Francine

A globetrotting, time-traveling, philosophical sci-fi novel from Taylor.

Francine, the narrator and protagonist of this chaotic stew of a historical novel, is (in Kurt Vonnegut’s memorable phrase) “unstuck in time.” And that’s the least of it. Francine bounces all around history, popping up in various times and places, though, chronologically, she does have a home—sometime in the 17th century, in her little traveling box on a ship that has left Amsterdam and is sailing to destinations unknown. She is with her “Poppà” who may or may not be René Descartes (as she later claims). It’s important to note that Poppà is French and a brilliant mathematician, but also a lousy poet. And Francine is actually a very cleverly fashioned automaton, all the rage in that era. But somehow Francine actually acquires a soul and comes to life, rather like Pygmalion’s Galatea. If there is an intellectual basis to the story here, it is Friedrich Nietzsche’s theory of eternal return: the idea that one’s life could be on something like a never-ending loop. For obvious reasons, Francine is a big believer in “I think therefore I am,” though perhaps it should be “I talk therefore I am,” because talk she does, flitting from one memory to another like a drunken hummingbird.

But Francine is not just a good talker. She helped Walt Whitman nurse Civil War soldiers in Washington, D.C. She was at Trinity Site for the detonation of the first atomic bomb and in Paris at the time of the Terror. She was at Salem for the witch trials. She even makes scathing comments about Donald Trump: “I should know my enemy.” In an anecdote that stands alone, B.F. Skinner’s daughter takes her on a wild motorcycle ride—that’s how random this novel can be. None of this seems to confirm the Nietzschean eternal recurrence supposition exactly, only that Francine has a free pass to roam through time and make trenchant judgments and observations. But at some point, the reader will wonder just where all of this is leading. Early on, Francine says, “Mysteries are only confusing when you think about them.” Right. So we are invited to go along for the ride and learn about her love life (she’s bi-) and witness many random historical cameos (Emily Dickinson, Charles Bukowski, Alan Turing, Camus, and Sartre) while a storm rages at sea and the sailors on this ship to nowhere begin to suspect, as 17th-century sailors will, that this so-called automaton—Poppà and Francine sequester themselves in their cabin but the sailors can hear them talking—is in fact a witch who, of course, needs to be thrown overboard to placate the weather. Finally, when Francine is hoisted aloft by the angry sailors, facing a fate that is still unclear, she is still talking, still philosophizing. Although Taylor asks a lot of his readers in terms of attention span and suspended disbelief, there are intermittent rewards throughout the novel if one is patient enough to find them.

Anyone surrendering to this surreal, digression-prone saga might just enjoy the ride.