Steven Gillis’s Temporary People offers a fictional exploration into the relationship between media, entertainment, and the adverse effects on its viewers and participants.
Part The Truman Show, part Fahrenheit 451, Gillis plants us on the island of Bamerita, where an ex-TV star demands every citizen take part in the filming of the greatest epic the world has ever seen. Along with the aid of his friends and family, Andre Mafante sets out to protest the film and reestablish order to the island.
In many ways, Temporary People is the answer to the dystopic tendencies of our modern world. While the dystopia novels of previous eras tackled then-relevant issues ranging from censorship to the Cold War, Gillis hones in on an issue more relevant to the twenty-first century: the fine line between public and private. While the book hinges on typical motifs of the dystopia genre—salvation through knowledge, love as rebellion, the strength of the individual—it also breaks free from this mold to depict a world obsessed with spectatorship.
Bamerita’s voyeuristic tendencies leave no possibility for anyone to maintain a private life. The entire island functions as an elaborate set in which every citizen’s a cast member. A multitude of cameras record every movement, and while directors call out the oft-heard “Action!” and “That’s a wrap!” a not-so-clear blurring develops between reality and film.
As violence breaks, the island seems to focus its cameras even tighter, and therein lies the irony. Rather than attempting to hide the atrocities taking place, directors are called upon to document it. As sheer entertainment transcends the importance of real-world emotion, Andre finds himself continuously relying upon historical examples of oppression and rebellion in order to motivate his own cause. Andre turns to Gandhi as a model for fashioning his own peaceful resistance, though not even Gandhi is sufficient for a rebellion of this magnitude.
Throughout the novel, the quotations, song lyrics, and poetry of other well-known dissenters creates a mosaic of propaganda for Andre and his followers. Everyone from Ben Franklin to Bob Marley makes his presence known. While Andre’s individuality must not be overlooked, equally important is his reliance on those who have come before, those who have fought the same battles and persevered.
The horror of Gillis’s novel resides not in the science-fictional account of an island dedicated to entertainment at the expense of human life, but rather, in the very real possibility of America’s continued mismanagement of fact and fiction. When real lives are converted to Nielsen ratings, what might we do to fight back? It is as if Gillis grabs us by the shirt collars and shakes his message into us: When we flip through the channels, we are not simply spectators; sometimes we’re the spectacle too.