The Mount

by Carol Emshwiller

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  Also Available from Small Beer Press

  · · · Philip K. Dick Award Winner

  · · · Best of the Year: Locus, Village Voice, Book Magazine, San Francisco Chronicle

  · · · Nominated for the Impac Award

  “Brilliantly conceived and painfully acute in its delineation of the complex relationships between masters and slaves, pets and owners, the served and the serving, this poetic, funny and above all humane novel deserves to be read and cherished as a fundamental fable for our material-minded times.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “This veteran science-fiction writer is known for original plots and characters, and her latest novel does not disappoint, offering an extraordinary, utterly alien, and thoroughly convincing culture set in the not-too-distant future. Emshwiller brings readers immediately into the action, gradually revealing the takeover of Earth by the Hoots, otherworldly beings with superior intelligence and technology. Humans have become the Hoots’ “mounts,” and, in the case of the superior Seattle bloodline, valuable racing stock. Most mounts are well off, as the Hoots constantly remind them, and treated kindly by affectionate owners who use punishment poles as rarely as possible. No one agrees more than principal narrator Charley, a privileged young Seattle whose rider-in-training will someday rule the world. The adolescent mount’s dream is of bringing honor to his beloved Little Master by becoming a great champion like Beauty, his sire, whose portrait decorates many Hoot walls. When Charley learns that his father now leads the renegade bands called Wilds, he and Little Master flee. This complex and compelling blend of tantalizing themes offers numerous possibilities for speculation and discussion, whether among friends or in the classroom.”

  —School Library Journal

  “Most definitely a strange novel. . . . Emshwiller’s prose is beautiful.”

  —Laura Miller, Salon

  “Emshwiller’s themes—the allure of submission, the temptations of complicity, the perverse nature of compassion—are not usual fare in novels of resistance and revolt, and her strikingly imaginative novel continues to surpass our expectations to the very last page.”

  —The Philadelphia Inquirer

  “The Mount, particularly, is a marvel; originally published by a tiny Massachusetts art-house publisher, this novel—about a distant future wherein humans are content to be the transport animals (complete with bits and saddles) for tiny aliens who have enslaved us—is so refreshingly weird and allegorical that it evokes some of the earliest masters of the genre, like Orwell and Verne.”

  —The Stranger

  “The Mount is a brilliant book. But be warned: It takes root in the mind and unleashes aftershocks at inopportune moments.”

  —The Women’s Review of Books

  “Carol Emshwiller’s elegant new novel, The Mount, is both fantastical and unnerving in its familiarity. And like her work in romance and westerns, its genre-twisting plot resists easy classification.”

  — The Village Voice

  “Emshwiller uses a deceptively simple narrative voice that gives The Mount the style of a young-adult novel. But there’s much going on beneath the surface of this narrative, including oblique flashes of humor and artfully articulated moments of psychological insight. The Mount emerges as one of the season’s unexpected small pleasures.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle

  “A memorable alien-invasion scenario, a wild adventure, and a reflection on the dynamics of freedom and slavery.”

  —Booklist

  “A profound novel of amazing depth and intimacy.”

  —Asimovs

  “A brilliant piece of work.”

  —Bookslut

  “A beautifully written allegorical tale full of hope that even the most unenlightened souls can shrug off the bonds of internalized oppression and finally see the light.”

  —BookPage

  “She writes such hard good sentences.”

  —John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats

  “We are all Mounts and so should read this book like an instruction manual that could help save our lives. That it is also a beautiful funny novel is the usual bonus you get by reading Carol Emshwiller. She always writes them that way.”

  —Kim Stanley Robinson, author of 2312

  “I’ve been a fan of Carol Emshwiller’s since the wonderful Carmen Dog. The Mount is a terrific novel, at once an adventure story and a meditation on the psychology of freedom and slavery. It’s literally haunting (days after finishing it, I still think about all the terrible poetry of the Hoot/Sam relationship) and hypnotic. I’m honored to have gotten an early look at it.”

  —Glen David Gold, author of Carter Beats the Devil

  “This novel is like a tesseract, I started it and thought, ah, I see what she’s doing. But then the dimensions unfolded and somehow it ended up being about so much more.”

  —Maureen F. McHugh, author of After the Apocalypse

  “Carol Emshwiller’s The Mount is a wicked book. Like Harlan Ellison’s darkest visions, Emshwiller writes in a voice that reminds us of the golden season when speculative fiction was daring and unsettling. Dystopian, weird, comedic, and ultimately scary, The Mount takes us deep into another reality. Our world suddenly seems wrought with terrible ironies and a severe kind of beauty. When we are the mounts, who—or what—is riding us?”

  —Luis Alberto Urrea, author of Six Kinds of Sky

  “This veteran science-fiction writer is known for original plots and characters, and her latest novel does not disappoint, offering an extraordinary, utterly alien, and thoroughly convincing culture set in the not-too-distant future.”

  —School Library Journal

  “Carol Emshwiller...has a dedicated cult following and has been an influence on a number of today’s top writers. . . . it is very easy to fall into the rhythm of Emshwiller’s poetic and smooth sentences”

  —Review of Contemporary Fiction

  “Emshwiller sentences are are transparent and elegant at the same time. Her vocabulary, though rich and flexible, is never arcane.”

  —The Women’s Review of Books

  “While whimsical and entertaining at times, The Mount raises some potent questions. It will make you laugh, but it will also make you think. This would be a wonderful book for classroom or book club discussions. Buy it, read it, recommend it to your friends.”

  —Fearless Reviews

  Praise for Carol Emshwiller’s previous books:

  “[Ledoyt is] a fierce and tender portrait of a girl growing up fierce and tender; a sorrowful, loving portrait of a man whose talent is for love and sorrow; a western, an unsentimental love story, an unidealized picture of the American past, a tough, sweet, painful, truthful novel.”

  —Ursula K. Le Guin, author of Tales of Earthsea

  “Ms. Emshwiller is so gifted. . . . She describes the ragged, sunswept Western countryside with a vividness and clarity that let us see it as her characters do—and understand why they love it as they do. There are moments of [Ledoyt] that are remarkably moving; there are scenes of great power.”

  —New York Times Book Review

  “[Ledoyt is] as haunting as the song of a canyon wren at twilight.”

  —Atlanta Journal />
  “Leaping Man Hill is a satisfying novel, with complexities not susceptible to easy summary, as well as those quirky characters and some playful language. Finally, though, it is dominated by Emshwiller’s sure development of Mary Catherine. Readers who grow with that young woman may remember this book a long time.”

  —San Francisco Chronicle Book Review

  “[Leaping Man Hill is] another strong, satisfying western . . . a headstrong young heroine succeeds in finding her niche in the ranch country of post-WWI California. . . . An exuberant yet exquisite portrait of a woman coming into her own.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Emshwiller has produced a first novel that combines the cruel humor of Candide with the allegorical panache of Animal Farm. In the hyper-Kafkaesque world of Carmen Dog, women have begun devolving into animals and animals ascending the evolutionary ladder to become women. . . . there has not been such a singy combination of imaginative energy, feminist outrage, and sheer literary muscle since Joanna Russ’ classic The Female Man.”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Emshwiller knows well the marvelous inexplicability of love, jealousy, and heroism.”

  —Library Journal

  “First and foremost, Emshwiller is a poet—with a poet’s sensibility, precision, and magic. She revels in the sheer taste and sound of words, she infuses them with an extraordinary vitality and sense of life.”

  —Newsday

  “Emshwiller’s characters embrace the unexpected and extraordinary; their lives leap from the mundane to the wondrous in a surreal instant, and the reader feels transported too.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly

  The Mount

  a novel

  Carol Emshwiller

  Small Beer Press

  Easthampton, MA

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2002 by Carol Emshwiller. All rights reserved.

  Small Beer Press

  150 Pleasant St., #306

  Easthampton, MA 01027

  smallbeerpress.com

  weightlessbooks.com

  info@smallbeerpress.com

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Emshwiller, Carol.

  The mount / Carol Emshwiller. -- 1st ed.

  p.cm.

  LCCN 2002100919

  ISBN 1-931520-03-8

  1. Fantastic fiction 2. Teenagers—fiction

  I. Title

  PS3555.M54 M6 2002 813.54

  ISBN (print): 9781931520034

  ISBN (ebook): 9781931520904

  Printed on 30% PCR recycled paper in the USA.

  Text set in Minion.

  Cover painting by Shelley Jackson.

  To Michael Kandel

  Thank you for believing in it and helping in so many ways.

  Chapter One

  We’re not against you, we’re for. In fact we’re built for you and you for us—we, so our weak little legs will dangle on your chest and our tail down the back. Exactly as you so often transport your own young when they are weak and small. It’s a joy. Just like a mother-walk.

  You’ll be free. You’ll have a pillow. You’ll have a water faucet and a bookcase. We’ll pat you if you do things fast enough and don’t play hard to catch. We’ll rub your legs and soak your feet. Sams and Sues, and you Sams had better behave yourselves.

  You still call us aliens in spite of the fact that we’ve been on your world for generations. And why call aliens exactly those who’ve brought health and happiness to you? And look how well we fit, you and us. As if born for each other even though we come from different worlds.

  We mate the stocky with the stocky, the thin with the thin, the pygmy with the pygmy. You’ve done a fairly good job with that yourselves before we came. As to skin, we like a color a little on the reddish side. Freckles are third best.

  Your type is called a Seattle. I hope to find other Seattles to mate with you, and soon.

  Your young will stay with their mothers until weaning. We’ll stroke them all over to make them love us. Four months is the crucial time for imprinting you predators. And your young do love us. You all do. We’re the ones with the treats. Leather straps will help keep you in line and help us keep our seat. There will sometimes be prickers on our toes. How and if these are used, and when, depends, of course, on you.

  You are the recipient of our kindness, our wealth and knowledge, our intelligence, our good growth of greens. Without us you’d not exist. Remember that. Though it’s true a few of you still survive in the mountains. We care nothing for mountains. What can you grow in the mountains that’s not better grown in the valleys? Or build?

  There is no need for you, or any of you, to learn how to count. And why read? We like you well-muscled. Reading is not conducive to muscles. We prefer that you hook yourself to the go-round instead.

  My offspring will be pleased with you. They already know good lines: Slope of shoulders, rise of chest, slim waist, more so in your females. And, and most important, sturdy legs. Legs are what we’re taught to notice first. Hands last. Compared to ours, your hands are so small and weak. Then there’s the look in the eye. You should have a kind eye. Many things depend on such knowledge, or else there would be more danger than there already always is.

  Our young adore you. They even adore your straps and buckles. They keep your pictures above where they curl up. They hang your worn-out shoes over their doorways. They save apples for you that they feed you piece-by-piece—and strawberries and chocolate.

  As we go along on your shoulders, head to head (so sweetly!), cheek to cheek, our sun hats cover you also, and our rain hats. Some of us whisper our most secret secrets into your ear as we go.

  Though I have prods and poles, I believe in explaining. Even to you, though you are as children. I believe it is safer that you understand—at least in part. You will never fully understand, but you must trust us, that we always have our reasons.

  So I speak. “Tomorrow I will attach you to a circling line. You will be strapped up for the journey after the friskiness is taken out of you.” We prefer that there be no fight left and no ideas.

  There are reasons for all this—all this from the start, I mean, and how we came to be on top. First, of course, there’s the fact that we’re superior in every way. You should be happy to serve such as we. And we can tell if you’re not. We have studied diagrams of your facial expressions. We can read your forehead and your lips, the wrinkles at the outsides of your eyes. Do not squint. It is unsightly.

  You have a good life here. And, and most important, you are free—free in your stalls for a part of every day. You may rest and recuperate. If you have a book, and know how, you can read.

  This is a case of prey over predator. You must admit, it’s only fair. Since we are prey, we can see, as you might put it, around corners, though that is not true. We simply see behind as well as in front. We know when a bug moves in a bush.

  Now is the time for the willingness that is in you, since you are bred for it. We count on you for crossing whatever needs to be crossed without hesitation. Try to look good as you do it. Sweep ahead and don’t glance to the side. It’s our job to do the seeing. If danger lurks, we will let you know when to beware—when to jump back—when to turn around and run. Our senses are keener and we judge better than you can. A little tickle on the ear . . . you could decide on that as the signal. The choice is yours, of course. You are free. After our trip we’ll give you a good rubdown and lots of pats. (We like strokes—it reminds us of the lickings of our ancestors—but you like pats, so thinking only of you, we’ll pat.)

  And so we will enter the forest. Those of your kind who might be hiding there are few and should not be a trouble.

  Already my heart is with your heart. We are two of one single kind, companions about to take a companionable outing. Surely as much fun for you as for me.

  The meaning of life, yes, yes, and of butterfl
ies. You would say they are two separate questions. We say they’re the same one.

  “Wake up. It’s time. Kneel. This sack isn’t heavy. You’ll hardly notice it. Turn to your near side so I may mount. Near, I say. Near, near, near!”

  Enter the forest. Appreciate the trees. Sure-footed friend. The ground is rough. My balance will help to hold you steady. When have I ever fallen, even when mounted on the very young? And here you are at the peak of your strength.

  Oh, a day like this! One mountain would be enough, yet here are many. A dozen flowers, a dozen butterflies are all I would ask for, yet here are many dozens. And you, swinging along so lively, as if as new as the day.

  Trust me, that I will lead us to a happy meadow where there will be a stream. Then I will give you a treat. “Have you your comb? My kind sees all sides and could be anywhere. I want you to look good.”