BRIDGE

What if it were possible to inhabit different versions of yourself in different realities? Beukes explores the scientific and ethical ramifications—with a healthy dose of speculative horror.

Cleaning out her estranged mother's house after she dies, Bridget Kittinger-Harris finds a horrifying husk she recognizes as “the dreamworm,” sparking memories from her childhood of strange adventures and her neuroscientist mother’s odd, sometimes dangerously neglectful behavior. She immediately swallows a strand and soon finds herself inside another Bridget in another universe. Meanwhile, that alternative Bridget wakes up inside the original Bridge’s body, and chaos and near violence ensue. Once order has been restored, it’s clear that Bridge’s mother, Jo, was up to something—probably the permanent relocation of her own consciousness into some other world’s version of herself, so Bridge will be able to find her and they will be reunited. Thus begins a weird treasure hunt as Bridge uses strands of the dreamworm to travel from body to body while her friend Dom reads Jo’s journals, reaches out to a musician and a neuroscientist for help, and babysits all the other Bridges as they turn up, confused, out of their own realities. Meanwhile, a woman named Amber and her cuddly dog, Mr. Floof II, seek to eradicate anyone who’s infested by the dreamworm threads. The worldbuilding here is skillful, as is the pacing—Beukes avoids dropping anvil-like plot points or world details, trusting the reader to unpack clues and read between the lines. Bridge’s world is not our own, featuring something called Lifebook instead of Facebook and a pandemic faced by a President Harris rather than Trump and/or Biden, but the differences are subtle enough that we can believe there really might be an infinite number of universes, and selves, out there somewhere. And maybe grief itself, Beukes suggests on a deeper level, is strong enough to alter space and time.

Effective as metaphor but mostly ass-kicking, mind-bending entertainment.