The Memory Librarian
by Janelle Monáe, 2022
Published: 2022.06.28
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★★★ (of 5)
Summary
This book (Monáe’s first) is billed as a “narrative expansion” of the author’s 2018 album Dirty Computer (described as “a pop, funk, hip hop, R&B, and neo soul record, featuring elements of electropop, space rock, pop rock, Minneapolis soul, trap, futurepop, new wave, synthpop, and Latin music” — Wikipedia). The album release was accompanied by a 46-minute narrative film project (called an “emotion picture”) of the same name. Each of the five stories shares credit with authors other than Monáe, including Alaya Dawn Johnson, Danny Lore, Eve L. Ewing, Yohanca Delgado, and Sheree Renee Thomas.
The backdrop of the five stories in this compilation is that an organization called New Dawn has taken over, using a technology that can collect memories, store them, change them, erase them. New Dawn uses the term “dirty computer” to refer to any human who hasn’t yet been cleansed by official mind-correcting services and/or who doesn’t conform to the arbitrary (yet very familiar to the reader) standards.
The first two stories are about 80 pages each; the rest are shorter. The Memory Librarian tells of one of New Dawn’s powerful officials, one who secretly doesn’t fully adhere to the strict standards: she is Black and lesbian, not to mention sympathetic to some of the issues suffered by dirty computers. Nevermind concerns a group of women and non-binary people hiding at a hotel in the desert until New Dawn finds them. Timebox is, I think, about a pantry in which time doesn’t pass. Save Changes involves two sisters whose mother was taken by New Dawn to be re-programmed; they attend an underground gathering of the resistance that is raided by New Dawn. Timebox Altar(ed) is about a group of children who find a way to glimpse the world as it should be.
Like many other works produced during the 2017-2021 Dark Times, the inspiration for much of this seems fairly obvious: the continued struggle for full human rights for historically marginalized communities (against strong pushback from regressives and despite apathy and lethargy from many “liberals”). All protagonists are LGBTQ+, or non-white, or living in poverty (victims of unfettered capitalism), or a combination of the above. A Rolling Stone review notes that these themes (referring to the video project) are common in “dystopian sci-fi” but, I think, fails to emphasize that they’re common in everyday life for many, many people. I think it’s clear that Monáe hadn’t imagined some faraway future but is instead using metaphors to describe now.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t swept away by the book. To be clear, I had hoped to be, because I watched the emotion picture first, and that was powerful. I don’t think I can withhold any stars from the video project — I laughed and cried, was shocked and reassured, challenged and goaded, not to mention entertained and impressed. The book simply didn’t do much of that for me. Each story was interesting in some way, and I empathized with certain characters. I could picture the world that Monáe built herein. But I just never lost myself in it.