We have thus entered the world of the “meta-narrative,” where stories build their house of cards within the framework of other stories. Yet, in a marked departure from the way such meta-narratives are typically constructed — i.e., flamboyantly with the author’s presence constantly felt — Mitchell remains hidden from view throughout Cloud Atlas. The writing style of each of the sections is perfectly matched to the tale, with even the flaws of the genre mimicked with perfect fidelity. The novelist is clearly dealing the cards, and playing them brilliantly, but he is about as hard to second-guess as those poker champions on TV, with their wraparound sunglasses, floppy hats, and other accessories designed to maintain a face of mystery to all onlookers.
On top of this intriguing structure, Mitchell superimposes echoes of Nietzsche’s theory of eternal recurrence. You may recall that this odd and seemingly implausible philosophical concept proposes a universe that does not advance chronologically, but merely repeats itself, over and over again. This cyclical concept of history does not presuppose any theistic doctrines, but can be made congruent with a belief in reincarnation. Mitchell clearly draws on this metaphysical angle, and sets in motion story elements that imply that the characters in his six tales may be reincarnations of each other.
Of course, none of this is presented in the blunt, point-by-point way that I have just outlined it. Mitchell works his changes subtly, and even at his most philosophical, he “clouds” his points in a fog of ambiguity. He is, after all, a storyteller and not a theoretician, and the narrative is never dislodged by the higher order meanings. They merely float above the action. After a lifetime of reading novels that proclaim their “message” in heavy-handed ways, I found this immersion in the loosely defined and amorphous to be one of the most endearing aspects of Mitchell’s extraordinary novel.
Then again, that might be just what one should expect from a cloud atlas.
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