Rokit
by Loranne Vella
Rokit was Loranne Vella’s first novel for adults. She had previously received acclaim for It-Triloġija tal-Fiddien, a set of fantasy novels co-written with Simon Bartolo and aimed at older children and teenagers, as well as for Magna Mater, a work of science fiction more specifically targeted at young adults. Vella’s most recent novel, Marta Marta – part philosophical novel, part feminist manifesto – has firmly secured her place as one of Malta’s leading authors and intellectuals.
In this context, and with hindsight, Rokit emerges as a transitional work: one that harnesses the tropes of dystopian speculative fiction, so dominant in the YA market, but reshapes them into a more demanding novel of ideas. It is (sort of…) set in Malta in the near future (2064). With climate change and rising waters wreaking havoc, Italy has colonised the island, turning it into a base for its space exploration programme. The locals are encouraged to emigrate to Italy, while those who remain are ruled with an iron fist: free speech is curtailed, and movement between regions tightly controlled.
Into this world steps Petrel, a young, up-and-coming photographer who travels to Malta to reconnect with his roots after the tragic death of his grandmother and mentor, the celebrated photographer Rika. What was meant to be a brief visit turns into a much longer stay when he unexpectedly settles down with the enigmatic Veronica in Rika’s home village of Ħaż Żebbuġ, by now a shell of its former self and a hotbed of rebellion against Italian rule.
Rokit is an ambitious and layered novel. I loved the way in which photographs and photography are not only central to the plot but also work as a running metaphor throughout, raising questions about time, memory, perception, and causality. There are deft postmodern touches too, such as extracts from (fictional) photography manuals and works of Maltese history interwoven with what appear to be authentic quotations. As the novel progresses, however, it leans more on plot, and unfortunately, some of the twists and turns are not entirely convincing.
This is where my reservations about Rokit lie. Of course, all speculative fiction requires us to suspend disbelief – I get that. But within the world created by the author, there needs to be consistency. Especially towards the end, the novel opens up a flurry of narrative ideas that are certainly intriguing, but not entirely satisfying.
Still, this criticism may be unduly
harsh. In combining genre fiction with the scope of the “literary” novel, and
in giving it a recognizably local (albeit futuristic) setting, Rokit is, without
exaggeration, a groundbreaking work. In
September, it will appear in an English edition published by Praspar Press,
translated by Kat Storace and retitled Before the Rocket. The novel certainly deserves
the wider audience that this translation will expose it to.
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