Review by Jamie McNeil
It’s difficult to categorise Matt Seneca’s The Infinite Prison. Is it a love story? A critique of the human condition? A personal expression of the artist’s own thoughts on the futility of human existence and the seemingly inevitable nuclear destruction of the planet fuelled by ego? Is it Seneca’s intention to deliberately have the reader pondering what The Infinite Prison is all about? The latter seems to be the truest. Go onto any of the independent booksellers peddling The Infinite Prison to read their description blurbs and you’re unlikely to find two that fully agree on what genre this falls under.
And that’s the beauty of it. Seneca supplies all those things as a post-apocalyptic dystopian tale that blends mysticism and science fiction with an abstract artistic style investigating human passions that include despair, lust and optimism. Three people predominate. Anka, a geneticist traumatised by her work. Nisz the Plastic Melter is an artist driven by grief and hopelessness who continues his work on the enigmatic Steeple despite that. L’Mer is an enigmatic official who offers both Anka and Nisz a chance to move forward from their respective traumas.
The post-nuclear setting is bleak, although Seneca moves away from the usual dystopian tropes of man surviving in the rubble of cities. Yes, humanity is surviving if not thriving, but a semblance of order, technology, and infrastructure remains. Mankind has adapted yet psychologically affected by the continuing effects of radioactive fallout. Genetic experimentation and research continue while a crude form of religious observance helps man put one foot in front of the other. It’s a compelling concept, science and mysticism in tandem, and sets Seneca’s work apart in the Sci-Fi genre.
The art is colourful and striking, Seneca frequently using full pages to paint scenery and portraits that shock and fascinate. His cast is abstract and somewhat disjointed, posed rather than fluid and relies on body positioning to convey motives and intentions. The art is more a series of painted portraits and landscapes, appealing to some readers but possibly not to others, yet there is breadth of powerful human emotion communicated throughout. Rather than strive for perfection, Seneca embraces artistic imperfection in what is an imperfect world, driving the story even while the plot is disjointed and puzzling.
The Infinite Prison is weird. Very weird, and that’s a compliment. The human condition is complex and perplexing and rather than explain it or justify it, Seneca leans into its complexity. You can spend a lot of time trying to decipher exactly what message he intends to communicate. It feels a very personal work, but you could conclude that it’s an exploration of hope and hopelessness, of the inevitability of death and that life in some form will inevitably continue. It could also be a study of mans needs and desires: for sex, union, peace of mind, and meaning in meaningless situations. At one stage L’Mer observes, “But I have seen man’s suicidal hunger for his life.” That strikes a powerful chord, and the art consistently enforces that with stark and harrow scenes of death but equally strange and enthralling depictions of life blooming and adapting.
Make of The Infinite Prison what you will. It’s a thought provoking read. As previously stated, it feels subjective to Seneca, but how the reader responds will also be unique and personal. Copies are available through independent stores for those who like their science fiction complex and thoughtful. It’s not available through major online sources, but try here.
