suburban wasteland of a setting and its tragic plot cruelly joke that the potential trouble with an invisible and righteous corrective force is that it can’t be known when it isn’t there at all.