A man isolated in a barren cell is tasked with the upkeep of a machine. The machine’s function is to make copies. The man feeds the machine papers for it to replicate. The process is one of routine and ritual, importance applied to each stage. Every action undertaken by the man is measured by its relevance to the task he has been bestowed.

The book begins with the claustrophobic and oppressive confinement of the man’s cell. This is a bleak location, where the smallest details are noticed, the cell the extent of the man’s existence. Later on, the world outside of the man’s cell is revealed to be stricken with decay, with emptied buildings and wandering groups caught in their own ritualistic relationship with the rubble.

Allen maintains an economic style throughout, the language conveying the barest details of the characters and landscapes. This creates the feel of oblique reportage, where the inexplicably numbed citizens of this world show themselves by regimented surface action alone.

Sisyphean and Kafkaesque, I was most struck by the similarity to Tarkovsky’s Stalker. It’s hard to read without picturing this world in sepia. Most notable for being a very singular vision, rendered with consistency and focus. ( )