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Lurching Towards Pandemonium: A Review of Alex Kurtagic's Mister

D. E. Hobson

Mister, by Alex Kurtagic; Foreword by Tomaslav Sunic; Shamley Green, UK: Iron Sky: 2009 

Alex Kurtagic, record label owner, musician, painter, accomplished essayist, perceptive social critic and Croatian ex-pat has really done it this time. The latest project of this multi-talented gentleman, who now resides in the United Kingdom, is an extremely well written dystopian novel Mister.  

Mister is a masterpiece, in the authentic sense of the term. Mister could not have been created except through the intellectual design of a master of triplicity — a tapestry woven of literary prose, rich stylization, and openly "hidden" meanings. In addition, the author demonstrates an acute awareness of current events, amazing powers of observation and a healthy appreciation for the humorous and the ironic. 

On the most basic-facile level, Mister is a straightforward novel about a man who takes a business trip, encounters difficulties, and comes out a slightly better man for his experiences. It opens as it closes: with a man headed towards a plane ride. Symmetrical, contemporary and cynical. A novel penned by a member of no other time than our own. Think of a 1984 written, without all the whining and pathos, for the Millenium set. A Camp of the Saints with a cell phone rather than a radio. If Raspail and Orwell operated with spotlights, Kurtagic uses a magnifying glass — and the sorts of things he finds are not pretty up close.

Plunge a little deeper into the mire that constitutes the society Mister is set in and an unsettling picture appears. The year is now 2022 and political correctness has run amok, rampant immigration and hyper-inflation have teamed with Big Brother to wreak havoc on the Western world. The landscape of Mister is a sweaty, overheated, crowded, unpleasantly odiferous world of overpriced, over-processed, over-spiced food, greasy dark faces and strangling government controls. A world beset by a violent citizenry bent on exacting revenge on traditional Western culture.  It is still our world, but our world turned to its blackest, bleakest setting bloated with affirmative action and absurd cultural fusions, predatory tax laws and world government: the collapse of the West.

Kurtagic should be rightfully proud of his work in this novel. He paints a picture of tomorrow, a very plausible and realistic tomorrow, using the colors of today and he does so with a deft hand. His attention to detail makes the scenery, events and characters of Mister uncompromisingly real.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the temperature increased. Both the stairs and the corridors were swarming with heavily perspiring humans. Thirty years ago, he would have been able to reach the platform within five minutes, including the time it took to purchase a ticket. Now, because the Metro was choked with passengers from top to bottom, it took five minutes to advance five metres. The Third World had become a baby factory, its inhabitants reproducing themselves at a factorial rate, their fertility unchecked by contraception, their mortality checked by First World medicine, charity and 'development' funds; the mass production of raw human labourers had become the Third World's main industry, and raw human labourers Europe's and America's main import. Among the hundreds of people jammed into the tunnel, he was able to spot only two individuals with blood ties to Spain—both were in their sixties. (p. 277)

(As an aside: beware — after reading this book, and entering the ridiculousness that constitutes its reality, you will find yourself having a hard time dealing with day-to-day annoyances. The mouth-breathing masses at the local mall, the brain-addled drivers next to you in traffic and the moronic clerks with zero interest in proper customer service will fill you with a loathing for all that our world is becoming — and has already become.)

He stood up and approached the desk. Behind it stood a gentleman of queer proclivities and female of Indo-Aryan extraction. He disliked the mien of the former, so he offered his passport and boarding pass to the latter.

"I am sorry, the flight is now closed," said the attendant, her eyes on her computer screen and her fingers on the keyboard.

 "Closed?" he replied, astonished. "Since when?"

 "We have just closed it," stated the attendant.

 "I have not heard any announcements."

 "We have not announced it yet, but the flight is closed."

 She carried on typing, indifferently.

 "Well, then, please re-open it. You have not yet made an announcement and I have a valid ticket."

 "I am sorry. You will have to book another flight."

 "No. I will not. The ground crew is still loading people's luggage."

 "I'm sorry you will have to board another flight."

 ...

 After a frozen pause, filled only by the airport background noise, his interlocutor's digits sprang back to life, tapping frantically on the germ-infested keyboard. Her gaze fixed on the screen; she showed him the palm of her hand.

 "OK, Sir. Could I please have your boarding pass and passport?"(pp. 3–4) 

The nerve that Mister will touch, deep within you, will be — for weeks after your first reading intensely sensitive to the myriad frustrations of our times. But, so it should.)

There are, even within this murky landscape, bright points lurking here and there, in this second level of Mister. A handful of well-paced, well-spaced scenes in restaurants, airplanes and lobbies will have you grinning at the cheek and wit of Mister ______, our hero. For example, you will find yourself amusedly rooting for an old man who passes on secret information to Mister ______ regarding where he might find underground sales of Christmas decorations (the celebration of this particular holiday having been made illegal by 2022).

Scattered among the bright spots, Mister even contains a few moments of pure light. Well-executed portraits of certain leaders, all of whom are respected in the proper circles, are cast in well-conceived cameos that serve to inspire hope. There are tantalizing glimpses of resistance groups such as the "Ariosophists" and the "Esoteric Hitlerists" fighting the powers that be (from their secret bases in Antarctica no less!). We see these groups smuggling books by Serrano and Devi, helping political prisoners gain their freedom and standing up to modern deviant art.  

The blonde, blue-eyed Nordic he had seen aboard his flight, on the queue to use the lavoratories, had been stopped and asked to open his hand luggage; Nordic's companion, a Brynhilde type with long plaited, red hair stood by her fiancée, enjoying the same welcome reception. Next to a number of t-shirts with ariosophical, occult and modern National Socialist iconography, there was a small stack of books: Miquel Serrano's Hitler, El Ultimo Avantara, Savitri Devi's The Lighting and The Sun and Gold In The Furnace, Julius Evola's Revolt Against the Modern World and Francis Parker Yockey's Imperium. He had come across the occasional article in the newspapers that had made reference to modern Esoteric Hitlerist sects; Esoteric Hitlerism was a form of Nazi Mysticism, a radical religion that had been taking root among European descended Pagans (coincidentally, the only indigenous European demographic that was actually growing). (p. 69)

Ultimately, the above inspires our hero, our everyman, our "Mister", to rethink the safe path he and his wife have been treading, and to come to the realization that deeds matter.

 The true heart of this novel, though, lies at its third level of craftsmanship.

Mister stops being a novel at this third level (make no mistake, it is a superb novel at its other two levels) and it becomes, instead, a handbook, a codex, a treasure map.  

"I see you have books by Kevin Macdonald. I remember seeing him on the cover of Newsweek at Heathrow Airport yesterday evening."

"Yes. The Culture of Critique was his best book. Buts that's the third volume of a trilogy and it's best to read all three" (142)

Every name uttered,  every cameo entered, every book mentioned, every fact stated is very very important very very important — for us to know. Why? Because we who must survive the coming epoch must not forget who we are, or whence we've sprung. We must be able to recognize where the system fails us. We must hold on to each and every possibility for continuing — or restarting — our world where qualities such as truth, honor, character, loyalty, morality, standards, ethics, history and civilization are not negotiable terms.

We may not be able to navigate the labyrinthine halls of this post-WWII world government with ease or candor but we can still resist with a sense that our own resistance matters. We are not alone when we are disgusted. There is no kneejerk meaninglessness in our dissatisfactions. The qualities of the civilization we seek to continue are not subject to redefinition according to the manipulations of substandard and corrupt agendas. We are not the only ones who find such qualities still meaningful. Buy this book.  Heed. Prepare. Do.  

(On a separate note—the copy of Mister I read was mysteriously plagued by small typographical errors. Some might surmise — given the brilliance and the importance of the novel that these minor errors have been cleverly placed in the text to underline how damaging the presently decaying system is to straightforward simple clarity and to work in tandem with the sometimes jarring jumps between English and Spanish.  Equally, others might put forward the theory that if any given line of a book may contain — plausibly — any permutation of small random mistakes; no accusing fingers can be 100% certain of any textual target.  But, more likely the fact of the matter is this: some copy editors are just terrible. Right?)        

D. E. Hobson (email him) is an editor and publisher living in Cascadia, OR.

Permanent URL: http://www.theoccidentalobserver.net/authors/Hobson-Mister.html 





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