Reading C. J. Lavigne’s debut novel, In Veritas, feels like continuously stumbling from missing a stair. It’s difficult to tell where magic ends and metaphor begins, and this is symptomatic of the way the style of the novel dominates its telling.
It takes a while, wading through the murky way this story is told, to get to the actual conflict:
In the world of In Veritas, those with magic have been relegated to The Between — safe pockets in the walls, accessible only through (confusing) magic doors that only open one way. These people were not made to survive in our world: technology’s existence makes them ill, and they are unable to use it. Even riding the bus makes them sick, if they can handle it at all. The protagonist, Verity, is herself between these two worlds: she can live in our world unlike others who belong to The Between, but she also sees things that don’t belong to our world. Her synesthesia makes existing here too loud.
Those of The Between are a dying breed; there are less and less of them each century, and their magic grows weaker. As their magic swells for a final time, they can either make an attempt to escape our reality into one made for them — an apocalyptic act which has only ever had one failed attempt — or they can fight back against a magicless people whose way of seeing the world dominates and who vastly outnumber them.
Our narrator is not our protagonist — as we are told from the first line: “I am writing this for Verity because she cannot write it for herself.” Chapters often begin with an aside by the narrator (helpfully styled in italics) which, while enjoyable to read, often don’t feel timed right or have no purpose being styled this way rather than being inserted directly into the narrative. Those narratorial asides that are relevant are made more confusing by the fact that they are asides: it makes you question if the “she” and “he” subjects are indeed Verity and her ostensible boyfriend/roommate/best friend Jacob, in a way that adds needless confusion to a story which is already designed to leave you floundering.
The narrator’s identity remains secret throughout the novel, and while this is a trope that can be done well (I’m thinking Less by Andrew Sean Greer), it adds nothing to a story that has already been made over-complicated.
The novel is told in an obtuse, multimedia style, and it’s unclear why this is. Chapters often end in quotes or image descriptions, and can begin with news articles that have little or no effect on the plot. (I could not possibly tell you what an outbreak of mad cow disease had to do with the events of the novel, save for a throwaway line that could be easily cut.)
In Veritas, much like Verity’s reality, is defined by ambiguity and overstimulation. The novel is bogged down by description, but also leaves much under-explained. It moves the plot quickly at first, leaving you reeling as you try to adjust to Verity’s world and sift through what is and is not happening, and then drags on while giving you few answers, or giving you answers you’re not sure you can trust. As its title and protagonist’s name suggest, In Veritas is fixated on truth, and it is determined to show you how murky it can be.
While the style the novel is written in is interesting, albeit difficult to follow, it is also the make-or-break element of In Veritas. It’s overwhelming, but Verity’s strange way of seeing the world feels like the correct way to tell this story. For a story about those struggling to exist in a world that cannot see them, whose gaze and language limits and alters, using dreamlike and distorted description with words that will never be quite right is the only way to tell it.
The Cascade received a free advanced reader copy from the publisher in exchange for an honest review. In Veritas will be released for sale on May 1.
